18
The Thrill of the Fourth
Our party arrives at Dixon Park. Osbert gets one over on the police. Cindy confronts Hot John. Andrus and Dogboy take the stage.
The sun went down in Dixon Park. Thousands of people poured down the walkways, past the food vendors, then out onto the grass. Posters for the annual “Freedom Concert” were pasted up everywhere. There were cops everywhere. They even had men up on horseback looking out over the crowd for any signs of trouble. If they’d concentrated on the ground instead they’d have seen the real danger in the area.
A metal grate behind the food vendors popped open. Ten pudgy fingers wrapped around the sides of the hole. Osbert pulled himself up onto the pavement. He had a leather bag on his shoulder. His outfit was a little more kitschy than his usual attire: jean shorts, a t-shirt with “Stop Looking At My Shirt!” written on it, and a big floppy white hat. He’d wanted to try and stay under the police’s radar since they’d be looking for him.
He hid behind a food truck then checked out the crowd. A policeman at ten o’clock. A policewoman at two o’clock. He pulled a small electronic speaker out of the leather bag. He’d designed it for just such an occasion. A small digital timer was strapped to the case of the speaker. Osbert hit the green button on the timer then rolled the device along the ground into the crowd.
The timer counted down from fifteen to one. When it hit zero a siren drowned out the sound of the concert. The nearby police ran to investigate the source of the sound. Osbert slipped out from behind the food truck and made his way down vendors’ row.
Mr. Horum pulled up to the delivery gate at the back of the park. A security guard tapped on his window. He rolled it down and smiled.
“Good evening, buddy,” he said.
“Name?” the security guard said.
“Horum, but we here with…” Mr. Horum gestured to Cindy, who sat in the passenger’s seat.
“WRDB, Cindy McNeil. I’m the intern,” Cindy said, waving the camera at the guard. He looked down at the list. He flipped through a few sheets then made a mark with his pencil.
“All good, go in,” he said. He went back to his station and flipped a switch.
“You right. Very super easy,” Mr. Horum said.
Cindy packed the camera back in its case as the van rolled through the gate.
“Always is when you travel with big shots, Mr. H.,” she said.
Dogboy clambered through the scaffolding that hung above the big stage they’d set up for the concert. He was moving pretty fast and didn’t want to stop, but according to his watch it was time to check in. He flipped the orange switch on the side of his walkie-talkie.
“Dogboy here,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
The radio crackled.
“Right, right,” Mr. Horum’s voice said through the cheap plastic speaker, “we almost there.”
Dogboy hit the orange button again. “Cool. I’ll see you at the end. Dogboy over and out.”
Mr. Horum pulled his van up into the grass next to the crowded fairway. He jumped out of the van and opened the side door then pulled out three metal rings.
His part in the plan was pretty simple: Don’t look suspicious and wait for Dogboy to come running. He’d decided to bring some gimmicks so he could do some street magic for the crowd like the old days with his Bala. They’d go down to the wharf on Saturdays and perform card tricks in exchange for money, food, or clothing.
He held out his arms to the people walking. “Come, watch magic trick. Come all, come one,” he said, holding the rings up over his head. A small crowd gathered.
He moved the rings back and forth through the air. He tapped them together to show they were solid. A metallic TING rang out. He collected all three rings then held them out in front of him and put his hand through the center of them. As he pulled it back out he let go of all but one of the rings, which suddenly had the other two rings attached to it. The crowd around him offered a dull spatter of applause. Mr. Horum didn’t care about the cold reception. He bowed to his audience then moved on to the next trick.
Cindy stood above the crowd in the press box, pointing her camera around to get some b-roll of the crowd they could splice in throughout the night if they had to cut away for some reason. As she did she kept her eye out for any guild member but to be honest most of the people in the crowd looked up to no good.
Kathleen ran up to her.
“You’re ready, right?” she asked.
“What’s that?” Cindy pointed at the center of Kathleen’s forehead.
“Oh my God what is it?” Kathleen asked.
“Don’t freak” Cindy said, “but there’s a huge red blotch on your forehead.
Kathleen dug through her bag.
“Don’t freak out?” she said. “Half the freaking country is going to see this thing. You know this might go national, right? Oh, oh—Gotta… sit down.” Kathleen lowered herself onto a chair. She counted between breaths. “One… two… three… four… five…”
Cindy put her hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Nobody’s going to notice. Forget about it. It’s time to go on.”
“Already?” asked Kathleen. She dabbed under her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry, I don’t know why I got so upset. I’ll see you out there.”
Cindy pulled her walkie talkie out of her pocket. “I’m clear. Ms. Evening News is having a slight panic attack. I might have five minutes before she notices anything but herself. We’re good to go.”
“I’m on my way to the nest,” came Dogboy’s voice over of the radio.
