Chapter 10
Guido Bartoni was very happy about the party. Not necessarily the way it had progressed as the way it had ended. Making love to Denise had been such a thrilling experience that he wanted to tell everyone about it but something cautioned him not to.
He nailed the white oblong card to the end of the stake and handed the hammer to Leonard. He should be getting home. It was late afternoon and time to be restocking shelves for the following day. His father insisted he be prompt where work around the store was concerned and he shouldn't remain there too long. Maybe just a couple times around the front of the administration building would be enough and he could go home.
"What are we protesting today?" he asked Leonard, "Who are we against this time?"
Leonard Felton straightened the square of cardboard on his pole and pushed a nail into the fibre. "Who cares?" he mumbled nervously. "It's ,five bucks isn't it? So long as their money is good, I've got time."
"I feel like maybe we shouldn't." Guido said. "It's like doing something against your family."
"Just holding a card up? Christ! These drips don't mean nothin' to me." Leonard couldn't get enthusiastic about anyone going to school from choice. It was like swimming with your clothes on, possible but not very desirable.
"But walking around in front of everyone! Aren't you afraid some of your friends will see you-your teachers maybe?"
"Them...." Leonard said grunting and placing the faculty on the same level as other lesser insects. "They burn me."
"How about your folks?" Guido knew Mrs. Felton was a member of the Association of Mothers and Teachers for Better Living and was a well known figure on the campus. "Won't they give you fits?"
"Not if she don't know it." Leonard replied hopefully. "They aren't due back for a couple more days." He shouldered his card and headed for the end of the line that was forming near the entrance of one of the buildings. Guido followed. Many times before, he had helped Leonard earn money this way but today something seemed to be different. The idea behind the current project bothered him. It would have to be pretty important to require the police and he knew that the man beside the car at the curb was a policeman. It was the tall man who came to see him after the affair at Dent's Wrecking Yard.
Inspector Hamilton watched the growing group of students and frowned. He was deeply irritated by the way things were beginning to shape up. Even in his own family, the flux of sensationalism was beginning to be felt and that bothered him, "Hurry up Rump." he said prodding the sergeant through the open window. "We better scout this lineup before something begins to happen."
"OK Inspector," the sergeant answered and pushed the speak button on the radio microphone. He wished strongly that his superior would take a walk along the curb so he could tell the doll on the other end of the radio phone set-up just what he wanted to tell her. He was in no hurry to have the connection broken off. His own problem was a great deal more important than a bunch of silly kids on a stupid campus.
"Honest Baby," he pleaded, hoping his party wouldn't hang up and promising to make the outcome worth her while to listen a bit longer. "I'll show you a very good time, I promise." He hoped the dispatcher wasn't listening in on the conversation. This was something he didn't want anyone else to know. Cutting into a phone patch over the car radio was the hard way to do it but he didn't have time to go look up a phone.
"Will you please?" he pleaded.
The girl gave in, more from boredom and futuility than from the promise of better things to come.
"All right," she agreed with indifference. "Pick me up at seven thirty and you can take me to dinner."
Cunicheck was delighted and about to sign off when the voice once more came over the speaker.
"Remember, Mr. Cunicheck, I didn't promise anything."
"Sure, sure, Baby," he assured her reaching for the off switch. Before he could press it, a male voice cut into the transmission.
"Remember Sergeant, she didn't promise anything...!"
"Drop Dead!" growled the sergeant replacing the mike in the cradle.
The Inspector slapped his hand on the roof of the car and headed toward the group at the building entrance. He could hear the sounds of mounting emotions and what he heard, he didn't like. He couldn't understand kids who wouldn't give in to authority or who felt they were continually being abused. Right now that was one of the sources of his irritation.
Only this morning his daughter Candy had intimated she would be joining a sit-in at Fillmore Junior College.
"Why?" the inspector had wanted to know. He was never quite able to understand his daughter, finding it necessary to look to Mrs. Hamilton for interpretation. This time, even her ability to translate was of no avail.
"We have to," his daughter explained. " ... all the kids are doing it. We have to stick up for our rights!"
The inspector viewed the mounting scene about him and wondered what he should do to soften the situation. None of these fool kids knew when they were well off. What the devil would they do if they were living in Red China or Russia. The Inspector shuddered at the picture his mind conceived.
