Chapter 20: Protest 6

tell me a sweet old story 'bout love and glory and I'll tell you about a crazy old lady who peels daisies off the wallpaper and yanks wings off Monarch butterflies . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
CHAPTER 20
Gabriel’s mother’s eyes flickered then closed, the crotch of her beige maternity slacks wet and sticky with blood. Her husband, Harold, wept inconsolably for the first time since his little brother was shot to death in Chicago. Harold left the gang scene after that and devoted his life to his brother’s memory. Just last week he had made junior partner at Horowitz and Cauffman law firm. Harold thought of his brother as his wife and second child (this one unborn) died in his arms just a minute after Gabriel was taken from him.
Three austere-looking men in black suits and sunglasses followed the cops along the path they were clearing. Harold dropped his wife’s corpse and lunged at them. “You’ve killed my family! Goddamn you to--”
Agent Covington silenced Harold by seizing him by the head and beneath the jaw. Then twisted his neck till it cracked. Another corpse. Covington continued toward the Mayor.
“Shut this toilet down!”
“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth!”
Meanwhile, Gilbert and Peggy had carefully wormed their way through the bedlam scene, steering clear of skirmishes. “Hey, Mayor,” Peggy said. “Watch out--they’re coming for you.”
“Fuck’em!” he yelled back. “Tell Samantha what the pigs have done.”
From behind the Mayor Samantha shouted, “I’ve already reported it! I’m still broadcasting! Save yourselves!”
Pigeons darted overhead. Through the hard rain three globs of their white shit splattered on the Mayor’s head. He looked to the sky and cackled. Eh tu, pigeons? Then die, Mayor. When he brought his gaze back to the horizontal he found himself staring into a pale serious face. “Nice day for an apocalypse, isn’t it, Pig?”
“Don’t fuckin’ move,” Officer Jones barked, his sweet donut breath making the Mayor jerk back in disgust. The Mayor felt two hands behind him, bending his arms back, and with a quick click he was cuffed.
“Ease up,” the Mayor said. “I’m not resisting arrest. I challenge the whole swinish lot of ya to an IQ test.” The cops said nothing. “What about reading me my Miranda rights? I’m a goddamn American citi--”
“Fuck Miranda!” Agent Covington shouted from ten feet away. A group of protestors, who had witnessed the murders of Gabriel and his family, clasped hands to form a human barrier in front of the Mayor. Included in this group was a four-year-old girl holding a sign colored with smiley faces and a crudely drawn image of herself with a little lamb in her arms. In black crayon a message was written. “And a little child shall lead them . . . into the new age--Isaiah 42:17.”
Covington addressed them. “By the authority of the Office of Homeland
Security I order you to let me pass or face the consequences. The man you’re protecting is a security threat and must be detained for questioning.” Covington mechanically moved his head, scanning the line of them. The little girl’s father spoke up:
“We’re Americans engaging in our constitutional right to free assembly and free speech. That man you’re about to take into custody has broken no laws.”
“He’s incited a riot, please move aside.”
“You’ve incited a riot. You and the cops. That man hasn’t hurt anyone.”
“Code red. Step aside please, or face our justice.”
“Is this the America I risked my life for in the Gulf War? It’s beginning to look like Orwell’s 1984 to mmm--”
Agent Covington smacked his mouth so hard that the man staggered backwards into the unhappy arms of officer Zimsky. The man moaned and spat out teeth. The little girl screamed, “Daddy, daddy,” and started crying. Through her tears she looked up at the agent. “You’re a bad man, you’re a bad--”
Agent Covington grasped the girl hard around her throat, lifting her high into the air, squeezing her silent. Her little legs kicked, her baby-blue eyes rolled back in her head. With his other hand Covington seized her sign, and ripped its wooden handle viciously from her clenched fist. Blood trickled onto the grass. “You are a bad American,” he said, her terrified visage reflected in his tinted sunglasses. Then he addressed those blocking his way. “Learn well the new law, in times like these bad Americans will not be tolerated.” Then Agent Covington flicked his arm, whipping the little girl through the air and into a scuffle breaking out to his left. A cop, intent on pacifying the scuffle, set his can of pepper spray on full blast mode. He depressed the nozzle, and the stream was intersected by the
falling girl’s face. The chain of hand-clasping protestors cried out in horror, releasing their grips on each other, clearing the way for Agent Covington, who stoically proceeded to the
Mayor while ripping the girl’s sign in half.
“Shut this toilet down!”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!
Gilbert whispered to Peggy. “The authorities have lost their minds and souls. Let’s keep our mouths shut and get out of here.” Peggy nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around Gilbert’s waist. Both of their bodies were being jostled by others. Pepper spray clouds wafted through the air, stinging their eyes. They looked on as the cops shackled the Mayor’s ankles. Agent Covington towered above him, clean-shaven, poised, handsome, menacing.
“Well, well,” the Mayor said. “My little rant against your sick, cherished culture is not only worthy of arrest, but also a visit from the thought police.” Cops held him by hands and feet, and in this supine position the full brunt of the rain stung the Mayor’s face and soaked his clothes. “What’s up, homeland rent-an-agent?”
Covington cracked his fingers and centered the American flag pin on his lapel.
“Name?”
“All those I care to know call me the Mayor.” After looking to Covington for direction officers Jones and Fitzgerald yanked hard on the Mayor’s arms. “How does it feel to be pigs who can’t think?”
Agent Covington grabbed a fistful of the Mayor’s hair and positioned his face so that their eyes met, separated only by the length of their noses. “You will tell me your legally given name.”