neighborhood cop. Not a secret weapon, nothing for lumpy legs to get tight-jawed about. I’m just your local policeman.”
He twitched a little bit when I mentioned the broad so I guessed she might be his old lady. I figured they probably taught sociology lA and lB in one of the local junior colleges.
“Are you the only swine they’re sending?” he asked, smiling not quite so much now which made me very happy. It’s hard even for professionals like him to stay with a smirk when he’s being rapped at where it hurts. He probably just loves everything about her, even the veiny old wheels. I decided, screw it, I was going to take the offensive with these assholes and see where it ended.
“Listen, Cochise,” I said, the cigar between my teeth, “I’m the only old pig you’re gonna see today. All the young piglets are staying in the pen. So why don’t you and old purple pins just take your Che handbooks and cut out. Let these kids have their march with no problems. And take those two dudes with the naturals along with you.” I pointed to the two black guys who were standing ten feet away watching us. “There ain’t gonna be any more cops here, and there ain’t gonna be any trouble.”
“You
are
a bit refreshing,” he said, trying to grin, but it was a crooked grin. “I was getting awfully sick of those unnatural pseudoprofessionals with their businesslike platitudes, pretending to look right through us when really they wanted to get us in the back room of some police station and beat our fucking heads in. I must say you’re refreshing. You’re truly a vicious fascist and don’t pretend to be anything else.”
Just then the mini-skirted broad walked up again. “Is he threatening you, John?” she said in a loud voice, looking over her shoulder, but the guys with the camera and mike were at the other end of the shouting line of marchers.
“Save it till they get to this end,” I said, as I now estimated her age to be closer to forty. She was a few years older than he was and the mod camouflage looked downright comical. “Want some bubble gum, little girl?” I said.
“Shut your filthy mouth,” he said, taking a step toward me. I was tight now, I wound myself up and was ready. “Stay frosty, Sitting Bull,” I smiled. “Here, have a cigar.” I offered one of my smokes, but he wheeled and walked away with old lumpy clicking along behind him.
The two black guys hadn’t moved. They too were professionals, I was positive now, but they were a different kind. If anything went down, I planned to attack those two right away. They were the ones to worry about. They both wore black plastic jackets and one wore a black cossack hat. He never took his eyes off me. He’d be the very first one I’d go after, I thought. I kept that flaky look, grinning and waving at any kid who gave me the peace sign, but I was getting less and less sure I could handle the situation. There were a couple other guys in the group that might get froggy if someone leaped, and I’ve seen what only two guys can do if they get you down and put the boots to you, let alone nine or ten.
I hated to admit it but I was beginning to wish Grant would show up with a squad of bluecoats. Still, it was a quiet demonstration, as quiet as these things go, and there was probably nothing to worry about, I thought.
The march continued as it had for a few more minutes, with the young ones yelling slogans, and then headband and mini-skirt came back with six or eight people in tow. These kids were definitely collegiate, wearing flares or bleach-streaked Levis. Some of the boys had muttonchops and moustaches, most had collar-length hair, and two of them were pretty, suntanned girls. They looked friendly enough and I gave them a nod of the head when they stopped in front of me.
One particularly scurvy-looking slimeball walked up, smiled real friendly, and whispered, “You’re a filthy, shit-eating pig.”
I smiled back and whispered, “Your mother
He twitched a little bit when I mentioned the broad so I guessed she might be his old lady. I figured they probably taught sociology lA and lB in one of the local junior colleges.
“Are you the only swine they’re sending?” he asked, smiling not quite so much now which made me very happy. It’s hard even for professionals like him to stay with a smirk when he’s being rapped at where it hurts. He probably just loves everything about her, even the veiny old wheels. I decided, screw it, I was going to take the offensive with these assholes and see where it ended.
“Listen, Cochise,” I said, the cigar between my teeth, “I’m the only old pig you’re gonna see today. All the young piglets are staying in the pen. So why don’t you and old purple pins just take your Che handbooks and cut out. Let these kids have their march with no problems. And take those two dudes with the naturals along with you.” I pointed to the two black guys who were standing ten feet away watching us. “There ain’t gonna be any more cops here, and there ain’t gonna be any trouble.”
“You
are
a bit refreshing,” he said, trying to grin, but it was a crooked grin. “I was getting awfully sick of those unnatural pseudoprofessionals with their businesslike platitudes, pretending to look right through us when really they wanted to get us in the back room of some police station and beat our fucking heads in. I must say you’re refreshing. You’re truly a vicious fascist and don’t pretend to be anything else.”
Just then the mini-skirted broad walked up again. “Is he threatening you, John?” she said in a loud voice, looking over her shoulder, but the guys with the camera and mike were at the other end of the shouting line of marchers.
“Save it till they get to this end,” I said, as I now estimated her age to be closer to forty. She was a few years older than he was and the mod camouflage looked downright comical. “Want some bubble gum, little girl?” I said.
“Shut your filthy mouth,” he said, taking a step toward me. I was tight now, I wound myself up and was ready. “Stay frosty, Sitting Bull,” I smiled. “Here, have a cigar.” I offered one of my smokes, but he wheeled and walked away with old lumpy clicking along behind him.
The two black guys hadn’t moved. They too were professionals, I was positive now, but they were a different kind. If anything went down, I planned to attack those two right away. They were the ones to worry about. They both wore black plastic jackets and one wore a black cossack hat. He never took his eyes off me. He’d be the very first one I’d go after, I thought. I kept that flaky look, grinning and waving at any kid who gave me the peace sign, but I was getting less and less sure I could handle the situation. There were a couple other guys in the group that might get froggy if someone leaped, and I’ve seen what only two guys can do if they get you down and put the boots to you, let alone nine or ten.
I hated to admit it but I was beginning to wish Grant would show up with a squad of bluecoats. Still, it was a quiet demonstration, as quiet as these things go, and there was probably nothing to worry about, I thought.
The march continued as it had for a few more minutes, with the young ones yelling slogans, and then headband and mini-skirt came back with six or eight people in tow. These kids were definitely collegiate, wearing flares or bleach-streaked Levis. Some of the boys had muttonchops and moustaches, most had collar-length hair, and two of them were pretty, suntanned girls. They looked friendly enough and I gave them a nod of the head when they stopped in front of me.
One particularly scurvy-looking slimeball walked up, smiled real friendly, and whispered, “You’re a filthy, shit-eating pig.”
I smiled back and whispered, “Your mother
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