Rump Cunicheck followed his superior across the campus toward the milling students. He was becoming increasingly attentive to the new mod fashions worn by the girl students. Never before in his life had he seen so much girl protruding from so little clothing. He grinned at the inspector and sighed.
"Isn't it amazing," observed his superior, " ... to what extent women will go to satisfy the rape urge."
"It really turns you on," admitted the sergeant.
"And when you're turned on, what can the boys do to get turned off?"
"I guess most of them do it," the sergeant said.
"There's no mystery to sex on campus any more," mused the inspector. "How can you be romantic about a girl when you've been able to sample everything she's got already. The female body is no mystery to any male student nowadays. They have an intimate knowledge of most of the girls on the campus."
"The day of the pill," the sergeant said and nodded his head in understanding agreement.
"No young men," the inspector said. "Just kids. Kids who want to romp and play and have fun fun fun."
"Jeeze!" whistled the sergeant taking in the attire of the collecting protesters. "Is there a barber's strike?"
"You're behind times," accused the inspector. "That's what young people call being Mod. You have to learn to like it."
The sergeant grimaced in disbelief. Four years in the service had caused him to miss out on some of the American trends and his introductions to the new ways of life were often rather painful.
"It isn't like it used to be, not any more." He looked sad and his eyes were hard marbles of color. "Nothing anymore but delinquents, from the moment they leave grade school."
"Lord pity us," murmured Mr. Cunicheck. "I'm sure I don't see anything over there I would vote for."
"In a few years ... who knows-ever a caterpillar changes." The inspector wiped a hand across his face as though to remove the image his mind was inspecting. "I suppose we better start letting them know we're here." He motioned toward the far end of the huge lawn area where a platform loomed above another gathering group. "You take that side. I'll be over there," he pointed toward the card carriers. "Circulate a bit and see what you can hear."
The sergeant loosened his jacket and straightened his shirt in the top of his pants. The bulge in the left arm pit drew his attention. He fingered the butt of the police reolver and adjusted it in the holster. He should have had that catch fixed so it would be more stable.
"Should I have left it in the car?" he inquired of the inspector. Inspector Hamilton moved his head in the negative. "Better keep it," he said decidedly. "Someone might see it in the car and we don't want too many temptations around.
"Yeah sure," agreed the sergeant. He inched the strap up on his shoulder and loosened the hold down loops. "There," he said rotating his shoulders, " ... that's better." He moved across the lawn toward the platform. Chasing crooks or investigating crimes he could understand, but baby sitting....
This wasn't his idea of sergeant's duty. His desire was wrapped up in a little blue eyed blonde who had just consented to go out to dinner with him and he was reasonably certain that before the night was over, he would be able to indulge in a great deal more than simply wining and dining....
"You're not listening," complained the inspector.
"Sorry," apologized the sergeant. "I was worrying about my poor Aunt Kathryn. She has to go out of town on business and there isn't anyone to stay with poor Uncle Albert...."
"How sad," commented the inspector. " ... your poor Aunt Kathryn...." and he chuckled
"Oh NO!" blurted the sergeant and started running toward the platform where a red spot appeared on the hand rail surrounding it. Something very red and very ripe had just struck it and a babble of voices rose in dissention.
"Go home you Sonofabitch, you don't belong here!" screamed the long hair in the black jacket and threw another tomato. The speaker on the platform ducked, turned to face the assailant and thumbed his nose. The group of boys and girls booed. A member of the faculty hurried to the microphone and called for attention.
"Students ... students ... STUDENTS!"
The rumble died away and for a brief moment there was a semblance of quiet.
"I want to answer the charges," declared the teacher. Mr. Bendige is unable to be here and I have consented to act in his place."
"Boooooooo!" screamed the crowd.
"STUDENTS!!!"
"Booooooooooo!"
"I will be heard!" cried the teacher. "It is an appalling situation when members of the faculty cannot be permitted to speak to the students." The grouped quieted a bit and the teacher became more encouraged. "You have come here today to present your demands but unless...."
"Go home!" screamed a voice from the gathering. The teacher paused, blanched, looked for the heckler in the crowd and then sought to continue.
"Students!" he cried into the microphone. "Listen to me ... Let us be young men and women ... students ... not a rabble! I say, not a RABBLE!"...." HOME!" hissed the boy in the long hair. "We don't want to listen to you!"
The young man on the platform who had first spoken, returned to the microphone and grasped the tip of it.
