@check presidents’ day – 23rd or
???
39) Saturday, February 22nd: Dusk – “Peepin’
Eyes and Harley’s Peeps!”
Trent Lockett was, in fact, on hand at Nakonset
Park as attendance at the evening’s rally swelled from the hundreds to, as
sundown approached, thousands. Even
without broadcast television, media coverage of Friday’s gathering and the
resulting violence and deaths of Swee’ Pea Tarleton
and five others ensured that an enthusiastic, if occasionally misinformed,
crowd quickly gathered… observed warily by Westy
Soames and Rev. Godwin, while a rapper entertained the turnout…
Godwin lurked
behind the stage, almost tiny in the big, oversized coat which only an elderly
few knew had belonged to his famous father.
“Don’t know where I’d be without those ladies of the church, on the
phone all day…
“Auntie said if
she couldn’t watch the white folks play golf, Saturday afternoon, she might as
well be makin’ calls, too…”
“I didn’t know
Miz Lottie followed the golf,” Godwin frowned.
“She
doesn’t. Not since Tiger fell down that
mountain... waitin’ on his boy to grow up, I
figure...”
And then Westy started - looking through the busy, moving crowd; he
caught a glimpse of Slim and Easy staring back at him… but, then, they were
gone. Lockett, anonymous in old clothes
today, manifested behind the stage… promptly intercepted by Lieutenant Haberty, the local police officer placed in charge (once it
had been deemed advisable not to send Captain Irons or, indeed, any of the
previous night’s participants back in any official capacity, although Screaming
Eagles were rumoured to be lurking, the black ones,
mostly).
Haberty was a notorious bully, but also an amateur
comedian. “You got the wrong show, boys,
million mule march starts on the other
side of the park…”
“He’s alright,”
Godwin extended a protective arm.
“Your delegate
from the homeless community?” Haberty snickered, but
let the FCC researcher go, shaking his head with disdain.
“Dressing down?”
the clergyman needled Trent.
“Lotta heat
around.” Not only had the FCC researcher
changed and downgraded his threads, his voice now markedly differed from that
of the deferential salaryman in his cubicle.
“Not so much around here but up a ways… people
are watching, takin’ notes…”
“If they just watchin’, that’s OK.
More eyes out, the better,” Westy said, “…they
ain’t gonna risk another buncha killings like yesterday. See that bunch?” he pointed. “Australian
TV…”
“How’s that boy’s
family doing?” Lockett asked, now. “I’da come to service if I thought it would help, but I coulda be more trouble than I’m worth, now…”
“Peepin’ eyes…” Westy muttered.
“Everywhere I
go…”
“Swee’ Pea’s mama made it to Mt. Zion, but she was already
high,” the Reverend shook his head, “…people takin’ care of the other kids.”
“Bastards!” Westy presumed that
the researcher meant the police who’d killed the Tarleton boy. “Well, anytime you want… let me do my thing
an’ disappear…”
“Will you be
marching with us, Brother Soames…” inquired Godwin, somewhat too eagerly. Westy spat.
“Not to be
critical,” he said, “but you wanna mind not already
getting’ a big head on you, like all them NCAA folks you see on television…”
“That’s the
NAACP, my man, and they are after
me. So are the local Congressman, some
people from the other churches, people from government groups I never heard
of…”
“The ones you gotta watch out for,” Lockett warned.
“Yeah, well, it’s
in the blood,” said the minister, trying to imagine himself swelling to fill
out the big coat, then shriveling again like a shot Giga Plex balloon. “Some are called to the struggle, and some
just ain’t.”
“Well I’m still called to some shopping to take care of… get out
to Giga-Plex an’ struggle with the crowds there ‘fore they sell out of them
conversion machines and, since it’s on the way, we’ll hook up…
“Don’t worry, the
community will catch up with you…” Godwin waved.
After scanning
the crowd, Soames looked back at the people’s hero. “Lotsa Nation out
there, freelance thugz… maybe the community decides
to do a little shoppin’ too…”
“What’s that mean?” Godwin frowned
But General
Westmoreland Soames had already pulled his watchcap
down against the drizzle, waved and disappeared into the throng.
¾ ¾ ¾
The President of the United States had had a headache, having
listened to Harley Yunis, Fred Faubourg, Vice-President Rivers and former
Congressman Paul Gomez from Homeland Security tag on and off, insisting that
the response to MHDTV transition would be a short-lived spasm, stoked by a
criminal, possibly terrorist element.
The neophyte advisers, Beavis and Butt-head... exhumed from the Trump
administration... were providing little help, even the Presidential Family seemed
at a loss for words.
“Alright, if
there is a foreign element behind this, this goddam… television… flareup,” the
President suggested, “why don’t we just send a bunch of Marines up to
“Because it’s
already a media circus,” Yunis chafed.
“We can’t beat up the Good Morning America and Nightline people the way
that they do there in Russia and China... besides, that fat football player
with the funny teeth is a hero. Went up into space...”
