Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 5

Jasper s.h.i.+fted uneasily. "How do you know they're not going to find out?"

"They won't."

"How do you know they won't?"

"Because I know." Oth.e.l.lo turned from the monitor. "The crew thinks it's shooting footage for a possible gay cable venture. Believe me, Sweeney is meticulous." To get things done, Oth.e.l.lo had decided to open up to his manager about his ties to ACTNOW and his meetings at the resurrected Temple. Predictably, the preppie Irishman blew a gasket, but when he realized Oth.e.l.lo would do this with or without him, he agreed to comply, to help ensure Oth.e.l.lo's safety if nothing else. "Trust me," Oth.e.l.lo told Jasper and Deon. "Everything we do will be so diverted and deflected, it couldn't possibly be traced back to us. No one will break us if we don't let them."

"Most of them look like they got AIDS." Deon winced at the screen "All skinny and s.h.i.+t. I can't be thinking about that kind of stuff right now. The playoffs is the most intense time of the year for me."

Oth.e.l.lo walked toward Deon. "Would you feel the same way about 'the playoffs' if your life was on the line like some of these people?"

"Hey, man, I'm negative, man, so don't even try that."

Oth.e.l.lo turned away. It wasn't any easier dealing with these two the second time around. And now, Deon had to trumpet the fact that he wasn't damaged goods. Of course, he was negative, Oth.e.l.lo thought, and probably Jasper, too, which is perhaps why they didn't share his will to fight.

"As intriguing as all this sounds," Jasper had said at the end of the first Temple meeting, "no way am I committing to something like this under these circ.u.mstances, being drugged and kidnapped and not knowing where the h.e.l.l I am." And Deon had agreed with him. It was then that Oth.e.l.lo suggested they meet again and negotiated the terms: no injections or kidnappings next time and all three men would decide the date. As an act of faith, Oth.e.l.lo had offered to pay for their transportation and expenses, but both Jasper and Deon declined. He did finally convince them the Temple would be the safest place to meet. But short of that, the only other thing Hollinquest and Anthony agreed to was hearing him out.

Oth.e.l.lo stood with his back to his two still-unwilling accomplices, trying hard to find the strength to be patient. "Deon, you're from a poor background. What if you never made it big and couldn't afford top notch health care and weren't lucky enough to be negative?"

Deon tried to come up with an answer, but Oth.e.l.lo didn't wait for it.

"And, Jasper, you've been rich forevera""

"I made myself what I am," said Jasper.

"True, but you were born well-off to boot. But what about that boy who was thinking about living with you on Bora Bora, the one I overheard talking in this very room years ago?"

"What about him?"

"Were you ever with him?"

"How the h.e.l.l should I know?" He shot a smile to Deon. "Been with so many boys in so many places."

Deon laughed. Oth.e.l.lo went on: "Which is probably why you're in that awful mess with Mandy right now."

"It is awful, isn't it?" Jasper paused, then said with a grin: "Which is just how I and America like it."

Oth.e.l.lo and Deon looked at one another, then back to Jasper.

"It's all an act?" said Oth.e.l.lo.

A smirk wiped across Jasper's face.

"Man, that beats me dating Mariah and Tyra," Deon said and he and Jasper laughed. Oth.e.l.lo couldn't share their amus.e.m.e.nt. All he could think of was all the energy they all spent living lies.

"Anyway," he said. "What about all those boys? And their friends? Have any of them just wasted away while there was nothing they could do? Or got fired from a job for being a f.a.g? Or gotten the living s.h.i.+t kicked out of them for coming out of a gay bar at the wrong time? Or maybe one of them shot his brains out because he couldn't cope with being an evil queer anymore."

Jasper bowed his head in retreat. Deon stared straight up at the naked bodies intertwined on the sculptured ceiling.

"You still haven't given us one serious detail," said Jasper.

"We could start by making sure the people in the trenches have enough resources to fight the everyday fight. There are countless groups out there struggling for the rights the three of us don't have the guts to come out and fight for, but they're all underfunded. They need ammunition, supplies, cash. Cash that we won't miss."

"What kind of groups you talking about?" asked Deon.

"Any kind of gay group doing something positivea"h.e.l.l, take your pick. We'll figure that out as we go along." Oth.e.l.lo paused, tight-lipped and steely. "Gentlemen, we have the power to create an all-out uprising, emotional, spiritual, political and physical, one that lets the world know once and for all: don't f.u.c.k with queers. Give us our rights or face some serious-a.s.s consequences. Treat us with respect or we'll blow your f.u.c.king heads off."