Dogboy wasn’t sure he was going to make it to “the nest,” his second lookout point. Hot John was standing on the other side of the crate he was hiding behind. He decided to hold for a couple of minutes before trying to find another route.
A stagehand rolled a cart down the hallway. Hot John stepped out in front of him then put his foot on the front of the cart to stop it. He reared back his mallet hand then hit the stagehand over the head, sending him to the ground. Hot John pulled the lanyard with an “All Access” badge from around the guy’s neck and put it around his. He grabbed the cart’s handles, looked around, then pushed it along toward the backstage area.
Now that Hot John was gone Dogboy crawled over to a rope ladder hanging from the wall and started up it.
Axle and Nuncio walked up to the street from the subway station.
“Yo,” Nuncio said, “you got any of that water left?”
“Let me check,” Axle said. He knelt down and dug around in his backpack. Nuncio’s eyes got wide. He tapped Axle on the shoulder.
“Forget the water,” he said. “We got to go. Now.”
“Chill,” said Axle. “We got plenty of time.”
“Yo, look at this.”
Axle looked up from his back pack. A group of a few dozen men pushed through the crowd. They all had weapons: clubs, knifes, Blackjacks. They swung them freely through the people as the chanted.
“For Andrus. Arrest this regression for Andrus,” they said over and over.
Axle looked at Nuncio. “Bug out,” he said. “You know the place.”
Axle and Nuncio bolted off in opposite directions as the thieves moved in.
Ned Clark paced in the wings. He took a swig of hot tea and honey from a Styrofoam cup. A stagehand walked up to him.
“One minute, Mr. Clark,” the stagehand said.
Ned took a small flask from his jacket. He offered it to the stagehand.
“I’m good, sir,” he replied.
“Suit yourself, kid.” Ned took a swig from the flask then put it back in his jacket. “They got numbers on this thing yet?” he asked.
“No, but there are about a million or so watching the live feed.”
The lights went out. The drummer at the back of the stage started in with a steady rat-a-tat. Ned picked up his microphone, took a sip of his tea, handed the cup to the stagehand, and coughed twice.
The horns kicked in on stage. The curtains opened. The spotlight bled through. Ned ran out and faced the crowd with a wink and a smile.
“Let’s get this Independence Day started, Colta City,” he yelled into the microphone.
A curtain at the back of the stage fell to reveal two large clay cannons. They pointed at the center of the stage from either side. Two red rockets shot out and passed each other in the air before exploding into little white balls of fire. A blizzard of confetti blew out into the crowd.
The thieves were scattered throughout the audience. They slowly came together like synchronized swimmers, linking arms and trapping small groups of people together.
You could only see this from above, which is why Ned Clark was so distracted. He thought the men might be some acrobatic group or something that they hadn’t told him about in rehearsal. These things happen. Ned, a true pro, went over to talk to the band so they could get to their places before he moved on.
Cindy could see them from where she was stationed too. She picked up her radio. “Dogboy. The guild is here. Repeat. The guild is here,” she said.
Silence. Cindy considered she’d given away his location, but she hoped he was smart enough to turn the thing off when there were people around.
“Gotcha. Waiting on the big hen. Dogboy over and out,” Dogboy said.
Well, she thought, nothing to do but sit here and wait for the real fireworks to start.
She picked up her camera and looked through the viewfinder. There was a man in a floppy white hat moving through the crowd. Cindy thought he looked familiar, but she put it out of her head and tried to find the “big hen.” She looked back at him after a moment. He was approaching the police barricade. She knew she knew him. She just had to figure out how.
Osbert approached the barricade holding his small leather bag close to his chest. He waved at the policewoman standing in front of the sawhorse barricades. Her badge identified her as Officer Link.
“Pardon me, Officer… Link, is it?” Osbert said.
She put her hand down by her gun. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
“I wonder if I might pass through the barricade here. My group is waiting for me on the other side. See?” Osbert pointed across the way. Hot John stood there. He waved at Osbert. Osbert waved back. “One second,” he shouted. He turned back to the officer. “That’s my brother-in-law over there. God love him but family’s family, right?”
The officer looked into Osbert’s eyes. She walked over and moved one of the sawhorses out of the way then motioned Osbert through.
“Go along, sir. No stops along the way though. I’ll be watching,” she said.
Osbert tipped his hat to her as he passed. “My dear lady,” he said, “I wouldn’t dare.”
Back on stage Ned Clark was in full-on presenter mode.
“Now we can’t forget the real reason we’re all here tonight,” he said as he pulled a stack of index cards from his jacket pocket. “Kleinfelder’s syndrome is a disease that affects one out of every thousand men—”
Dogboy listened to the impassioned and well-rehearsed speech from the catwalk high above the stage. Now that the curtains were drawn and the set pieces were lowered it was basically a ghost town up there, and that suited Dogboy just fine.
