this is only a sequence of events
in real-time.
“That’s Charlie man,” Lonnie snickered. It wasn’t a natural
snicker it was more like the snicker that Snidely Snively character in the
Dudley Do-Right cartoons would make.
“His name is Manson," Lonnie continued, "and he thinks he’s the Son of Man, so they got him out there doing this,” the snicker emitted out of Lonnie again.
There was a shout from the other side of the circle.
“There he is folks that’s the man; that’s the man responsible for that war over there! There he is!”
A tall man came out of the crowd. Cruise couldn’t believe it the man walking toward the young man in the white robe looked to be the replica of Sabo the gypsy. He decided he would not signal Sabo or say anything to Lonnie. As it turned out the Sabo look-alike did not greet him or acknowledge that he knew him; so, Cruise kept his mouth shut.
“Go talk to him,” Lonnie told him, “go see if you can get
the Son of Man to talk to you,” Lonnie motioned at Manson standing there
wrapped in that white robe still looking straight ahead his head a little bowed
the only motion detectable was his breathing.
Cruise got up interested more in getting a closer look at the Sabo look-alike while he spoke to the kid in the white robe. The look-alike was walking around the kid shouting out the same accusation. The Sabo look-alike retreated once he noticed Cruise walking toward him. Maybe it was to avoid the chance of a greeting or any sign of recognition.
Cruise made note that Charlie was small; Cruise stood almost a foot over him. He was short maybe a hundred and thirty pounds the kid was swimming in the robe. It hung off his shoulders dragging the ground. The kid was avoiding looking into Cruise’s eyes.
“How’s it going?” Cruise asked there was no answer. The kid
had a slight smile a month’s growth of beard covered his chin, cheeks, and
joined his hairline at the temples.
The kid stood peacefully in the middle of Ghirardelli Square not doing anything
to annoy anyone his eyes looked slightly up seemly fixed on the sky. It struck
Cruise that the kid might be high on something. He walked around him looking
closer at the robe it was a ruff cloth a stiff rope made from what looked like
hemp was tied around his waist.
He tried getting the kid's attention walking up to him,
“What the hell are you doing here?” Cruise asked.
Cruise could tell there was a
strength of will there, but it was twisted. If the kid wanted to preach,
he just had to preach he didn’t have to belong to any outlaw group like Hells
Angeles; rather he would need followers who would want to belong to his flock.
Did the kid even know what he was dealing with? Bikers all of them were free
men; outlaw or otherwise they wanted to believe themselves to be free men.
What Cruise knew as well as anyone sane; that to join any group took you out of the realm of freedom. You would have to follow that group’s code of conduct, all groups had codes, and codes held you within their rule. What the hell did they want with the kid?
Cruise turned and walked back to where Lonnie was sitting.
The Sabo look-alike had gone back to
where he had been standing next to a young woman that was much younger looking;
she appeared to be underage maybe fifteen.
He wondered about it not saying anything to Lonnie. The last he had heard Sabo had volunteered for 1st Cav. Hell Sabo had been in Puerto Rico with him, Sabo should be in Vietnam by now not standing across the square.
“What do ya think about Charlie?” Lonnie asked.
“I almost dropped my hymen book,” Cruise answered, “I can’t believe these outlaws are fucking around with this guy.”
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