"Fellows! Fellows!" he shrilled. "We did not come here to create a nuisance. We want to speak our demands and do it in a fitting way...."
"Booooooooooo!" screamed the crowd.
"Tell them what you want," suggested the young man.
"More pussy!" cried the voice. The crowd appeared to shudder for a moment and then the rise of babbling voices started again. Guido Bartoni stood his sign on the ground and balanced it with his hand. "Let's get out of here," he said and grasped Leonard's arm. "I don't like this."
"They're just having a little fun," Leonard said moving back out of harms way. "I wish Ziggie would show up."
"I don't like it," repeated Guido. "Maybe Vic got sick from the party."
"He said he'd come," answered Leonard shifting his own sign to a more comfortable position.
Guido looked for something to lean his pole against.
"I'm tired," he said rubbing a spot on his arm. "This is turning out to be more than five bucks worth. Why don't we shuck it and go home?"
Leonard was looking toward the stage in the center lawn and the commotion around it. "I want to hear the rest of it. Besides, we should start moving pretty soon."...." seems kind of silly to me," mumbled Guido. "Besides," he looked about at the mottled group of students, " ... I don't know any of them."
"Neither do I," admitted Leonard. "I guess they were hired too."
"I wonder why?" mused Guido.
Leonard didn't answer. He was listening to the shouting kids.
"We want more freedom in the dorms!" sang out a voice below the microphone position. Guido looked toward the soruce of the voice but didn't know him either.
"Girls in our rooms until ten o'clock-no Saturday homework and automatic deferment from the draft until the final semester."
Across the lawn, the inspector was listening to the list of demands and he didn't like it either. "Girls in the dorms after ten o'clock and a baby in the home after nine months...." Kids nowadays have entirely too much freedom when it comes to sexual togetherness. The attitudes of these long haired delinquents was proving that out completely.
Victor Zigler parked the Imp by the curb and walked down the block to the gathering. He had promised to be here earlier but there had been other things to think about. The argument with his father hadn't helped the matter and the outcome of his trip downtown just now only added fuel to the fire of discontent.
As he approached the students moving about the green lawns of the campus he was deeply dis turbed by the outcome of what was happening to him. "To hell with them!" he muttered to himself. "I can get along without them, or anybody." He approached the vicinity of the raised platform while searching the sea of faces for Guido or Leonard. The pinpoints of pain at his temples seemed to enlarge with each burst of sound and didn't do a thing to improve the state of his jangled nerves. His head ached and for the first time since morning, he was beginning to wish he had stayed at home in bed.
On the platform, the young man at the microphone was calling for attention and shushing the gathering so he could be heard.
"Students, STUDENTS!" he cried in annoyance, "We must be orderly! Have your sit-in but please ... STUDENTS ... let's do it like ladies and gentlemen."
"Get that square!" screamed the voice. "He's a full fledged suckass like the rest of them!"
The face of the young man on the platform grew red and he backed away from the microphone. The faculty member tried to speak again.
The outburst of bad language bothered Rump Cunicheck. "What do we do now?" he asked the inspector. "Should we start banging a few heads?"
"For what purpose?" inquired the inspector.
"They haven't done anything yet ... except talk."
"But the language he used."
"Common everyday words; not pretty but common. You can't haul them in for that."
"What if they start their sit-in?"
"Then we drag them out," explained the inspector. "The boys first and then the girls ... just in case the girls don't follow when we get the boys."
"And if the girls don't come-then what do we do, Inspector?" The plainclothes man rubbed a nervous hand over his chin and muttered something to himself, then aloud, "I guess we pick'um up and haul'um out, just like the boys."
"How?" grunted the sergeant pushing for an explanation. He took another look at the short skirts and protruding legs. "Where do we pick them up?"
"I really don't know. I suppose we can't be fussy ... if they want everybody to see it, then they can't be too upset if we grab a fist full."
"They sure don't leave much to hang on to," reflected the sergeant.
The inspector moved across the lawn toward the buildings and a new group that was collecting along the walkways.
"It isn't them I'm most worried about," he told his partner as they neared the students. "It's them," and he nodded toward the newer group.