"You speaking literally?" asked Jasper.

"That's something else we can figure out as we go along. With the kind of power we three can generate, the possibilities are limitless, from private funding of groups to using ACTNOW for guerrilla warfare."

"You'll never catch me exposing myself to them," said Jasper.

"You don't have to." Oth.e.l.lo flashed a smile. "We already have a liaison: the person I go to the meetings disguised as."

Both Deon and Jasper paused to take it in.

"Just what kind of disguise is this?" Jasper asked.

Oth.e.l.lo shook his head. "Not until you join forces."

Deon eyed Jasper and said to Oth.e.l.lo: "You're not kidding about this."

"Is Jimmy Herman kidding when he says we should be stripped of our citizens.h.i.+p?" Out of the corner of his eye, Oth.e.l.lo saw the image on the monitor change and glanced at it. This new shot was of several dozen protesters chanting inches away from a row of statuesque policemen. The cops were in riot gear complete with helmets with clear s.h.i.+elds over their faces. Oth.e.l.lo eyed the screen una.s.sumingly, then was stunned to realize the muscular blond in the middle of the protesters, the one who loomed bigger and taller than most of the men and women surrounding him, was Raider. His Raider, Still Last Name Unknown, for Sweeney had yet to receive any information on him.

Momentarily Hollinquest and Anthony ceased to exist. Oth.e.l.lo became absorbed in the sight he'd been hoping to see all morning, inwardly breathing a great sigh of relief to discover his instincts had been wrong about Raider not being the type to attend an ACTNOW function. He looked so valiant and adorable, punctuating his chanting with his fist in the air. His face was a bit vacant after all those hours of protest, but there he was all the same, in the trenches, a new warrior, only a few days removed from the sh.o.r.es of Nantucket. At that instant, Oth.e.l.lo desperately wanted to be out on that gra.s.sy knoll, yelling and raising his fist right alongside him, joined together in the fight.

"I've got to go now," he heard himself say, then looked to Jasper and Deon, noting their confused reactions. "Something very pressing."

"What the h.e.l.l...." Jasper said.

"Can you wait here?" asked Oth.e.l.lo.

"I got a charter back to Chicago in one hour," said Deon.

"Wait for what?" asked Jasper.

"Well, have you made a decision anyway?" asked Oth.e.l.lo.

"Absolutely not," said Jasper.

"Just like that?" said Deon.

Oth.e.l.lo bit his upper lip, contemplating. "In that case, meeting adjourned." Hastily, he began collecting the files scattered on the table. "You need more time; take more time. It's a big decision, I understand. Deon, you need to get back for the start of the Detroit series anyway. Good luck. Really." He hurried to the fireplace. "Jasper, hopefully you can see your way to getting this protest on CNC. And how about an hour-long special on the state of gay rights?" Too frantic to wait for a response, Oth.e.l.lo hastily tapped at the b.u.t.tons under the mantle to retract the monitor, desk and map of America. "We'll be in touch through Sweeney. Until we meet again..." He raced to the door, opened it and stopped, searching for the right words. "Uh...bye," he said and was gone, leaving behind two flabbergasted guests.

Like a character in a movie trying to be two places at once as two different people, Oth.e.l.lo embarked on a mad dash, first up the winding, wrought-iron stairwell, then through a series of dark narrow hallways leading to the garage of the house. Once there, he flung open the trunk to the old Impala, his inconspicuous car, and ripped away the blanket covering his incognito wardrobe.

Quickly, he rummaged through all the clothes that were there in case he were in public and needed to look plain or blend in. Carelessly, he tossed aside faded jeans, oversized s.h.i.+rts, baseball caps, makeup kits, several pairs of sungla.s.ses, casting them over his shoulder like a lovestruck teenage girl in a panic trying to decide on an outfit while her date waited downstairs, getting to know her parents. After some rather anxious moments, he found what he was searching for, the senior citizen get-up. Wasting no time, he left the rest of his emergency wardrobe on the floor, gathered the old man's bundle in his arms, hopped in the car, opened the garage door and sped off, burning rubber in the process.

RAIDER SAT ALONE atop the peak of the gra.s.sy knoll facing Mercy Hospital, determined not to leave until he'd had one significant lead in the case. It was late afternoon now and he was one of only six protesters left. The other five, four men and one woman, were at the bottom of the knoll, critiquing their effort, while Raider sat dejectedly, contemplating his own performance and not feeling too good about it. In the last five hours, he'd barely said a word to anyone except for what was absolutely necessary. "Fine and you?" "Some water? Sure." "A sign? You bet!" Not exactly the kind of topflight methods they teach you at Quantico to gain people's confidence and learn their secrets. But maybe it was enough for now that he was here, becoming a familiar face and getting used to the idea of pretending to be one of them. Pa.s.sing himself off as a dope dealer or money launderer was a piece of cake, but a fudge-packera"as his father called ita"that took some work. He pondered the idea of taking it up the b.u.t.t for a second, but it seemed too painful so he changed the channel in his mind.

