Read Online Salvation Boulevard by Larry Beinhart - Free Book Online Page B

unofficial audit. And if a professor unofficially approves an unofficial auditor, then we ignore it.”
    â€œSo there was a girl called ‘N.’—we don’t actually know her name, first or last—taking his course, one of his courses?”
    â€œYes, I think. Just the one. Religion and Philosophy 342.”
    â€œThe same as Ahmad?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo, he should know her?”
    â€œMore than know her, I should think,” Esther said. “The few times I saw them together, the way he was looking at her . . . . ”
    â€œSo he liked her, and she liked Nate, is that it?”
    â€œOh dear, what have I said?”

12
    Troopers were lined up in front of the courthouse. They wore helmets and shields and had their game faces on. The city had their SWAT teams deployed, plus regular officers guarding the flanks of the building and plainclothes people in the crowd. There were camera crews from the three network affiliates and two of the independents, plus national crews from CNN, Fox News, and Al-Jazeera.
    The troopers were trying to keep the different camps of demonstrators separated. One side wanted a regular trial, in the state court, open to the public. Most of them were visibly liberal types, from the university, the Unitarian Church, and the bookstores. On another day, they’d be lined up to see the new Michael Moore movie or rallying to save a failing health food store. Their signs read, “No Torture,” “No Gitmos Here,” “Fight the Fascists.”
    We have some Muslims around. I expected to see at least a few of them out there, but there were none. Keeping their heads down.
    The other side was mostly clean-cut types, the kind of people who also showed up at pro-life demonstrations, with a sprinkling of longhaired country music patriots. Their signs read, “Save Civilization, Send Him to Gitmo,” “Stop Islamo-Facism,” “The War We Have to Win,” and “First, Kill All the Lawyers.”
    The two sides snarled at each other and hurled epithets.

    The first physical incident was an attack on the Al-Jazeera news team. A group charged them and grabbed the camera, which they smashed on the ground. They piled on top of the cameraman, and someone tried to shove the broken parts of the camera into his mouth, screaming “Eat this, you rag-head animal. Eat this!” He suffered a concussion, a torn lip, and a broken tooth. And half of his ear was either torn or bitten off. They also attacked the reporter, grabbing him by his tie and his jacket. He was very lucky. It was a clip-on tie, and it came right off. The reporter pulled himself free of his jacket and scrambled along the sidewalk to safety behind the troopers.
    Things were settling down when Manny and I drove up in his Mercedes. Suddenly things came flying from the crowd, fruit and stones and who knows what—bam, splat, bam—they hit the hood and the roof.
    â€œThe motherfuckers! My car, my beautiful car!”
    Clang. Sploosh. Bam. Eggs, apples, and tomatoes along with the rocks. We’re a modern city. Our streets are paved. There are no loose stones lying about on River Street between Fourth and Fifth. Nor is there a handy farmer’s market. The crowd had come with supplies. This had been preplanned.
    The police didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Bop, thwop, crack!
    â€œMotherfucking police aren’t doing anything about it,” Manny yelled.
    We seemed to be safe inside the vehicle. But I wouldn’t want to be the one getting the bill from the body shop. Almost every panel was taking a hit. The damage was certain to be in five figures. And no matter how good the body shop that did the repairs would be, Manny’s baby would never be a virgin again. She would be tarnished forever, and Manny was practically in tears.
    â€œIt’s just a car,” I said inanely.
    â€œJust a car? Just a car? Do you want a lecture on German