c'mon now, let's everybody have a beer," Gilhooley said. "And my buddy Payne here will buy it."
A kind of cheer went up, the jukebox kicked on, and the bartender started setting up cans of beer along the bar. Free beer. Unless your name was Payne.
"Hey," Gilhooley said to me. "I want you to meet my friends, Robert."
There was a semi-circle of them fanned out around us.
Captain Hook said, "Gilhooley here's been tellin' us all about Chairman Mao and shit like that."
"Chairman Mao was one cool dude," said one of the other bikers.
"Power to the people, man," said another.
"Fucking capitalist pigs, man," said yet another.
Somehow, Gilhooley had managed to turn all these bikers into Maoists. It was just like living in Iowa City in 1968. Gilhooley had found heaven.
"Hey, Robert, I want you to meet my friends," he said again.
Four or five guys stuck their hands out. Now that they knew I was with Chairman Gilhooley, their opinion of me had changed.
"Robert, this is Pig Face, this is Gravel Pit, this is Long Dong, this is Knuckle Duster, and this is Snake Lips."
"Hey," they all said.
"Hey right back," I said.
"These guys are committed," Gilhooley said. "Not like those candy-asses we went to college with. These guys will never sell out, will you, Pig Face?"
"Right on," said Gravel Pit.
"Right fucking on," said Long Dong.
I led Gilhooley down to the end of the bar so we could talk alone.
"You idiot," I said.
"Idiot? What're you talking about, man?"
"Bringing me into a dump like this."
"Dump? These guys are real revolutionaries, Robert. Maoists."
"Right."
"They are, man."
"If they're such revolutionaries, ask them what they think about black people or feminists or gays."
"I'm bringing them along real slow," Gilhooley said. "We'll get to all that stuff later."
Right. For the time being you'll just concentrate on the fun stuff, huh? Burning down buildings and shooting capitalists? I haven't heard that many people say "Right on" since the last time Jim Morrison exposed himself on stage."
I forced myself to take a few deep breaths. To chill out, as Gilhooley called it.
I looked across at him and shook my head. I'd spent twenty years trying to hate him and I couldn't. Not quite. Buried in all the rhetoric and melodrama was a decent guy, one who genuinely cared about people less fortunate than himself. Unfortunately, he saw the cure for all our problems only in isms, most notably any ism that had as its sworn enemy the United States.
One other thing about Gilhooley: for a somewhat gangly, red-topped forty-three-year-old, he sure spends a lot of time with a lot of women. Maybe my generation of men has blanded out now that we're middle-aged. Or maybe certain women just like Gilhooley's passion, misplaced as it frequently is. Whatever the reason, Gilhooley sees more than his share of females.
"So what's the job?" he said.
I told him about the murder. And about the people involved. The Wilsons. Steve Gray, Father Ryan.
"A hurry on this?"
"As much as possible."
"I should be able to get to it pretty fast."
"I'd really appreciate it."
"That's pretty strange, that priest dying in a motel room."
"Yes, it is strange. They're just starting a fund-drive. This didn't come as real good news."
"At least it gets them a little publicity."
"You always find the bright spot, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind, Gilhooley. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Â
F elice made us a dinner of vegetarian burgers and green beans. We alternated nights making meals.
Afterward, I went into the spare bedroom I use as my den and sat down at the table to study the copy of the clippings we'd found in Father Daly's room. I turned on the computer.
Then I laid the Xerox of the two newspaper clippings out in front of me and read them as I ate.
Â
WOMAN SLAIN IN BOWKER PARK
Â
Cedar Rapids Police identified the woman found stabbed to death in Bowker Park Tuesday night as Tawanna Jackson. Her eyes had been cut out.
Â
Friends are baffled as
A kind of cheer went up, the jukebox kicked on, and the bartender started setting up cans of beer along the bar. Free beer. Unless your name was Payne.
"Hey," Gilhooley said to me. "I want you to meet my friends, Robert."
There was a semi-circle of them fanned out around us.
Captain Hook said, "Gilhooley here's been tellin' us all about Chairman Mao and shit like that."
"Chairman Mao was one cool dude," said one of the other bikers.
"Power to the people, man," said another.
"Fucking capitalist pigs, man," said yet another.
Somehow, Gilhooley had managed to turn all these bikers into Maoists. It was just like living in Iowa City in 1968. Gilhooley had found heaven.
"Hey, Robert, I want you to meet my friends," he said again.
Four or five guys stuck their hands out. Now that they knew I was with Chairman Gilhooley, their opinion of me had changed.
"Robert, this is Pig Face, this is Gravel Pit, this is Long Dong, this is Knuckle Duster, and this is Snake Lips."
"Hey," they all said.
"Hey right back," I said.
"These guys are committed," Gilhooley said. "Not like those candy-asses we went to college with. These guys will never sell out, will you, Pig Face?"
"Right on," said Gravel Pit.
"Right fucking on," said Long Dong.
I led Gilhooley down to the end of the bar so we could talk alone.
"You idiot," I said.
"Idiot? What're you talking about, man?"
"Bringing me into a dump like this."
"Dump? These guys are real revolutionaries, Robert. Maoists."
"Right."
"They are, man."
"If they're such revolutionaries, ask them what they think about black people or feminists or gays."
"I'm bringing them along real slow," Gilhooley said. "We'll get to all that stuff later."
Right. For the time being you'll just concentrate on the fun stuff, huh? Burning down buildings and shooting capitalists? I haven't heard that many people say "Right on" since the last time Jim Morrison exposed himself on stage."
I forced myself to take a few deep breaths. To chill out, as Gilhooley called it.
I looked across at him and shook my head. I'd spent twenty years trying to hate him and I couldn't. Not quite. Buried in all the rhetoric and melodrama was a decent guy, one who genuinely cared about people less fortunate than himself. Unfortunately, he saw the cure for all our problems only in isms, most notably any ism that had as its sworn enemy the United States.
One other thing about Gilhooley: for a somewhat gangly, red-topped forty-three-year-old, he sure spends a lot of time with a lot of women. Maybe my generation of men has blanded out now that we're middle-aged. Or maybe certain women just like Gilhooley's passion, misplaced as it frequently is. Whatever the reason, Gilhooley sees more than his share of females.
"So what's the job?" he said.
I told him about the murder. And about the people involved. The Wilsons. Steve Gray, Father Ryan.
"A hurry on this?"
"As much as possible."
"I should be able to get to it pretty fast."
"I'd really appreciate it."
"That's pretty strange, that priest dying in a motel room."
"Yes, it is strange. They're just starting a fund-drive. This didn't come as real good news."
"At least it gets them a little publicity."
"You always find the bright spot, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind, Gilhooley. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Â
F elice made us a dinner of vegetarian burgers and green beans. We alternated nights making meals.
Afterward, I went into the spare bedroom I use as my den and sat down at the table to study the copy of the clippings we'd found in Father Daly's room. I turned on the computer.
Then I laid the Xerox of the two newspaper clippings out in front of me and read them as I ate.
Â
WOMAN SLAIN IN BOWKER PARK
Â
Cedar Rapids Police identified the woman found stabbed to death in Bowker Park Tuesday night as Tawanna Jackson. Her eyes had been cut out.
Â
Friends are baffled as
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