All day long, he had been astonished at how angry and vengeful gays could be. They were really p.i.s.sed off, he realized from the moment he arrived as the police were carrying several of them away for causing a ruckus inside the hospital. Remembering other scenes of radical gays on the evening newsa"scenes he never paused to consider beforea"he wondered when they had turned into such a vocal, aggressive bunch.

They did, however, welcome him without question. At the same time, it was unsettling to realize that the women looked right through him, not the least bit interested in him as a s.e.xual animal, something he'd never experienced before while around a bunch of honeys. On the other hand, the guys gave him more looks than he knew what to do with. But, he told himself: better than them not looking. Thinking about it now, he had to laugh at this whole a.s.s-backwards world he'd gotten himself into.

The double-length city bus with the accordion link slowly crept away from the corner, unblocking Oth.e.l.lo's view of Mercy Hospital across the street. He was dressed as the old man and still full of adrenaline from the hectic journey to East LA, a journey that saw him weaving through traffic like a madman and almost getting into an accident twice. But upon seeing the hospital, his heart sank. Only a few listless bodies remained; the protest had all but disappeared. When the stoplight changed, he crossed the street in a daze, like someone who knew they'd already missed the plane but wanted to go to the gate anyway. He stepped onto the sidewalk and surveyed the knoll. Much to his astonishment, Raider was one of the handful of soldiers remaining, sitting on the gra.s.s twenty yards away, alone in his thoughts. Oth.e.l.lo walked toward him, taking the fact that Raider was still there as a signal from the G.o.ds that they should keep getting to know one another.

"A trooper to the end, I see," he said in his old man's voice when he found himself directly behind Raider's broad back. Raider turned una.s.suredly, then saw who it was and jumped to his feet.

"Joe." Raider sounded pleased to see him. "Thought you couldn't make it."

"I couldn't. The dame I garden for let me off a little early. I just got here."

"Then you missed all the excitement." Raider was speaking to him in that louder, plain-speaking tone used for children and the elderly.

"But I'm glad I caught you. How'd you like protesting? I don't know if you ever did it back in Nantucket."

"This was definitely my first time." Raider shook his head pensively. "It wasn't half bad either. I can see why everybody's p.i.s.sed off at the hospital. Honestly."

"Wish I could have been here with you, your first time and all. It would have been my first protest, too."

"Yeah," Raider said vacantly, then added: "Well, I'm starving, Joe."

Oth.e.l.lo was trying to summon the courage to suggest they grab a bite together when he heard: "You hungry at all?"

For a moment, Oth.e.l.lo was speechless, then thanked the G.o.ds once again for this unexpected sign. After he accepted, Raider suggested the hot dog stand in the small park on the other side of the hospital. Oth.e.l.lo heartily agreed, asking himself: what could be more romantic?

Casually, they strolled around the sun-drenched grounds, Raider giving Oth.e.l.lo his version of the day's protest and Oth.e.l.lo drinking in every word as if he were hearing about it for the first time. Then, at the slice of gra.s.s that served as a modest park, they bought sodas and hot dogsa"Oth.e.l.lo two, Raider foura"then commandeered one of the concrete picnic tables under a nearby palm tree, Raider sitting on top of the table with his feet on the concrete bench and Oth.e.l.lo straddling that same bench facing Raider.

"Tell me, Raider," Oth.e.l.lo began once they were settled in. "You have a lover?"

Raider had just chomped down on half of his first dog. Taken aback, he turned to Oth.e.l.lo, cheeks stuffed but motionless. After a beat, he gulped down the squishy ma.s.s of bread and meat, then choked out: "Nope."

"Is there anyone special?"

"Not really." To make the job easier, he had decided to answer questions about his love and s.e.x life as if the girls were guys. But now, he wasn't so sure telling Joe he was single was such a good idea. "I'm actually taking a break from the dating game these days," he added. "I just got burned by a b.i.t.c.h of a guy, Adam, and I don't need anymore liars or one-nighters or dating period."

"Me, too," Oth.e.l.lo chimed to avoid seeming too eager. "Dating. Who needs it?" He took a bite of his dog, a bit dejected, then asked: "So why'd you move to LA?"

Oth.e.l.lo sat spellbounda"with Raider's muscular thighs in a pair of faded blue jeans at eye levela"and listened as ACTNOW's newest recruit talked wistfully of his life, how he grew tired of working in his father's motel and came out West to be a personal trainer, how he graduated from Dartmouth but didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a business suit, which is why he dropped out of law school a few years back.

"Did you play sports at Dartmouth?" Oth.e.l.lo asked.

"Lacrosse," Raider declared proudly, already done with three of his hot dogs. "I was leading scorer two years running. And I'm still first on the school's all-time list."

Oth.e.l.lo imagined Raider charging down the field, carrying that little ball in the netting attached to that long stick, dodging around clumsy oafs from places like Princeton and Cornell, heaving the ball past some wobbly-legged goalie. Score another one for the Dartmouth Big Green.

"I bet you were unstoppable," he said baitingly.

"Well, yeah," Raider demurred, "I was money."

"Money?"

"Yeah, you know: good," Raider explained, then proceeded to replay seemingly every highlight of his three years as an all-Ivy Leaguera"with Oth.e.l.lo not minding one bit.

"Is that where you got the name Raider?" he asked when he could get a word in. "I'm a.s.suming it's a nickname."

"Yeah, but it started when I was a little kid and used to love the Oakland Raiders, the first time they were the Oakland Raiders. I had a Raiders everything: ski hat, jacket, bed spread, rain parka, those little statues with the bobbing heads. My dad used to call me Little Raider. Then, when I was in college, I was notorious for leading panty raids." He laughed nostalgically, not noticing the uneasy reaction in Oth.e.l.lo's face. "One night, I told one of my buddies about my nickname as a kid and every time we went on panty raids after that, they called me Panty-Raider. Eventually, that's all anybody called me, then it evolved to just Raider."

"So you dated girls at Dartmouth?"

Raider's heart and chest collided in panic. He'd been so busy rambling on about himself, he'd forgotten he wasn't supposed to be the panty-raiding type. "All the guys did," he said hesitantly, taking a swig of soda to collect himself. "I just went along."

"Yeah," Oth.e.l.lo said, thinking of his videos. "I think we've all just gone along in some way or another at some point,"

"I was confused and tried to convince myself I was straight. I even got married, which was the stupidest thing I've ever done." Inwardly, Raider chuckled. This was true, straight or gay. "The only good to come out of it was my son, who's eight now. She's got custody. It's a messy couple of years I'd rather not talk about, but anyway, that's how I got my name."

"Little Raider, huh? Well, Little Raider's not so little anymore." Oth.e.l.lo reached for Raider's thigh, grabbing it, rustling it firmly.

Raider smiled uneasily. He was relieved he hadn't blown his cover a split second ago and knew he mustn't cause any more suspicion by reacting negatively to the old man's fondling. To appear gay, he had to let it happen to a certain extent. He'd seen how affectionate they were with each other today at the rally, everybody kissing each other on the lips so casually. He felt Joe's raisin-skin hand on his thigh, but the old man's grip was like that of one of his gym buddies, short and to the point with no excessive roaming or lingering. When he realized this, he decided it was okay. h.e.l.l, he was almost ready to admit it was sort of flattering. "My real name's Brian," he said modestly as Joe removed his hand.

"Brian what?"

"Kincaide." Raider eyed him doubtfully. "Are you really gay, Joe?"

Oth.e.l.lo's fake right eyebrow ruffled upward. "Why do you ask that?"

"You just don't seem...something about you."

"Why else would I be here?" Is he on to me? Oth.e.l.lo wondered. But nothing in Raider's eyes said "celebrity." A look the real Oth.e.l.lo knew all too well.

Raider remembered the flamer from the meeting, Freedom, who claimed Joe was sent to ACTNOW by some f.a.g hag. Could Oth.e.l.lo be the f.a.g hag? But what the h.e.l.l was a f.a.g hag? He decided to try something. "Boy, there was a pretty interesting looking f.a.g hag here today. You know who I mean?"

"f.a.g hag? That's not very politically correct, is it?"

"Huh?"

"f.a.g hag?" Oth.e.l.lo repeated, as if his point were obvious.

Raider averted his eyes, hoping for divine inspiration. There was none. "Well, do you know who I mean?" he asked again.

"What does she look like?" Oth.e.l.lo asked, giving up on the lesson.

She, Raider noted. f.a.g hags are she's. Of course: hag. "She was just loud, that's all. Thought she might have been the one you work for."