percent. You could turn the tables and put them all out of a job on that one day. But do you know what’s going to happen instead? I do. The presidency is going to change hands, but the corruption will accelerate. Over ninety percent of those people in Congress—people who are deeper into the pockets of the lobbyists every day they spend in Washington—over ninety percent of them are going to get reelected.”
The crowd was listening intently; it seemed they weren’t at all sure if this was just another part of the show.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Noah said. “I’ll be outside waiting for a car if anyone wants to take a swing at me. To tell you the truth, I think a fist-fight might just be the perfect way to end tonight’s festivities.”
There was a smattering of tentative applause and quite a bit of murmuring from the crowd as he stepped down from the stage, grabbed his bundle of wet clothes, left some cash on his table, and headed for thedoor. He heard Danny Bailey behind him back at the mike, picking up where he’d left off earlier and doing his best to get the crowd reengaged in his message, whatever the hell it was.
Noah was nearly to the exit when he felt a hand touch his arm. He stopped and turned to see the woman who’d spoken earlier, Molly’s mother, standing there.
“That was quite a speech you gave, and on such short notice,” she said.
“Yeah,” Noah said. “I’ve got a gift. Look, I didn’t mean any disrespect—”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Her face was kind, her eyes intelligent and alight with that same inscrutable glint that had hooked him so hopelessly during his brief time in her daughter’s company. “I think we might have more in common than you realize.”
Behind him, Bailey was already midway into a spirited, modern paraphrase of a well-worn Patrick Henry speech. By the sound of it, the audience had fully recovered from Noah’s double dose of reality and was working itself into quite a lather again. Maybe it was the late hour, the evening-long buildup of alcohol and anger, or the now-obvious scattering of outsiders around the room who seemed to be acting in concert to fan the flames of the mob mentality—but whatever it was, things were getting ugly.
Noah looked around for Molly but the audience was too thick to penetrate. Two men had stationed themselves in front of the door, in a stance that implied the way to the street was about to be closed.
“Have you seen your daughter?”
“I did a few minutes ago.”
“I think we need to get out of here,” Noah said, taking the older woman by the arm. “Right now.” There was a glowing fire-exit sign on the wall to the rear of the place, and though there were probably other ways out, that seemed to be the easiest.
It was slow going. Bailey’s booming speech and the occasional roar ofthe crowd in response drowned out all of Noah’s other thoughts except one: getting outside before whatever bad thing that was surely about to happen did happen.
“Let’s stop kidding ourselves,” Bailey said. “We’ve done everything that could be done to avoid the storm that’s coming. Our voices have not been heard! The time for simply hoping for change and praying for peace is gone. If our government won’t answer our appeals and do what’s right, if they’ve forsaken their oath to defend the Constitution, then an appeal to arms and to the grace of God Almighty is all they’ve left us!
“I ask you: If not now, when? When will we ever be stronger? Next week? Next year? Will we be stronger when they’ve taken our guns away, or when a cop or a paid government thug is standing on every corner enforcing the curfew? No! I say, if war is inevitable then let it come on our terms!”
The exit door was almost in reach but Noah stopped short; there was still no sign of Molly. He’d let go of her mother as the two of them had worked their way through the wall-to-wall people, and he’d lost track of her as
The crowd was listening intently; it seemed they weren’t at all sure if this was just another part of the show.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Noah said. “I’ll be outside waiting for a car if anyone wants to take a swing at me. To tell you the truth, I think a fist-fight might just be the perfect way to end tonight’s festivities.”
There was a smattering of tentative applause and quite a bit of murmuring from the crowd as he stepped down from the stage, grabbed his bundle of wet clothes, left some cash on his table, and headed for thedoor. He heard Danny Bailey behind him back at the mike, picking up where he’d left off earlier and doing his best to get the crowd reengaged in his message, whatever the hell it was.
Noah was nearly to the exit when he felt a hand touch his arm. He stopped and turned to see the woman who’d spoken earlier, Molly’s mother, standing there.
“That was quite a speech you gave, and on such short notice,” she said.
“Yeah,” Noah said. “I’ve got a gift. Look, I didn’t mean any disrespect—”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Her face was kind, her eyes intelligent and alight with that same inscrutable glint that had hooked him so hopelessly during his brief time in her daughter’s company. “I think we might have more in common than you realize.”
Behind him, Bailey was already midway into a spirited, modern paraphrase of a well-worn Patrick Henry speech. By the sound of it, the audience had fully recovered from Noah’s double dose of reality and was working itself into quite a lather again. Maybe it was the late hour, the evening-long buildup of alcohol and anger, or the now-obvious scattering of outsiders around the room who seemed to be acting in concert to fan the flames of the mob mentality—but whatever it was, things were getting ugly.
Noah looked around for Molly but the audience was too thick to penetrate. Two men had stationed themselves in front of the door, in a stance that implied the way to the street was about to be closed.
“Have you seen your daughter?”
“I did a few minutes ago.”
“I think we need to get out of here,” Noah said, taking the older woman by the arm. “Right now.” There was a glowing fire-exit sign on the wall to the rear of the place, and though there were probably other ways out, that seemed to be the easiest.
It was slow going. Bailey’s booming speech and the occasional roar ofthe crowd in response drowned out all of Noah’s other thoughts except one: getting outside before whatever bad thing that was surely about to happen did happen.
“Let’s stop kidding ourselves,” Bailey said. “We’ve done everything that could be done to avoid the storm that’s coming. Our voices have not been heard! The time for simply hoping for change and praying for peace is gone. If our government won’t answer our appeals and do what’s right, if they’ve forsaken their oath to defend the Constitution, then an appeal to arms and to the grace of God Almighty is all they’ve left us!
“I ask you: If not now, when? When will we ever be stronger? Next week? Next year? Will we be stronger when they’ve taken our guns away, or when a cop or a paid government thug is standing on every corner enforcing the curfew? No! I say, if war is inevitable then let it come on our terms!”
The exit door was almost in reach but Noah stopped short; there was still no sign of Molly. He’d let go of her mother as the two of them had worked their way through the wall-to-wall people, and he’d lost track of her as
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