Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 26

The man was about to die if he wasn't there already. To save a lifea"

"You're under arrest," Raider said.

Freedom stopped, held the limp crusader by the hair and regarded Raider strangely.

"For attempted murder. I'm FBI."

Freedom let go of the crusader, who dropped facedown to the ground, his skull looking like bloodied hamburger.

"Step back," Raider said.

Wordlessly, Freedom backed up to the white brick wall. Raider knelt down and felt the front side of the man's neck.

"Make that murder." Raider stood up.

Unfazed, Freedom made a "tsk tsk" sound and folded his arms. "I knew something was wrong with your uptight a.s.s from day one."

"Why, 'cause I didn't want your sick little hands all over me?" Raider lunged for the man's sign and broke the stick over his thigh, keeping a long jagged piece for a weapon. "Yeah, there's something wrong with me." He couldn't hold back anymore; he was p.i.s.sed. "I'm not a f.u.c.king f.a.g like you!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, months of frustration coming out all at once. His words echoed off the brick wall surrounding them, mixing with the sound of disco music coming from the parade one street over. Then he calmed himself. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. It's over for you. Now turn around."

Slowly Freedom turned.

"And get on the ground facedown."

Freedom hesitated.

"The ground!"

Freedom complied.

Raider backed out of the lot until he was on the side street, then yelled to a black woman selling beads on the boulevard, telling her to summon a cop. That way the LA County Sheriffs could take Freedom into custody and Raider could get back to Oth.e.l.lo and figure out what to do next. A few seconds later, two officers, a Latino man and a white woman, rounded the corner. Raider started to wave them over, but felt a pair of hands shoving his chest and some kind of liquid hitting him in the face. Spit, he realized, from Freedom, who bolted out of the lot and ran toward Santa Monica Boulevard.

"s.h.i.+t!" Raider cried in horror, dropping the stick and trying to wipe Freedom's venom from his face.

"What's the matter, sir?" the Latino officer asked upon reaching him.

"I'm with the FBI. That man just killed that man."

Freedom was slipping onto the other side of the parade route where he began running parallel to the median strip, westbound.

"Collar him," Raider said. The female cop ran to the crusader's body.

"I need to see some ID," said the Latino cop.

"I'm on UC, I got squat on me."

"Then I need toa""

"Look, you can shoot me or you can help me catch a murderer." Raider took off, half expecting to feel bullets in his back.

Freedom Clark used every ounce of strength left in his body to run down the median strip, huffing and puffing and clutching the boa to his throat with both hands. He was so caught up in his getaway, he didn't realize he raced right by Old Man Joe, who saw Freedom and tried unsuccessfully to get his attention.

Half a block down, Raider raced after Freedom, a.s.suming at least one of the cops was right behind him. To get on the same side of the street as Freedom, he darted across the parade route again. But this time he was met by a maze of hundreds of bicycles creeping along at a snail's pace. He stumbled and staggered his way through their broken formations, b.u.mping into wheels and pedals and knocking over a whole row of bikes like dominos. When he finally reached the median strip, he'd lost time and saw that he was about to lose even more, for up ahead was Oth.e.l.lo.

"Raider, what's happening?" he pleaded when they came upon one another. "What's Freedom running from?"

"I'm not sure, but I just heard some cops say something about him trying to kill a man. Apparently he couldn't wait for Herman. Stay here. I'll try to help him as best I can." Raider took off again. Freedom had a full block lead on him now, but Raider could see that frail body and wild red hair slowing down and losing stamina.

Freedom knew he couldn't outrun Raider on a good day and decided to duck into the parade route and lose himself in a large group of marchers from an AIDS service organization. The group consisted of several columns of men and women carrying a long rainbow-colored tarp on poles over their heads while singing "We Shall Overcome." He tried his best to blend in, hiding his thin frame amongst the marchers, moving from body to body and looking back for signs of Raider.

Raider saw the red hair disappear underneath the flag and slipped into the tail end of the long tarp. From there, he began dodging through the group, working his way forward. Twice he grabbed redheads thinking they might be Freedom, causing confusion and distress among the marchers, confusion and distress that only multiplied when three cops also joined the hunt under the flag, searching for signs of Raider and Freedom. Most of the group kept singing; some yelled, "Watch it!" and "Get out of here!" Ignoring the angry voices, Raider kept making his way to the front.

On the sidewalk, the parade-goers noticed the clamor underneath the flag and pointed toward the commotion, which wasn't lost on Oth.e.l.lo as he ran alongside the group, staying on the median strip, desperate to find both his boyfriend and his a.s.sa.s.sin.

Raider reached the very front of the flag and saw no sign of Freedom. He turned back, ready to search again, and saw the sky blue boa slipping from the middle of marchers back into the crowd on the sidewalk. Freedom then ran down another side street. Raider sprinted after him.

