Bowling Green

  
                                                                BOWLING GREEN

 
   

        The sun was sinking. The fall colors raging in the Poconos were beginning to dim. “There’s the motherfucker now!”, Julianne growled. She pointed the limousine cresting a hill. "The jewel in the crown of Wall Street, CEO of UBGC, former cabinet member, former secretary of the Bilderberg Group, former minister of propaganda, money launderer for the Gulf and Sinaloa cartels, chief magistrate for the Committee of Justice after the first upheaval." 

     Charlie snarled. "More blood on his hands than a prosecutor for the Spanish Inquisition."

     They slid on their helmets and skidded their motorcycles onto the empty country road. Julianne’s sidecar bounced and rattled. The limo closed on their tail. The chauffeur tapped the horn and started to pass. Charlie swerved his bike and ditched it. The limo just missed him and rolled onto the shoulder. Julianne dismounted, threw her hands in the air and rushed to him. She began to wail. The door swung open. The chauffeur lifted himself out and looked around. His hand was in his coat pocket. He was frowning. When he stepped toward them, Julianne swung the Uzi out of her pack. She had him spread eagle and face down in a few seconds. Charlie cuffed his hands and feet and pulled the Glock out of his pocket.

     They climbed into the limo. Their target was cowering in the back seat. “What do you want?”, he whimpered. Julianne handed Charlie the Uzi. When she pulled out a set of cuffs, her jacket snapped open exposing her low-cut blouse. Suddenly the look of terror on his face disappeared. He put a hand to his mouth. “My God! Is that you, Sophie?”. He peered at his reflection in Julianne’s visor. “Oh my God, it is! Is this the surprise you mentioned last time? Who’s your friend? She’s kind of flat, could pass for a guy. Is this a three way? Oh Lord! This is the best yet!” He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms with his wrists pressed together and smiled lustily. “Beat me, fuck me, make me write bad checks!”

     Charlie and Julianne stared at each other in astonishment. Julianne slapped him. “Strip!”

     Delight lit up his eyes. “Oh, Mistress. That hurt so good!  Strip here? In the limo? Oh yes, mistress! What’s your friend’s name?” He stripped to his under pants and offered his wrists again.

     Julianne slapped him twice. “All the way!”

     “That really hurt! Oh, mistress, I’ve never heard that voice before!”

     When he was completely naked, Julianne cuffed him. He was still grinning when Charlie threw the hood over his head. They pulled him out of the limo. Julianne whispered in his ear. “We’re going to my place. I have some new equipment. You’re going to ride in the sidecar. I have a blanket for you.” She pulled out a bottle from her rucksack. “Drink some of this! It will make the ride easier!” She lifted the hood, poured a swig down his throat then tugged it back down.

     His voice was muffled under his hood. “Mistress! This is so new, so imaginative! What’s your friends name? She’s kind of butch. Is she a dyke? Are we going to see some girl-on-girl action? Where’s Thomas? Thomas! Are you in on this? This is the best yet! Don’t worry! I’ve told you about Sophie! Sophie! Make sure Thomas is OK. Thomas! I’ll call you tomorrow! Tell my wife I’m working late! Mum’s the word and there’s a bonus involved!”

     Julianne stepped back to the chauffeur and bent down to him. After a brief exchange, she opened the cuffs. He walked back to the limo shaking his head. She ran back and climbed on her bike. “Head down!”, she commanded. They revved their engines.

     “Oh, mistress!”, he hollered. “I’m feeling kind of woozy! What was in that bourbon? I feel -”

     Charlie glanced down at the unconscious thug. “We’re handed unbelievable luck and you didn’t even bat an eye!”

     “This wasn’t luck!”, she shouted. “This was divine intervention!”

     Charlie nodded. “Don’t you think we should cuff his hands behind his back just to be safe?”

     Julianne shook her head. “He’ll be out for hours!”

     The Bull at Bowling Green was waiting for them. Unfenced, defiant of the masses, it had been the center of several battles, suffered defilement during the first upheaval and lost its tail in the second occupation but the sound cannons, the laser cannons and the microwave cannons had done their job. The deafened, the blinded and the fried could do nothing now. The Bull of Wall Street stood as it had always stood, an elite middle finger offered to them all. But that middle finger was about to get a naked, particularly heinous one of its own chained to its haunches. The surveillance camera footage would be scrubbed and there would be an attempt at a cover up but the sirens and spotlights would immediately draw a crowd. Rudolf Wiss would awake to a mob of elated serviles. One thing Julianne and Charlie were certain of, the boiling rage just under the surface would erupt once again and it would start at the Bull of Bowling Green.

     It was a moonless night, and the streets were quiet. Their bikes idled at a stoplight in Midtown. They lifted their visors and went over everything for the last time. With any luck they would beat the lights and alarms. The bikes would be ditched in an alley. Their cruising outfits would be stripped off their casual attire underneath. They’d hit the servile subway to JFK just in time to make it through hacked security and board the servile air bus to San Francisco.

     Julianne stretched out her hand. “I love you, baby.”

     Charlie’s heart ached as he took it. “I love you, my doll, my everything. Theresa will be happy.”

     She squeezed his fingers. “Theresa is giggling with delight.”

     Charlie looked up. “This is for you, daughter.”

     Julianne released his hand, pressed her fingers to her lips and lifted them. “This is for you, Theresa. This is for your life cut short, the husband you never married, the children you never had.” She looked down at the slumped elite in the sidecar. “This is for our daughter you took from us, asshole. You are the trigger for the next upheaval, the final upheaval, the revolution. When you come to, you’re going to be staring up at a mob of your victims. I hope they castrate you. I hope they tear you to pieces. Slowly.” She flipped down her visor. The light changed. When they pulled up to Bowling Green, it was empty. They nodded to each other. It was time. They gunned the engines and raced toward the bull. 
     Suddenly the sidecar shook, knocking Julianne’s bike into a wobble. A hulking figure rose up and pulled off the hood. The expression on his face was vicious. He swung his cuffed hands and threw himself at Julianne. “You’re dead, you little bitch!” The bike swerved and hit a fire hydrant. They somersaulted into the air. Julianne smashed against a light pole. Rudolf Wiss landed stomach first on one of the bull’s horns.

   Charlie slammed on the brakes and ran to Julianne. When he gently pulled off her helmet, he knew her neck was broken. There was a sudden wail of sirens. Spotlights began to snap on. Charlie let out an agonized scream. He ran for the subway. The only thing that kept him going was the image of the gushers of blood pulsing down the flanks of the bull.