His walkie talkie chirped and he pulled it off his belt.
“Dogboy,” he said. “Go ahead.”
Cindy’s voice came through the walkie talkie. “I figured it out,” she said proudly.
“Figured what out?” Dogboy asked.
“There’s this guy. It’s that dweeby guy that took you. He’s here, and they just let him into the police area.”
“Osbert,” Dogboy said. “What’s he doing down there?”
“Walking,” she said.
“Well, keep an eye on him. He’s not who we need to worry about. Dogboy over and out.”
“Wait,” she said. “Shouldn’t you… you know… catch the bad guy?”
Dogboy counted to ten then hit the button on the radio. “Wait for the hen to fly. Dogboy over and out.”
“Fine, I’ll just go catch him myself,” she said.
“Cindy. Do not move. I need you right where you are. We discussed this.”
No reply.
“Cindy?” he said again.
No reply.
What did she think she was doing? Still, she was right. Dogboy didn’t want any of the thieves leaving the park unless it was in a paddy wagon. He decided to flash forward and make sure she’d be okay.
First, he took a handkerchief and held it under his nose. He laid back on the platform; hoping staying low would keep him from falling off if things got weird again. He focused on his breathing. An orange flash—
It was quicker this time. Ambulances pulled into police area. Everything was on fire. There were a few police vans turned on their side, doors open. There were people—
Dogboy snapped back. He felt fine. No headache. No nosebleed. He felt great actually, but it wasn’t the time for celebrating.
The police area in his vision, the one where Osbert and Cindy were both heading, was only a few hundred feet away.
A few minutes later Officer Link stood at her post. Dogboy moved along the tree line until he got past her. He crept up the gravel driveway. Every step made a crunching sound that made his heart jump a little each time.
Something grabbed Dogboy’s head from behind. Not just his face or his scalp but his whole head. He felt his feet leave the ground. It was Hot John, who was staring back at Dogboy as he held him in the air.
“Andrus said you might be poking around,” Hot John said. “Bet he’ll be glad I got you before you could cause any trouble.”
“He’s not who you have to worry about, bright eyes,” said Cindy from behind them. Hot John whipped his head around to look at her. Dogboy decked him. Hot John lost his grip and Dogboy fell to the ground. He grabbed Cindy’s hand and they ran away from the dazed dimwit.
“Thanks,” Dogboy said.
“What do we do now?” Cindy asked.
“The plan,” Dogboy said. “Please get back up there and radio me as soon as you see the big hen.”
“You’re lucky you’re a superhero,” Cindy said. “I don’t let most people boss me around, especially if I have to save their butts all the time.”
“I know,” Dogboy said, “you saved my butt. Awesome. Now go!”
They both split up. Cindy headed back toward the press box, while Dogboy went to investigate the parking area a little closer. He leaned down to look under a jeep.
Hot John jumped out from behind the jeep. “Why ain’t you quit yet?” Hot John asked. “I’ve done beat you up twice now.”
“I guess I don’t know when to lay down,” Dogboy said. “It’s a problem. Maybe I should—” Flash forward. Hot John brings the mallet down on Dogboy’s head, knocking him out. Another flash—
Hot John swung the mallet toward Dogboy hard and fast. He moved his head out of the way as the mallet grazed his shoulder. More than grazed, it seemed. Dogboy looked at his shoulder. He waivered. His knees hit the dirt. Then his chest. Then his head. Hot John leaned over him. The band continued on stage.
Osbert peeked out from behind the police vans. “Do be careful, Jonathan. He is a wily one.” He put his pouch on the ground then pushed it under the van with his foot.
“Jonathan, congratulations. We’ve already won. Move. Quick. And take him with you.”
Osbert wandered back down the trail to the barricade. He tipped his hat to Officer Link. “They went around,” he said with a shrug. She smiled at him and moved the sawhorse. He wiggled through then made his way through the crowd and as far away from the police area as possible.
Back on stage, Ned Clark bopped his head to the beat as the band played the last few bars of their jazzy rendition of “Grand Old Flag.” He ran to the front of the stage and held up his hands. The crowd cheered.
“Give it up for the Colta City Big Blues Band,” he said, “and phone lines are open, people. But first, here to cool everybody down on this hot July evening, please welcome the mind-blowing—Colta City’s own—Liquid Dynamite!”
“I’m afraid there’s been a change in the lineup,” said a voice over the P.A. Andrus appeared, shoulders back, cape billowing behind him. He put his arm around a confused Ned Clark.
“Colta City,” he said, “tonight we make history.”
Sergeant Martin tapped Officer Link on the shoulder.
“Did I see you let a guy come through here?” the sergeant asked.
“Yeah, Sarge. He was cool. Just some lost guy looking for his family,” she replied.