"He's a lousy traitor!" Freedom yelled when he saw that he was still being chased. The boa was now wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl. Raider was gaining on him by the second. Seeing this, Freedom stopped in the middle of the street and turned around. "Lousy traitor, lousy traitor, lousy traitor!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. His eyes were filled with rage, his voice hoa.r.s.e. He must have not heard the horn suddenly blaring out, nor did he see the large white service truck backing out of the driveway he was planted in front of. Raider saw it and stopped in his tracks twenty feet away. The corner of the truck knocked Freedom over like a rag doll, then halted abruptly. The driver was a heavyset white man. He jumped out and was hysterical. Raider ran up to Freedom's lifeless body lying face-up in the middle of the street. Blood gushed from Freedom's backside, flowing like a river into the street. The right side of his head was caved in, his eyes shut tight as if still feeling the impact.

The cops had seen Raider running down the street and now descended upon the scene along with several dozen witnesses to the chase. The driver was beside himself. "I don't understand it," he repeated over and over to one of the cops while the other officers tried to keep the swelling crowd at bay.

"Is he dead?" said a female child's voice.

"That man was chasing him," said an older woman's voice.

"Somebody call a doctor," said a man's feminine voice.

"I'm a doctor." It was Oth.e.l.lo, stepping forward as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The cops let him through.

"He didn't make it," said Raider, who along with the truck driver was still in the clearing secured by the cops. Feeling helpless, Oth.e.l.lo knelt down to Freedom anyway.

"Doctor," Raider said with urgency, "there's nothing you can do now."

Oth.e.l.lo knew Raider was trying to warn him to get out of there, but the only thing that mattered now was Freedom.

"In a minute," Oth.e.l.lo said, taking his eyes off Freedom to survey the growing crowd.

Still wary of Freedom's spit on his face, Raider spotted a street vendor with an ice chest on the sidewalk and rushed over to buy a bottled water. He poured it on his face, then tried to wash his hands with what was left.

Meanwhile, Oth.e.l.lo looked at Freedom one last time, as if to say good-bye, but was caught off guard when Freedom opened his eyes.

"You hold on," Oth.e.l.lo said. "You've still got a job to do."

Freedom tried to answer, but blood came pouring out of the side of his mouth.

"Don't talk," begged Oth.e.l.lo. He wanted to hold him but wasn't sure if Freedom's body could survive movement. Freedom swallowed hard, then made a laborious attempt to wet his lips, unintentionally coating them with blood.

"Get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he said with a struggle.

"Herman will get his," promised Oth.e.l.lo.

"Not Herman," Freedom said. "Your boyfriend." He coughed up a combination of blood and phlegm, caught his breath, then continued: "Your boyfriend's not your boyfriend." He paused, summoned up one last ounce of energy and uttered: "Get him."

Oth.e.l.lo's whole body went numb. Freedom closed his eyes one last time and the life drained away from his face.

Sirens closed in. An ambulance parted the crowd. The driver of the truck was still telling his side of the story to anyone who would listen. A half dozen cops were trying to keep the crowd back. The paramedics moved in on Freedom. And over by the sidewalk, for some reason, Raider was trying to rinse himself off.

Freedom was hallucinating, Oth.e.l.lo told himself as he slowly rose up. Freedom was delirious, jealous, dementia-ridden.

Or am I the delirious one? Am I the one hallucinating?

He wandered toward the crowd. Raider approached him and began talking, his words streaming by Oth.e.l.lo in a blur: "I'm sure I'm going to have to stay and make a statement since I saw the accident, but you'd better go now, especially after that doctor business. Can you walk back to my place? Here's the keys. I'll be there later to make sure you get home okay."

And Raider went back into the middle of it all, leaving Oth.e.l.lo wandering helplessly away from the accident scene, unable to forget Freedom's last words.

SEVENTEEN.

THE LONG VERANDAH was as quiet as it was somber. The most dominant sound was that of the wind blowing through the tall oak trees dotting the yellowish-green hills of Summerhill, Jasper's Virginia Beach ranch. Oth.e.l.lo and Deon sat at the same table, their heads bowed, their shoulders slumped in defeat. Jasper stood with one leg on the verandah's white wooden railing, elbow resting on his knee, chin resting on his fist as he stared out over the horizon, gaze unfocused.

Their dates for the occasion were equally reserved. Charlie was sitting in a wicker chair behind Deon, gently ma.s.saging Deon's shoulders and humming something that sounded like an old Negro spiritual. Raider was swaying back and forth una.s.sumingly in a rocking chair facing the hills. And Sasha, Jasper's date, sat idly on the railing a few feet down from Jasper, twirling a leaf he had found. Sasha Willaman was twenty and a soph.o.m.ore at Georgetown. He had striking cheekbones that were higher than high, giving his features a hint of Asian even though he possessed stark blue eyes and straight blond hair that was parted in the middle and fell to either side of his hairless face. Bruce had been stripped of his most-favored-boy status, Jasper had explained to Oth.e.l.lo and Deon upon their arrival.

The entire Summerhill staff had been dismissed; the six men had total privacy. Still, the afternoon was far from festive.