“And because… ah…
some of those people are legitimately angry,” Gomez reminded the Chief
Executive, “already worse than in
And it was at
this juncture that Butt-head decided to propose a way out. “It was under the prior administration, and
the prior Commission… wasn’t it Harley?”
he added, smartly, “…that the broadcasters chose to make more information
available only over their modulated websites?
That, of course, people who can’t afford cable, or satellite… or the
Ultra-High… well, of course they’re not on the Internet, either, but we’re not to blame…”
The Presidential
spouse put both elbows on the table, the better to watch the Chairman spin for
his job…
“Damn straight,” Yunis slapped the table and giving POTUS a
crafty glance. “It’s on the other
party. Since we can’t expect help from
the fake news and fake television Socialists - now if someone would just make
that clear to all those fat junkies on the talk radio programs to mobilize our
base into taking to the streets too…”
And Fred Faubourg coughed – the Chairman shutting up, tight as a
clam. “It may have been a public policy
choice to make the new spectra available, but moving the Superbowl… well, that
was a business decision. Any responsibility
for backlash falls on the NFL… in the legal sense,” he modulated his sentiments,
“and on acts of God and the weather.
Well it may also just be none of my business, but what about the police
officer who was killed? Can’t we
mobilize the blue fl... uh, the blue wave?
Don’t the police have rights, too?” the lobbyist appealed, and the
President looked to his quaking advisers.
Beavis finally
spoke up. “There is going to be a
massive turnout for the officer’s funeral on Monday – the fact that it’s
Presidents Day should make it a really big show…”
An awkward
silence ensued and then Faubourg said, more gently than he would have wished, “President’s
Day was last Saturday…
“Well that sucks,”
Beavis said, “nobody told me I coulda had
the day off…”
“Am I to have a part
in this circus?” the President asked his daughter, deciding not to remind his
obtuse, but connected aide that the terrorists’ threats and activites
had scotched days off for everybody.
“Probably not a good idea,” Butt-Head countered. “The Attorney General is ready to step in…
polling on this, and we’re not finished yet, might have to send Homeland
Security… but we’re getting an indication that, since you did not attend that boy’s funeral this
morning, favoritism might be implied…”
“I didn’t attend,” the President replied, icily, “because the
Secret Service told me it would be neither safe, nor secret out there. And nobody
told me they were rushing the process…”
“That Godwin,” Butt-Head shook his head, “…he knew he could
score points off this by making sure you didn’t
know…”
“Who is that fuck, anyway… he wasn’t even on Homeland Security’s
radar…” Paul Gomez complained. He’d been
brought into HomeSec as General Kelly’s point man on
immigration, having risen through the ranks of three succeeding regimes; a
former Texas legislator appointed to his ninety-one percent Democratic district
outside Laredo by the Governor after the untimely death of the incumbent so, of
course, doomed to half a term in which he could do as much damage as possible
and boost himself up on the short list towards DHA Director. Being an enthusiastic supporter of the Wall,
he’d acquired the nickname “Goose” from his constituency, a shortening of the
word “gusano” – which term for “worm” was also used to
designate a traitor.
“Chase knows him,” said the First Son-in-law... and when
Faubourg looked doubly puzzled, added, “Councilman for that part of the city,
up there. Little man, big ambitions…
Godwin, I mean, Chase is alright. Nate
Godwin, his father, used to run First
“Little man, big splat!… when we’re
finished with him. I guarantee you…
Ellsworth Godwin is on our radar now and in the running for a one way ticket to
Git’mo. Among
others…”
Wincing, the President turned to Chairman Yunis. “Are you even aware that they’re marching on your research facility tonight? I can have Govenor Berelson divert a couple hundred National Guard…”
Yunis waved the offer off.
“We’re covered. The Screaming
Eagles will handle it…”
“Them?” exclaimed the President’s Vice. “They got kicked out of
The President’s
phone buzzed, cutting off his tirade; the Chief Executive barking an
exasperated “What!” into the line before falling silent, even nodding. Cupping the mouthpiece, the President
whispered…
“Ray Werbele! Another
damn piece of the puzzle.” To the
ex-Senator, the Commander-in-Chief extended a jolly greeting. “Ray!
Hey Ray… old pal… you still taking that little ol junket to Peru next
week? Great fishing down there, so I’m
told… uh huh? Uh huh…”
As the Chief Executive’s tone experienced a subtle change,
evidenced by grunts and nods, the visitors leaned forward with anxious
expressions the Vice attempted to dispel…
“That Ray,” the former Congressman reminisced, “what a
card! I ever tell you about the time
when… perk up, Fred, we need your money…”
Harley Yunis
lifted a finger, opening his own cellphone as the President listened to the
former Senator and mumbled noncommittal commiserations…
“Alright if I talk to my people?” the Chairman asked. “My, uh… peeps?”
President Rivers frowned, silently mouthing the word “revolution”…
¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾
VISIT THESE OTHER GENERISIS SERIAL ABOMINATIONS…