He was greatly disturbed by the rapidly growing numbers of this new gathering and the manner in which they were stationing themselves along the walks. It was reminiscent of the racial disturbances and he didn't want such a simple thing as a sit-in to develop into a riot. It had happened before on the campuses across the nation and he was fully aware that it could happen here. Kids are kids anywhere they collect and even though they might insist they were only to resolve differences with the faculty, it was possible for things to get out of hand until a simple gathering was something a lot more serious. It was quite obvious that there were sterner undertones below the surface of what appeared to be a class demonstration.
"You watch 'em Rump!" he directed his partner. "I'm going to call the station and get some help." He hurried to the cruiser and reached the mike through the open window. "This is Hamilton," he rasped into the instrument. "Send a couple of squads out here and tell them to bring sticks. It looks like we're in for trouble, one way or another."
He placed the microphone back on the hook and reached for a handkerchief. God, what an afternoon! Things were beginning to look pretty rough and might get worse before the shift was over.
Guido Bartoni turned the lapel button over in his hand and read the inscription on the plastic face. THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION WANTS YOU! He felt it was a little risque to be worn in public and wondered if he dared to pin it on his shirt. All around him, other kids were wearing similar buttons and it was considered a very IN thing to do. He pushed the point into the fabric above his left breast and turned to Leonard for approval.
Leonard Felton was busy watching the group by the raised platform and remained indifferent to Guido's demand for attention.
"Oh hell!" Guido said and leaned on the pole of his protest sign. The placard was getting heavy and he was tired. There was something he didn't like about the whole affair and he would rather have been home helping his dad with the shelves. Most of these kids didn't look like students, at least not the students he knew. These were older, and very rough looking. They made him feel uneasy and he fingered the heavy growth of hair at the nape of his own neck. Up to now, it had been fun to be like Victor and Leonard but now, looking at the ultimate result, he didn't like it. He pushed the long strands back from his face and rubbed his forehead to remove the moisture.
"It's awful hot!" he complained, more to himself than to Leonard. His companion heard and turned on him in disgust.
"What you expect?" he growled, " ... an air-cooled Pad?"
"Nothin' " retorted Guido and moved away from the collecting students and their forest of protest signs.
Across the lawn, Victor Zigler waved a hand in recognition and stood spread legged on the grass.
He wanted to be away from the jostling spectators so he could see the whole bit. He needed a spot where he could watch everything going on around him. He was certain that something was going to happen and didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.
"Show offs," someone grumbled and a titter ran through the group by the platform.
More voices were added to the exchange of demands between the members on the platform and the protesters around it. The signs were brandished in the air for the administration to see. END THE WAR! BRING THE BOYS HOME! BRING THE GIRLS OUT! END THE DRAFT! MAKE LOVE-NOT WAR!
"I thought this was a demonstration against too much homework." Victor said and didn't realize he had spoken aloud until a boy next to him nudged his arm.
"You a nut or somethin'!"
Victor looked into the bearded face of the heckler and took a step sidewise to leave more space between them. He was more interested in what was going on at the platform.
Beyond the sea of heads, a young man climbed up on the edge of the raised platform and hung while he turned to face the students. "Who the hell cares who's fighting!" he cries. "I want beer after ten o'clock!"
"With some doll?" someone asked.
The boy grinned and yelled back. "Why ask! Don't you know?"
The spectators tittered again and applauded.
"Man! That's for us! A Babe in every pad, a ball in every hall, a skirt with every shirt!"
"Oh Brother!" sighed Victor and rubbed at the pain behind his eyes. It was beginning to look like a very long day.
The bearded heckler was watching him intently. "What ya' weavin' Man?"
"Nothing." Victor moved further away.
"Well get this nut!" The heckler called to his companions who instantly turned on the much confused Victor.
"What's the strain Man? Don't you drag the bag?"
"Go away," Victor said. He stood confronting them now, his thumbs thrust in the top of his jeans.
"You tellin' us to split, Mac?"
Victor continued to glare at the speaker and back away. The heckler took this as a sign of weakness. He stepped forward with doubled fists.
"I asked a question, Man-you hear?"
Victor still stood his ground, then he removed the dark glasses and slipped them into a shirt pocket.
"Ain't you got a tongue, Mac?" Silence.
The beard turned to his two companions and waved his hands in aggravation. "Lookie Robe, this here jerk ain't answering no questions. Should we show him how to talk?"
"Go away." Victor said. "You make my head ache."
"Grab that!" chortled the beard. "He wants us to go away-figures this here bashup is just for him!"