“Link,” Martin said, “do you know why we call this a closed area?”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because it darn well needs to stay closed, Link! Do you understand?”
“Sorry, sir,” Link said.
“One: You’re off duty as of now. Two: On your way out have them send a team of men in here to sweep the area. Three…”
A sound like thunder drowned him out. Cars exploded. People screamed. Fires burned.
Hot John ran through the crowd with Dogboy slung over his shoulder. He breathed in the inky smoke that filled the air around him. Hot John rolled his shoulders and pushed past all the slow pokes.
As he passed a streetlight Dogboy reached out and grabbed it, holding on as tight as he could. He slipped out of Hot John’s grip, did a flip in the air, and landed upright a few feet away. Hot John kept going and tumbled into a garbage can head first.
An old man watched from a park bench. Dogboy noticed him and waved.
“Should I move?” the old man asked.
“Don’t worry, sir. I think he’ll keep,” Dogboy said. “But now I need to get back before the bad guy shows up.”
The old man lifted his finger and pointed up at the stage. “If that’s him then you’re too late, son.”
Andrus stood in the center of the stage, pushing his foot into Ned Clark’s neck.
“Oh crap,” Dogboy said.
“Do you have anything else you want to say to your fans?” Andrus asked. He held the microphone up to Ned’s face.
“No, sir, you go ahead,” Ned said.
Andrus took his foot off Ned’s throat then turned out to the crowd.
“My friends… my neighbors… my people… don’t panic,” he said. “I’m not here to scare you. Trust me. I know everyone here. Even if we’ve never met or talked I know who you are. You all have fears: the fear of death, the fear of the unknown, the fear of your own failures. You work and study and scrimp and save and look to a day when you won’t have to fear anything. Yet we’re all still afraid.”
Dozens of thieves rushed the security guards in front of the stage. They drew their weapons and used them, capturing the guards and forming a human wall at the front of the stage.
“I offer everyone here and everyone watching at home an opportunity. The promises that the new millennium held are vanishing with astonishing rapidity. We are here to steer the world away from this dark path. We walk amongst you in the city. We are you. If you’ve ever counted yourself among the downtrodden or the overlooked you belong with us. Don’t fear people who are more powerful than you. Join us and fight them. We are the new order. We are the revolution. We are all members of the Guild of Thieves and we are all are needed. Who’s with us?”
By now the thieves had broken the entire crowd up into small, controlled groups. A man hugged his wife and newborn baby boy to protect them as everybody pressed in tighter.
“This is our world now,” Andrus said. “We exist without nationality, without skin color, without judgment. They may stop one of us, but they can never stop us all. We will win this. Shouldn’t you side with the winners? Or do you want to be remembered as traitors?”
Dogboy jumped out from behind the drummer. “Hey, mister,” he said, “can I be in your super-secret club?”
“So sorry, folks,” Andrus said, “a disgruntled ex-member. This shouldn’t take long.”
Mr. Horum juggled some crystal balls while he watched Dogboy on the stage. He wanted to help his friend, but he’d promised he’d stay with the van until he got the call. Mr. Horum wasn’t a man who went around breaking promises.
Osbert walked by and stopped to the old man juggle.
“You’re quite good at that, sir,” he said. “Where did you study?”
“I learn on streets. Best school there is,” Mr. Horum said.
“That’s debatable, but it certainly did the job for you.” Osbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar, which he threw in the padded carrying case sitting next to Mr. Horum.
“Have a good night,” he said.
“You leave?” Mr. Horum asked. “Good idea, buddy. Things get bad in there, you betcha.”
Osbert smiled and tipped his hat to Mr. Horum.
“I assure you, sir. They already have.”
Andrus held Dogboy down on the stage.
“You stupid child,” he said, “look around you. I have an army. What do you have?” Andrus slapped Dogboy across the face. “You are less than… Loyal, brave, selfless, and dumb… just like a dog.”
Dogboy brought his knee up into Andrus’s stomach. Andrus flew back onto the ground. He pulled the cap off the end of his cane off and waved the blade in Dogboy’s direction.
Dogboy rolled out of the way. He took out a length of trick rope and swung it around his head. Andrus advanced with his cane.
“Oh, a rope. How precious,” Andrus said. “Is that another one of Daddy’s little tricks?”
Dogboy bristled at the mention of his father. How did Andrus know about him? Dogboy didn’t recall mentioning him, but he could have. Enough. He could get answers later. He threw the rope at Andrus.
The rope hit Andrus square in the jaw then wrapped around his head. It quickly tightened around his mask. He fell to his knees. It squeezed his windpipe shut. He couldn’t breathe.
“Pretty neat trick, huh?” Dogboy said. He walked over to Andrus, pushed his foot into Andrus’s shoulder, then kicked him over and onto the floor of the stage. The crowd cheered.
Dogboy could get used to this.
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