A Certain Justice

Except Glitsky. Glitsky knew.

He had to keep turning away to get closer – Lincoln Boulevard was closed so he came east a few blocks on Irving, then had to jag up Judah, which turned into Parnassus. Finally, he stopped a few blocks short of Stanyan – even with his siren there was no moving through the masses. He turned to Loretta, jerked open his door. 'Let's go.'

Loretta was recognized immediately, hailed and surrounded by the mostly adoring throng. They loved her, arriving at the moment when it was all coming down. Of course she was here – she'd led the charge all along…

The charisma had switched back on – her face was alive, her eyes bright. Glitsky had his badge out and did not let go of her arm as they were swept along into the heart of the crowd. 'It's Senator Wager! Out of the way! Give the woman some space! Let her by, let her by…'

As the focus of the greatest intensity became recognized, as the flow began to move in the direction of the apartment, Florio got an urgent call from Morgan on his field telephone that ordered him, Escher and three hundred other National Guard troops to mobilize in front of the building, to try and keep the courtyard clear if they could.

They had moved out double-time, beating Mohandas and the bulk of the crowd by no more than five minutes, getting deployed, breaking out their heavier gear.

Now the soldiers – helmets on, batons and riot shields up – had the place tightly surrounded, keeping the crowd back, but it was an insecure toehold. The multitude was everywhere, the air thick with shouts, screams. The blaze that had started on Divisadero had grown. Smoke from it was drifting low, blinding and acrid.

Sirens moaned in the distance.

The chant rose and fell, moving through the masses, never stopping, never losing its tenor of rage and urgency. 'We want Shea! We want Shea!'

They had been ready to get out when they started hearing the chant. Wes Farrell moved to the front window, cracked the shade, looked out, let it fall back, and then turned. 'This doesn't look too good.'

Melanie was holding Kevin's hand by the door. 'I love it when you talk like that,' she snapped at Farrell.

'The place is surrounded, Melanie. Look for yourself.'

'So now what?' from Kevin.

'Now we hope Glitsky shows up in time with the senator.'

'He is coming?' from Melanie.

'He said so.'

'And then what?' Kevin said.

They could hear the chant clearly up here. It wasn't going away.

'What about the FBI?' Melanie asked. 'I thought they were-'

'Except,' Farrell said, 'they're going on the assumption that you're armed and dangerous, so if we do hear from them, probably the first we'll know of it is they'll come shooting through this door

'God, Wes, you are a fount of good news.'

'I didn't make it,' he said, 'I'm just reporting it.'

'So what do we do?' Kevin asked for the third time.

'You want to go out there?' Wes said. 'Face that? No? Then we wait.'

Florio was looking at a sweating, breathless man in full uniform who was identifying himself as San Francisco's chief of police, Dan Rigby. He was outside the line of troops with a few of his uniformed men. Florio waved them through inside to the courtyard.

'Is Kevin Shea in this building?' Rigby was already moving, jogging to the building's entrance. 'Do we know this? Who else is here? Is the place secured?'

Inside, the lobby doors hanging open, Rigby went up to Special Agent Simms, who had just returned to the lobby and was pla

But she couldn't do that, he told her. Not now. Not without more reinforcements. It was turning into anarchy out there in a hurry. If she came out with Kevin Shea, tried to get through this mob, what did she thing was going to happen?

Simms was beside herself. How had this developed so fast, gotten away from her? She had her men with her, she had her warrant – she should just tell this local yoohoo Rigby that she was going up to make the arrest and let the chips fall. But now – after first exploding at her for not informing the SFPD of her intentions and movements – he was trying to claim some jurisdiction of his own.

'What I'm saying is that I think we've got a bigger problem than you're acknowledging,' Rigby told her. 'How the hell are you going to get him out of here if you do pick him up? You have any idea what's going on out here? Where is he anyway? We need more people here. Jesus Christ.'

The other FBI agents and the city policemen were warily circling each other in the lobby, which was also now backfilling with residents of the building. Saturday morning, everybody home and wide awake.

Simms and Rigby – the knot of authority – had to move just outside the lobby doors, into the well of the courtyard.

'He's my prisoner,' Simms said. 'Let that be my problem.'

Rigby wasn't having that. 'It's in my city. Like it or not, it's my problem. What's happening right here' – he motioned out in front of them – 'is my problem. I'm not having another lynching in one week. We try to take Kevin Shea out through this, that's what we're going to have.'

Simms caught sight of something over the crowd. 'Who the hell's that? Somebody's on top of my car!'

Rigby turned. Philip Mohandas had a bullhorn in his hands, trying to get the crowd's attention. 'Get that lunatic in here!' Rigby barked at one of his men. Then, to Florio: 'Be nice, invite him in here if you have to.'

Then something else. Another noise, a further disturbance off to the left, one of the troops ru

But before he could finish, the crowd had been pushed aside and the line had given enough to let Glitsky and Loretta Wager through.

Simms took the field telephone from her hip. She nodded, looked up at the fourth floor, said 'hold on' into the phone, spoke to Rigby. 'They're lifting the shades. My man could take them out.'

They were all assembled at the fountain in the center of the courtyard – Rigby, Simms, Mohandas and his assistants, Florio, Glitsky and Loretta Wager.

Rigby gaped in disbelief at the senator, at his lieutenant holding her arm. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'I'm here to arrest Kevin Shea,' Glitsky said.

'Like hell you are,' Simms broke in. 'He's mine.'

'You're on leave, Glitsky. Maybe you didn't get my message…'

'What's happening?' Farrell tried the shade again. 'I don't know. They're all down there at the fountain. Glitsky's made it – he's got Senator Loretta Wager with him.'

'Then why doesn't he come up here? Why don't we go down?'

'Going down is not a very good idea, Kevin. I think we better let them come up.'

The chant had ceased, at least in the forefront of the crowd. There was a restless milling, an awareness that something was happening – being decided in the center of the courtyard – and it was spreading backward into the mass.

Pulsing, waiting.

One of the uniformed cops came up to the group, then left on a run, crossing outside the line of troops, disappearing. In fitful starts, the chant would begin again, pick up, fade.

Glitsky, alone, peeled off from the group gathered at the fountain, walking slowly, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He entered the building and made his way past the federal agents and policemen and disgruntled and curious citizens that now crowded the lobby.

There were four flights and except for the first – where some of the apartment dwellers had clustered – all of them were deserted. He walked at a steady pace, turning the corners, his hands on the ba