"Cut it Gordie," admonished his companion. "Mother Hubbard will scream plenty if you blow this bit." The speaker gestured toward the tormentor and then turned back to face the stage.
"Go home, Bastard!" he screamed. "We can do our own choosing!"
"No more war!" screamed the beard. "Stop the war! Stop the fuzz! Stop the draft!"
"War is for Squares! We want more love!"
"Free pills for the girls."
"Oh Lord!" blurted Sergeant Cunicheck. "Are these young men what our country must depend on?"
"You better believe it," moaned Mr. Hamilton and wiped his forehead once more with the handkerchief.
Around the stage, a swaying motion was coursing through the spectators. The placards dipped, then bent forward as pressing students crushed together. A force from behind pushed them against the platform.
Cries of anguish arose above the volume of protest.
"Stop it!" A young girl cried in distress and held her stomach where she had been forced against the wooden structure of the platform. "Damn it stop!" There were other cries of pain and the circle bore backward.
The young man at the microphone held up a hand for attention. His fingers held a small rectangle of paper over the wavering flame of a cigarette lighter.
"I'll burn it," he stated to the upturned faces of the spectators. "I'll burn it and then they'll know I refuse to serve."
"Some protest."
"At least they'll know!"
The manner in which the proceedings were progressing were not as originally planned. Some students did not like the insinuations being implied.
Where did this small bunch of creeps get the idea they were speaking for them? How could one group of such a large school stand up and declare the thoughts for the entire establishment? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and they didn't like it. A shudder ran along the group and their minds seemed to function as one unit, coming to the same conclusion, deciding on the same plan of action. As a unit, they surged across the green grass, across the walkways, determined to dash against the wall of placards, banners and distasteful signs.
Poles and banners chopped downward, walls of flesh met flesh while fists drove into heads, stomachs, and beat against other parts of the anatomy. The wave of protesters fell back, the wall of signs wavered and hot tempers exploded.
"You dirty Bastards! Go home! Dirty Bastards go home...!"
Victor Zigler crouched to meet the charging wall of humanity. All his life he had been compelled to take on all comers and this seemed little different, only the numbers were larger.
He slashed wildly at the first figure, then ducked as a sign post swished by him. The splintering of wood announced a near miss and he ducked again as other attacks pummeled him. He faltered under the mass of blows, staggered and fell back before the engulfing mass.
Beside him, Gordie and the boy with the beard stood their ground, determined to show the attackers the power of the 'Dark Angels."
A fist came up fast, catching Victor below the temple and forcing him back. His ear hurt, a shooting pain erupted into his eye and his legs buckled under him.
Rump Cunicheck raced down the stretch of lawn waving his arms and looking for the inspector. The flying squads should be here by now to give assistance in containing what was fast becoming an unruly mob. He charged the onrush of students, waving his arms and shouting as loud as possible.
He charged the pack with arms outstretched in the best lineman charge, his shoulders hunched, his head low, full into the flailing fists of the tall one. He staggered backward, grasping for some sort of support. His fingers found and grasped the loose shirt of Victor and together they crumpled to the ground, rolling together. The wave of humanity piled on, gouged, crawled over, and swept on....
The sergeant stood up feeling for broken bones and wondering who had hit him. He mumbled to himself and slapped at his pants. Two squad cars screamed to a halt and the sergeant beamed as he watched them discharge their occupants.
Victor lay for a moment, stunned and bewildered, and then slowly sat up. As he moved, his fingers touched cold metal and closed on it. He stared for a short moment at the object and then with the dawn of realization, thrust the object into his pocket.
Leonard Felton loomed over him, reaching to help him to his feet. "Where you been, Ziggie? We've been waiting for you."
"Never mind," Victor said pulling his shirt out of his pants and letting it hang down over his pants. "Let's get out of here. I've got something to show you."
He started at a brisk walk across the lawn toward the Imp with his two buddies close behind. Behind them, the police were charging into the fray and confusion reigned. Farther along the curb, the sergeant settled back in the seat of the cruiser and breathed a sigh of relief. He was fearful of having suffered a strained ligament which might stop him from keeping his date tonight. That would have been very frustrating. His hand moved over his person, feeling for broken bones and then....
His mouth dropped, his eyes opened wide in sudden realization and his fingers probed deep into the empty holster.
"Oh, my God!" he blurted in consternation. "I've lost my gun!"