Wildcards

"YOU'RE THE NEW NIGGERS, JOKERS. YOU'RE THE NEW SLAVES, THE ONES

COUNTRY!" Gimli flung an arm toward the ramparts of New York. "THEY

THAT STAND TO LIVEl'" The last word was a roar and it echoed through the park, all of the jokers rising to shout with Gimli. Sondra looked out on the mass of people, speckling the lawn under the glaring sun.

They'd all come out, the jokers, pouring from the streets of Jokertown. Gargantua was there, his immense body bandaged; Marigold, Flicker, Carmen, five thousand or more like them all behind. Sondra could feel the excitement pulsing as Gimli lectured them, his own bitterness snaking out like a poison into the air, infecting them all. No, she wanted to say. No, you can't listen to him. Please. Yes, his words are full of energy and brilliance; yes, he makes you want to raise your fists and pump them skyward as you march with him. Still, can't you see that this is not the way? This is not the revolution. This is only the madness of a man. The words echoed in her mind, but she could not speak them. Gimli had caught her in his spell with the others. She could feel the are of a smile on her chapped lips, and around her the other members of the cadre were yelling. Gimli stood at the front of the dais, his arms wide as the shouts became louder and louder, as a chant began to rise from the massed throat of the crowd.

"Jokers' Rights! Jokers' Rights!"

The beat hammered at the waiting ranks of police, at the inevitable crowd of bystanders and reporters.

"Jokers' Rights! Jokers' Rights!"

Sondra heard herself saying it along with the others. Gimli jumped down from the dais, and the burly dwarf began to lead them toward the gates. The crowd began to move, a mob with no pretense of order. They spilled out of Roosevelt Park from the gates into the side streets. Taunts were shouted toward the waiting line of police. Sondra could see the flashing lights of the cruisers, could hear the drone of the trucks with the water cannon. That strange, undefinable roar she'd heard the day before was rising again, louder even than the continuing chant. Sondra hesitated, not knowing what to do. Then she ran toward Gimli, her legs aching. "Gimli," she began, but she knew the complaint was hopeless. His face was a leer of satisfaction as the protesters spilled from the park into the street. Sondra looked down toward the barricade, toward the line where the police waited.

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 gonna hurt us to wait one more day."

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.