Harlan's Race

because he was taken in by the tabloids. But notice he never even shot at me.”
    “What makes you think LEV. won’t shoot at me?” “Because I think he likes you,” Chino said flatly.
    Chills went up and down my spine. There was a long silence. I stood listening to the surf roaring outside. Suddenly, the turkey’s raw meaty smell reminded me of Montreal, and I retched.
    “What can we do to turn this around?” I whispered. “Two years we’ve been on the defensive. Harry and me were trained to be offensive. I say let’s offend this guy.” “Great idea. But how?”
    “Piss him off! Lure him out!”
    Down on the beach, the boom of breakers was getting louder. Chino’s idea was riskier and more hair-raising than what I’d had in mind. Luring could mean only one thing — providing LEV. with a target.
    “You mean ... that Vince should be a decoy in the Memorial?” I asked. ‘We try to grab this guy before he shoots Vince?”
    ‘Vince and I have already talked about it.”
    My mind was pushing away the picture of Vince’s head in the crosshairs. A deep, scared, horrified trembling spread through me. Chino had sliced onions spread on the chopping-board, and his knife diced them with hair-raising energy.
    “My God, man,” I said. “This is not Vietnam! Vince could be..
    “That’s the problem with you goddam faggots,” he retorted, dumping the chopped onions into a skillet. “Too many of you believe you’re not in Vietnam.”
    I slammed the dripping turkey on the table.
    “Bullshit! You’re home now! There’s lawyers, and courts, and what civilians call ethics. A bunch of civilians could get shot. A gay 5-K is full of targets for this guy.”
    His eyes blazed. I’d never seen Chino so angry.
    “Caray ... why won’t you understand me, you gutless Mary?” he shouted. His deep raspy voice filled the house. ‘Vince is going to run anyway. I’m frigging talking about being ready! No different than when the President rides in a motorcade. The Secret Service knows he can get smoked. They know civilians could die in the crossfire. But the President fucking goes out fucking anyway, because that’s what fucking Presidents do. And fucking runners run.” For once, he was cursing like a sailor.
    “Bad example. Kennedy got blown away,” I said.
    “We have an advantage. We know a few things about our shooter. I know Griffith Park like I know my own dick. We can grab this guy’s nalgas before he pulls the trigger!”
    “No! No! There’s no way I’d be a party to this! If we fuck up, Vince is gonna die!”
    Chino’s gray eyes bored into mine.
    ‘You’ve got eight months to get in shape,” he said. ‘You can be Vince’s rabbit in training. That will piss LEV. really good, man.”
    Dinner in the oven, dough rising for rolls, Chino and I went out on the front deck. The tide had pulled out, but huge turbid waves were still crumpling down, making sounds like bombs exploding. The sand was piled with wreckage — seaweed, lumber, broken sea-creatures. Jess was down there chewing on a dying horseshoe crab. Helpless fury still filled me. Chino was somber, full of thought.
    “What else is on your mind?” I barked.
    He faced me. ‘You and Vince.”
    “What the hell do you care? You want to get Vince’s head blown off!”
    “He may be a candidate for the ... uh, the thing that Jacobs is so loco about.”
    I felt my body go cold.
    “Don’t get me wrong. He’s strong... looks good,” Chino said. “But he’s got the swollen glands. And the thing is this. Remember that guy Mario that Vince was shooting speed with?”
    ‘Yeah?”
    “Mario just died.”
    There was a roaring in my ears.
    “Thirty years old, man, and he died of some rare skin cancer that nobody ever heard of,” Chino went on. ‘Vince told me. He was kind of shook up, because they’d shared needles. I talked to Jacobs about it, and I talked to Michael. We’ve all seen junkies pass the hepatitis B around when they share needles. Steve shared needles with Angel, and he died. Jacobs thinks there’s some new thing being transmitted. Vince went for some blood work. His T-cells look okay, so far . .. 900 something.”
    After all the times I’d said Screw Vince to myself, the news was a shock.
    “I’ve watched the two of you go through all your crazy shit,” Chino added. “And I think you both still care.”
    I stared out over the sea. The thought of Vince suffering like Steve, Angel and George had suffered was more than my