Stories From The 6 Train 2(186)

“I’m not ordering anyone, Kate,” Parker says out loud, his lips slowly curling into a smile. “They all volunteered. Right, boys?” he asks, louder this time, his voice echoing throughout the street.

“FUCKING-A!” One of the NYPD officers shouts, and the others shout in agreement. “We have your back, mayor,” the officer continues, and Parker’s smile widens.

“They’re here because they’re loyal, Kate. Which is something you’ll never be able to understand. You managed to pull the National Guard into this, but do you really want to see how far they’ll go? How loyal they are to you? Just tell them to point their guns at their fellow Americans and see what happens. I fucking dare you,” he growls.

I watch the whole scene in silence, looking from Parker to my mother. Should Parker even be this confident? My mother’s insane enough to follow his advice and order the National Guard to start shooting.

“You’re fucking insane, Parker,” she tells him, that shit-eating grin still on her face. “And that’s going to cost you. Perhaps your life,” she whispers, turning on her heels and walking straight toward the senior National Guard soldier.

“Get these two out of the way!” she barks, and the moment she says it the NYPD close in on Parker and I, forming a human barrier between us and the National Guard.

“Over our dead bodies!” they shout, taking their guns out of their holsters. The first row of officers begin to kneel on the floor, offering the second row a clear shot.

“Stand down, boys,” Parker suddenly says, letting go of me and walking past the NYPD barrier. “No bullets will be fired today.”

“What now, Parker? Want to be the first one in line to have your brains blown out?” my mother snaps at him, visibly annoyed. “Shoot him!” she barks at one of the soldiers but, even though he raises his rifle and points it at Parker, he hesitates.

And then Parker speaks.

“This ends now, Kate.”





Parker





Yeah, this ends here.

I look to my side. Amy is standing there next to me and the NYPD officers are fanning out. The mother of my child is standing in a potential war zone. They're not just protecting us in rows of human shields, but they're taking defensive positions behind cars and in the doorways of buildings.

They're getting ready for a war.

We cannot fucking have this. Despite the fact that I've taken it this far, I'm not going to be known as the Mayor who started a civil war in his own fucking city.

I pick up the phone in my pocket and dial the speed dial button.

I don't need to say anything.

On the other side of the line, she gets the call and knows to set things in motion.

"Mayor Trask," the National Guard commander says through a bullhorn. "Please leave the premises."

I'm not moving one goddamn inch.

A government far away that has no idea what the people of this city care for is not going to dictate to me what is and isn't fucking moral.

The National Guard soldiers train their scopes on my NYPD and I can see the red laser beams pointed on their kevlar vests.

Several things happen at that point simultaneously and it's important I tell you what happens in order so that you're able to follow along, because I don't know if I believe it myself.

The first of the aerial news helicopters starts coming into view and circling overhead.

Right. I expected that. That's what the fucking phone call was for. I can't tell you who yet.

But the news vans arrive too.

They're coming through the side streets - through the sections of the city that the NYPD didn't close down.

Specifically for this event.

See, I didn't ask the police to close shit down to make dying easier for me.

I had them close streets down so the news crews could get here sooner.

And they line up now, training an even more powerful weapon on the National Guard than the AK-47 rifles the NYPD SWAT teams have - the fucking camera.

You can hear the whir of the helicopters overhead.

The boom mikes are being extended. They want to capture every last shot.

Good.

This is what I intended.

That's when the first protester runs past the barricades that were set up.

Holy fucking shit.

This throws everything into chaos. I can't risk the lives of ordinary New Yorkers. Not for Amy and me.

"Let me through," I say through clenched teeth and I can feel Amy squeeze onto my arm. She's fucking worried. Makes sense. "Let me out."

The NYPD Commander looks at me. He's wearing at least two layers of kevlar. He could get hit with a bullet form a 9mm and be okay. A bit winded.

I'm wearing a suit and tie.

"Sir, it's not safe," he says to me. "The situation is tense. They could take you out without cover."