74
Friday, March 26, 2021, 10:30 PM Eastern Daylight Time
“Did she really talk to Okomo?” the twitchy black-haired man at the bar said.
Jenna took a drink of her Cosmopolitan and nodded.
“Wow,” said Sal.
“Yeah, he said if there were any problems, like, legally, if we got in a jam or something, she should call him.”
“Holy shit,” Sal said. “An ex-President going out of his way like that. What, did he leave a card?”
“Yeah,” Jenna said. “Can I see it?”
“Nah, I don’t have it,” Jenna said. “I’m kind of the junior woman on the totem pole here.”
“But he said what exactly?”
“He said if Vaneida had any problem, that they should call him.”
“Is she a ‘they?’”
“Everyone’s a ‘they,’” Jenna said. “Didn’t you know that?”
“I’m learning a lot here,” Sal said.
“But Vaneida told him that Ice – that’s Janice – was the counsel for the organization, so he could be the backup if she wasn’t around.”
Sal laughed.
“How did he take that?”
“I think he said, ‘Perfect.’”
“What a guy,” Sal said. “So Vaneida is really covered, huh? If she gets rolled up, then this Ice lady –”
“Woman.”
“Woman gets called, but if she’s not available, then she can call Okomo, and he’ll help out? You think he would come down in person and represent her?”
Jenna swiveled her chair toward Sal and looked at him.
“I think he likes her,” Jenna said.
“Like…romantically?”
Jenna made a splattering noise with her mouth.
“No! Come on, she’s a ‘they.’”
“I thought everybody was a ‘they.’”
“No, I think he likes her as a human.”
“And he would try to bail her out.”
“I don’t know. I think so. He’s a reliable guy.”
“Okay.”
“How come you got interested in SNRM?”
“Snerm?”
“Yeah. SNRM.”
“Oh. S-N-R-M. I’m not used to calling it that. Well, I’ve been involved in some protests.”
“Oh yeah? Which ones?”
“You heard of the Battle of Seattle? The Berkeley protests? Ferguson? Charlottesville? Boston Free Speech protests?”
“Wow,” Jenna said. “Some of those were kind of violent.”
“They did get kind of physical. You never know when someone’s going to do something to set things off. I don’t mind it, honestly.”
“You don’t?”
“You have to confront violence with violence at some point,” Sal said. “Otherwise they just roll over you. To be honest, I sometimes think the Resistance could use a little more muscle.”
“Huh,” Jenna said. “We are more into nonviolence.”
“Yeah, you guys seem to have things to teach me,” Sal said. “So, I’ll follow your lead.”
“Okay,” Jenna said. “Hey barkeep,” she yelled.
“You’re not leaving?”
“Yeah,” Jenna said. “I had a long day.”
“Let me get this.”
“No. I got it.”
“Can I see you home?”
“No,” Jenna said.
“Okay,” Sal said. “Maybe I’ll see you next week.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Probably not. I’m going camping.”
“On purpose?” Sal said, laughing strangely. He noticed what to him was a familiar look of bewilderment tinged with repulsion in her eyes.
“Well, uh, have a good time,” Sal said.
Jenna left a bill on the bar, slid off her stool, put her coat on, and headed out the door.
Sal watched her leave. He finished his drink, then called for his tab. He gave the bartender a credit card, then took his phone out of his pocket and hit the Stop button on the recorder.
Terry’s gonna be pissed I approached this chick without him, Sal thought. But to hell with him. I’ve got the connection between Okomo and this group now, and I connect them both to the fake Antifa. Max and the AG will love my ass.
After a minute, the tab came back and he took the credit card receipt out to sign it. As he scrutinized it, a jolt of rage shot through him.
“Hey, pal.” He beckoned for the bartender.
“Yeah?”
“I think you double-charged me here.”
The bartender looked at the bill.
“Oh, shit. Gave you the wrong bill. Hold on.”
Sure you did, Sal thought. I ought to lay you out.
The bartender came back with a corrected bill.
“Sorry, man,” he said, and walked back to the register.
Sal thought about making a scene, then remembered Terry’s instructions: low profile.
He signed the bill, with no tip, pulled his jacket on, and strutted out the door in his accustomed jangling manner.
I gotta hit someone soon, he thought, or I’m gonna explode.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian