door open, and a man in a wheelchair looking out at the park—and at her , Letty thought. Just a spark, an impression, their eyes clicking, and then he was gone.
“How old are you?” the woman asked.
“Almost fifteen.”
“And you work for a TV station?” She was both amused and skeptical.
“I’ve got an in,” Letty said. “See, my dad had a baby with this woman . . .”
* * *
LUCAS WORE faded jeans and a khaki military-style shirt rolled up to the elbows. He had a plastic credentials case strung around his neck like a baggage tag, one side with a yellow Session 1 Limited Access tag, the other side with a BCA identification card. Though he was still self-conscious about the camera resting against his chest, and the second one hanging off his shoulder, and the beat-up Domke bag, nobody was giving him a second look. He took a couple of crowd shots, trying to look bored.
And he was bored. The convention was the biggest single cop-action in the Twin Cities’ history, and he was out of it, part of the crowd, and the crowd wasn’t doing much. Letty was supposed to be around here somewhere . . .
* * *
“HEY, DAD! DAD!”
Letty was there, under a spreading elm tree, waving. He smiled and headed over. She had a couple of credentials hung on an elastic string around her neck, like his. She was standing next to an orange nylon tent, where a young woman in a tired blue blouse and blue-jean shorts sat on a blanket next to a baby in a papoose sling.
The woman went straight for his liver: “Are you a cop?”
He tried for a wry smile: “Do I look like a cop?”
“Yup.” She wrinkled her nose, being funny about it, but the question was serious. Letty broke it up with, “Did you see John and Jeff? They were going to give me a ride over to the convention center.”
“What are they doing here?” Lucas asked.
“Just looking around. They got a car . . .”
“Letty . . .”
“I know, I know. They’re okay,” she said.
“I know exactly what they’re like, because they’re exactly like I was,” Lucas said.
“Dad, I can handle them, all right?” Fists on her hips.
“All right. Be careful,” he said. He looked around. “Wasn’t a march supposed to go off five minutes ago? I need some street stuff.”
The woman with the baby now had bought the cameras. She said, “Nothing is on time. These people couldn’t organize a phone call. My husband said he’d be back in five minutes and he’s been gone two hours.”
“Yeah? He’s a marcher?” Lucas asked.
“Anarchist,” she said. “Or anti-Christ. One of the two. I can’t keep them straight.”
Letty laughed and said, “I gotta get a camera in here . . . Hey, there they are.” She waved across the hillside at two gangling teenage boys, brothers, both with braces on their teeth. One of them, the older one, was a wicked street basketball player, and had nearly taken it to Lucas at the hoop mounted on Lucas’s own garage. Lucas generally approved of them, but they were looking. He knew it, and they knew he knew it, and so were careful. “Take it easy,” he said.
“Yeah . . . could I get ten dollars?” Letty asked.
“I suppose . . .”
She said quickly, “Twenty would be better.”
He gave her a twenty and she was gone.
“Nice girl,” said the woman with the baby.
“That sun is nasty,” Lucas said. “Is the kid okay?”
“The kid’s fine, but he’s sucking the life out of me,” she said. “I desperately need a cheeseburger and Mark’s got the money.”
“I could float you a cheeseburger loan,” Lucas offered.
She stood up and dusted off the seat of her shorts: “I accept. I’m really starving. Who do you shoot for . . . ?”
“BCA,” he said, and she nodded, and Lucas asked, “Too quiet. I’d like to see a little life in the crowd.”
“Too hot,” she said. Speaking as an old riot professional: “Basic rule of riots: you don’t have riots when it’s too hot. People get all pukey. Gotta wait until the
“How old are you?” the woman asked.
“Almost fifteen.”
“And you work for a TV station?” She was both amused and skeptical.
“I’ve got an in,” Letty said. “See, my dad had a baby with this woman . . .”
* * *
LUCAS WORE faded jeans and a khaki military-style shirt rolled up to the elbows. He had a plastic credentials case strung around his neck like a baggage tag, one side with a yellow Session 1 Limited Access tag, the other side with a BCA identification card. Though he was still self-conscious about the camera resting against his chest, and the second one hanging off his shoulder, and the beat-up Domke bag, nobody was giving him a second look. He took a couple of crowd shots, trying to look bored.
And he was bored. The convention was the biggest single cop-action in the Twin Cities’ history, and he was out of it, part of the crowd, and the crowd wasn’t doing much. Letty was supposed to be around here somewhere . . .
* * *
“HEY, DAD! DAD!”
Letty was there, under a spreading elm tree, waving. He smiled and headed over. She had a couple of credentials hung on an elastic string around her neck, like his. She was standing next to an orange nylon tent, where a young woman in a tired blue blouse and blue-jean shorts sat on a blanket next to a baby in a papoose sling.
The woman went straight for his liver: “Are you a cop?”
He tried for a wry smile: “Do I look like a cop?”
“Yup.” She wrinkled her nose, being funny about it, but the question was serious. Letty broke it up with, “Did you see John and Jeff? They were going to give me a ride over to the convention center.”
“What are they doing here?” Lucas asked.
“Just looking around. They got a car . . .”
“Letty . . .”
“I know, I know. They’re okay,” she said.
“I know exactly what they’re like, because they’re exactly like I was,” Lucas said.
“Dad, I can handle them, all right?” Fists on her hips.
“All right. Be careful,” he said. He looked around. “Wasn’t a march supposed to go off five minutes ago? I need some street stuff.”
The woman with the baby now had bought the cameras. She said, “Nothing is on time. These people couldn’t organize a phone call. My husband said he’d be back in five minutes and he’s been gone two hours.”
“Yeah? He’s a marcher?” Lucas asked.
“Anarchist,” she said. “Or anti-Christ. One of the two. I can’t keep them straight.”
Letty laughed and said, “I gotta get a camera in here . . . Hey, there they are.” She waved across the hillside at two gangling teenage boys, brothers, both with braces on their teeth. One of them, the older one, was a wicked street basketball player, and had nearly taken it to Lucas at the hoop mounted on Lucas’s own garage. Lucas generally approved of them, but they were looking. He knew it, and they knew he knew it, and so were careful. “Take it easy,” he said.
“Yeah . . . could I get ten dollars?” Letty asked.
“I suppose . . .”
She said quickly, “Twenty would be better.”
He gave her a twenty and she was gone.
“Nice girl,” said the woman with the baby.
“That sun is nasty,” Lucas said. “Is the kid okay?”
“The kid’s fine, but he’s sucking the life out of me,” she said. “I desperately need a cheeseburger and Mark’s got the money.”
“I could float you a cheeseburger loan,” Lucas offered.
She stood up and dusted off the seat of her shorts: “I accept. I’m really starving. Who do you shoot for . . . ?”
“BCA,” he said, and she nodded, and Lucas asked, “Too quiet. I’d like to see a little life in the crowd.”
“Too hot,” she said. Speaking as an old riot professional: “Basic rule of riots: you don’t have riots when it’s too hot. People get all pukey. Gotta wait until the
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