Wildcards

Gregg was there.

He stood in front of the barricades, several officers and the secret service men with him. His shirtsleeves rolled up, his collar open and his tie loosened, he looked weary. For a moment, Sondra thought that Miller would march past the senator, but the dwarf stopped a few yards from the man-the marchers came to a ragged, uneasy halt behind him. "Get the fuck out of the way, Senator," Gimli insisted. "Get out of the way or we'll just trample you underneath with all your goddamn guards and reporters."

"Miller, this isn't the way."

"There is no other way, and I'm tired of talking about it."

"Please, let me talk just a few minutes more." Gregg waited, glancing from Gimli to Sondra, to the others of the JJS in the crowd. "I know you're bitter about what happened to the jokers' Rights plank. I know that the way the jokers have been treated in the past is disgraceful. But dammit, things are changing. I hate to counsel you to have patience, but that's what this needs."

"Time has run out, Senator," Miller said. His mouth gaped open with a grin; the crowns of his teeth were dark and pitted.

"If you go forward, you'll guarantee a riot. If you'll go back to the park, I can keep the police from interfering any further."

"And just what the hell good does that do us, Senator? We'd like to rally at Jetboy's Tomb. That's our right. We'd like to stand on the steps and talk about thirty years of pain and torment for our people. We'd like to pray for the ones who died and let everyone see by looking at us just how goddamn lucky the ones who died were. That's all-we ask for the rights that any other normal person has."

"You can do all of that in Roosevelt Park. Every one of the national papers, all the networks will cover it-that's a guarantee, as well."

"That's all you have to bargain with, Senator? It ain't much."

Gregg nodded. "I know it, and I apologize for it. All I can say is that if you'll turn your people back into the park, I'll do what I can for you, for all of you." Gregg spread his hands wide. "That's all I can offer. Please, tell me that it's enough." Sondra watched Miller's face. The shouting, the chanting continued behind their backs. She thought that the dwarf would laugh, would jeer at Gregg and push his way on past to the barricades. The dwarf shuffled bare feet on the concrete, scratched at the thatch of hair on his wide chest. He stared at Gregg with a scowl, rage in his deep-set eyes.

And then, somehow, he took a step back. Miller's gaze dropped, and the tension in the street seemed to dissolve. "All right," he said. Sondra almost laughed. There were amazed protests from the others, but Gimli swung around to them like an angry bear. "Dammit, you fucking heard me. Let's give the man a chance -one day, no more. It ain't go

With a curse, Gimli pushed his way back into the crowd, heading toward the park gates once more. Slowly, the others turned to follow. The chant began again, halfheartedly, and then died.

Sondra stared at Gregg for a long time, and he smiled at her. "Thank you," Gregg said in a quiet, tired voice. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

Sondra nodded. She could not speak to him; she was afraid that she would try to hug him, to kiss him. You're just an old crone to the man, Sondra. A joker like the rest.

How did you do it? she wanted to ask him. How did you make him listen when he'd never listen to me?

She could not frame the questions-not with that old woman's mouth, not with that old woman's voice.

Sighing, limping on swollen knees, she made her way back.

HARTMANN DEFUSES RIOT TALK WITH JJS LEADER GAINS REPRIEVE

The New York Times, July 18, 1976, special edition.

New York Daily News, July 19, 1976

The JJS rally returned to Roosevelt Park. Through the rest of the sultry day, Gimli, Sondra, and the others gave speeches. Tachyon himself appeared to address the crowd in the afternoon, and there was a strange festival atmosphere to the gathering. The jokers sat on the grassy knolls of the park, singing or talking. Picnic lunches were shared with those nearest; drinks were poured and offered. Joints could be seen making the rounds. In a sense, the rally became a spontaneous celebration of jokerhood. Even the most deformed jokers walked about openly. The celebrated masks of Jokertown, the anonymous facades behind which many of the Jokertown residents were accustomed to hide, were dropped for the time.

For most, it was a good afternoon, something to take their minds off the heat, off the paucity of their existence-you shared life with your fellows, and if your troubles seemed overwhelming, there was always someone else to look at or talk to who might make you feel that things were not quite so awful after all.

After a morning that had seemed doomed to violence and destruction, the day had turned gentle and optimistic. The mood was one of hilarity, as if some corner had been turned and the darkness was left behind. The sun no longer seemed quite so oppressive. Sondra found that her own mood was elevated. She smiled, she joked with Gimli, she hugged and sang and laughed with the rest.

Evening brought reality.

The deep shadows of Manhattan's skyscrapers slid over the park and merged. The sky went ultramarine and then stabilized as the skyglow of the city's lights held back full darkness, leaving the park in a hazy murk. The city radiated the day's heat back into twilight; there was no relief from the heat, and the air was deathly still. If anything, night seemed more oppressive than day.

Later, the police chief would point to the mayor. The mayor in turn would point to the governor, whose office would claim that no orders originated there. No one seemed certain just who had ordered the action. And later, it simply didn't matter-the night of the 18th exploded into violence. With a shout and a blare of bullhorns, the insanity began. Mounted police, followed by club-wielding lines, began to sweep the park from south to north, intending to drive the jokers onto Delancey and then back into Jokertown. The jokers, disoriented and confused at the unexpected attack and urged on by the frantic Gimli, resisted. A club-swinging melee ensued, hampered by the darkness of the park. For the police, anyone without a uniform was fair game. They ranged through the park striking anyone they could touch. Screams and cries punctuated the night. Gimli's attempt at organizing the resistance broke down quickly, and small groups of the jokers were herded toward the streets, any who turned beaten or maced. Those who fell were trampled. Sondra found herself in one of those crowds. Panting, trying to keep her balance in the jostling flight, her hands over her head to protect herself from the clubs, she managed to find temporary safety in an alley off Stanton. There, she watched as the violence spread out of the park and into the streets.

Small scenes drifted past her.

A CBS cameraman was filming as a dozen policemen on motorcycles pushed a group of jokers toward a railing that shielded the ramp of an underground parking garage across the street from Sondra. The jokers were ru