"I don't know about Blondie and Blondie," Charlie rose up to attend to the huge brick barbecue pit behind him, "but if I'd only known you all were going to be this much fun, I would have suggested hooking up ages ago." His sarcasm was met with silence. He grabbed a skewer and started poking at the coals in an effort to get the fire going. "I mean, the world's best basketball player, one of my top five, all-time favorite musicians and cable man. Now your average Louisa Maes would have said: Whoa, there's a blowouta"oh, s.h.i.+t!"

A towering flame shot up over the grill. Charlie reached for the closest bottle on the ledge of the pit and tried to douse the eruption. It was lighter fluid, which sent the flames even higher. "Ricky," he cried in a voice mimicking Lucy Ricardo. "I got some splainin' to do."

"Boy!" Deon rushed over, swiped the skewer from Charlie and eventually quelled the fire, after which Charlie said: "Well, somebody had to get this party started."

"Sit," said Deon.

"I'm not your dog now," Charlie said, then went over to the table and took Deon's seat. "Why is everyone being such a stick in the mud anyway?"

Raider laughed to himself. He was entertained by the queeny boy's antics.

Oth.e.l.lo eyed Charlie across the table and thought: you'd be in a bad mood too if you didn't know whom you could trust, your now-dead, possibly-delirious a.s.sa.s.sin or your alleged boyfriend from Nantucket.

"Well, I'm with Charlie." Sasha joined Deon at the barbecue pit. "I'm still wiped out from finals and I did not come here to mope all day."

"In that case," Deon handed him the skewer, "knock yourself out."

"I'm with Cheekbones here." Charlie popped up to join Sasha. "Let's salvage something out of this day."

"Don't let him touch that grill," Deon ordered Sasha, then crossed the verandah and headed for the bar. On the way, his eyes met Oth.e.l.lo's. The two of them shared an awkward but brief stare, then Deon looked to Jasper and they too eyed each other apprehensively.

Oth.e.l.lo s.h.i.+fted restlessly in his chair. The tension was about to drive him crazy. The Three Wis.e.m.e.n hadn't communicated since Freedom's death a few days ago, nor had they been able to speak here at Summerhill save a small exchange at the front door to the Victorian-style mansion.

"You heard?" Oth.e.l.lo had said when Jasper greeted him. Oth.e.l.lo had purposely hurried ahead of Raider, who was still getting their bags out of the car.

"I don't own a slew of cable networks for nothing," Jasper had said. "But I did have to tell Deon. He's as mortified as I am, if not more."

That was all they had time for. Raider came bounding up the steps and Sasha joined Jasper in greeting his guests. So here they were, their plan shot to h.e.l.l and the three of them unable to talk about it so far.

From his rocking chair, Raider studied Deon, who was grabbing a beer at the bar bordering the house. Now's as good a time as any to pal around with The D.A., he told himself. But what do I say to the guy?

Any other gay shooting guards besides yourself in the league? Why, Deon, why? You of all people. No offense, man: I know you think you're a h.o.m.o and all, but, gee, Deon, are you absolutely sure?

He joined Anthony at the bar. Even though Raider was six-two, he felt like a shrimp next to the six-six Chicago Bull. Another megastar Brian, Jr., would kill to meet, he thought. Just like Oth.e.l.lo. Then it suddenly occurred to Raider: his eight-year-old kid hero-wors.h.i.+pped two black men who happened to be gay. Maybe it was time to put in more hours in the father department, he decided. He made a vow to do so starting the day he returned to Was.h.i.+ngton, which wouldn't be long now.

"How's the Molson?" Raider asked, a lame opener, but what the hey.

"Cool," muttered Deon.

"Guess you'd rather be celebrating another champions.h.i.+p right now than being down here."

"Don't matter, right now anyway."

Raider reclined against the bar, but slouching made him feel even shorter, so he quickly stood again, his posture stretching upwards. "You know," he began in a hushed tone, as if he were about to break a confidence, "I would've figured you to be the last person to be gay. Even more so than Oth.e.l.lo."

Deon mumbled something and walked to the edge of the verandah. There he stared at the white gazebo in a small plain in the distance.

Raider hastily joined him. "I mean that as a compliment."

Deon looked at him for the first time in their conversation. "You and Oth.e.l.lo pretty cool, huh?"

"Like this." Raider wrapped his index and middle finger around each other.

"Who's the top? Or are you both?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know," Deon said. "I don't mean to get personal, buta"well, I guess I doa"who's top and who's bottom? Or do you guys trade off?"

Raider shrugged and stammered. "We trade off. Sometimes we're both tops, sometimes both bottoms."

Deon eyed him strangely. He figured Raider was an airhead, but didn't get a chance to probe any further because Jasper approached, scotch and soda in hand.

"Raider Kincaide, is it?" he asked.

"Yes, sira"I mean, Jaspera"Mr. Hollinquest."

"Sir will be just fine," Jasper said, then paused for a laugh, which was only forthcoming from Deon until Raider realized it was a joke and also laughed. "Oth.e.l.lo said you were an unparalleled lacrosse superstar at Dartmouth."