Montambault looked like he had just bitten into a sour crabapple as he said, “We don’t have a large number of veterans among our student body. We’ve found that a military background ”—the look got even more sour—“doesn’t prepare a person for our rigorous curriculum and stringent standards of personal behavior. We have a very strict code of conduct and accountability here at Kelton.”
“More strict than the army and Marines?”
The professor opened a drawer in his desk and took out a sheaf of stapled-together pages, at least seven or eight sheets thick. He placed them on the desk and pushed them over to Jake.
“This is our speech code. As part of our commitment to diversity, Kelton College guarantees all students a safe and inclusive learning environment, so you shouldn’t use any of the words or phrases listed in here.”
Jake frowned.
“I seem to remember reading something about a right to free speech . . .”
Montambault tapped a fingertip against the pages.
“Bringing up the First Amendment is listed in here. You shouldn’t do that. It shuts down productive discussion. You shouldn’t say anything about the Second Amendment, either. Especially the Second Amendment.” Before Jake could respond, he took a booklet from the drawer and added it to the speech code. “Our sexual guidelines.”
“An abridged version of the Kama Sutra?”
Montambault glared.
“Sexist comments like that are also violations of the speech code. No, this sets out the proper steps that are required to be taken before any sort of sexual contact to ensure that all such contacts are consensual.”
“No means no, eh?”
“Exactly.”
“So yes means yes.”
“No, yes also means no because of our heteropa-triarchal, phallocentric culture.”
“So no means no and yes means no.” Jake spread his hands. “They’re college students. How do they get it on if everything means no?”
The professor looked exasperated and impatient.
“Just study the guidelines, Mr. Rivers. I’m sure it will all become clear to you. Until it does, I would advise you to be very circumspect in your interactions with other students.”
“Female students.”
“All students. Not everyone accepts the antiquated concept of binary gender, you know. Remember LGGBDTTTIQQAAPP. That means—”
Jake held up a hand to stop him.
“That’s all right. I don’t need it defined. But I thought it was LGBTQIAPK.”
Montambault blew out a scoffing breath.
“That’s outdated. The college experience is a very fast-paced one these days, Mr. Rivers. You’ll have to learn to keep up. Education is all about change. Hope and change. And resistance. And social justice.”
Jake realized he might as well be talking to one of the brick walls of the buildings on campus. He said, “I appreciate the help, Doctor. Are there any more, uh, guidelines I need to have?”
“Not at the moment. When you work out which courses you’re going to be taking, come back to see me and we’ll go over them to make sure they fit your course of study.”
Jake stood up.
“Sure. Now maybe you can tell me where to find the housing department.”
“You aren’t going to live off-campus? There are some decent apartments to rent in town . . .”
“No, I realize I’m a little older than most students, but I want to get the full college experience. You do allow graduate students to live in the dorms?”
“One floor of Olmsted Hall is reserved for graduate students. I’m not sure if there are any openings.”
“I’ll check into it,” Jake said. He planned on keeping his relationship to Cordell Gardner quiet, but he wasn’t above using it to his advantage if necessary. And the old man had it in his head that college was the same sort of place it had been fifty years earlier, when he had wanted to attend but couldn’t. So that meant Jake ought to live in a dorm, as he saw it. Given the amount of money his grandfather had forked over to Kelton College, Jake figured they would find a place for him.
“The housing office is in the administration building, at the far end of Nafziger Plaza,” the professor said. “On the second floor.”
“Thanks.” Jake turned to go.
“Mr. Rivers . . . are you sure you want to attend Kelton College? I ask for your own benefit. I’m just not certain you’re ever going to be happy here.”
“Are you kidding?” Jake grinned. “I plan on loving it.”
CHAPTER 5
“Jake?” The college experience hadn’t been great so far, despite his sarcastic comment to Dr. Montambault. But now he was in enough trouble to land him in the office of the campus police chief. McRainey was glaring at him.
“Sorry, sir,” Jake said. “I guess I got a little distracted there.”
“If you don’t want to tell me what you’re doing here, I guess it’s none of my business. As long as you pay your tuition and fees and abide by the rules, you’re as welcome as any other student.”
“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that. I don’t vote the right way, and I’m a soldier. That’s enough to make me persona non grata at a place like Kelton.” Jake ventured to add, “I’m a little surprised to find you working here in the middle of all these . . .”
“Special little snowflakes?” A sound came from McRainey that was part disgusted snort, part tolerant laugh. “Here’s the thing, Jake. Kelton charges an arm and a leg, and because of that, nearly all the kids who go here come from wealthy families. I mean really wealthy. Like your grandfather, only a lot of them are even richer. And those mamas and daddies want their kiddos to be safe. In fact, they insist on it. So the college is willing to pay me a hefty salary to make sure they stay that way. More than twice as much as I ever made as a real cop in Houston. I can put up with a lot of derp for that kind of money.”
Jake grinned. “Derp? I’m surprised you know the word.”
“Hey, I work on a college campus. I hear a lot of stuff. Of course, I’m usually three or four years behind the times, anyway. That’s not bad for an old guy like me.”
“I guess. So you’re letting me go?”
“I’m releasing you on your own recognizance while I investigate the incident. That’s the best I can do tonight. And I can’t guarantee that the administration won’t come down on you harder later on. In fact, I can almost promise they will. But they won’t kick you out. Cordell’s money means too much to them for that.” McRainey stood up. “Come by sometime tomorrow. I’ll have your statement ready for you to sign by then. Between now and then, try to stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Hey, I’m a peaceable man.”
“Yeah, Wild Bill Elliott used say the same thing just before he beat the crap out of Yakima Canutt.”
“Who?”
“Google ’em! Now get out of here.”
Jake left the chief’s office and went out into the lobby of the campus police department, which was located in an unassuming little building tucked away in a corner of the campus. Behind the counter stood a burly uniformed officer in his thirties. His head was shaved, either because he thought it made him look intimidating or because he had lost most of his hair already and didn’t want to call attention to that fact.
“The chief’s letting you go?” he asked with a scowl.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “You have a problem with that, Officer Granderson?”
“You resisted arrest. We should have held you for the Greenleaf cops.”
“How did I resist arrest? You ordered your guys to tase me as soon as I turned around toward you.”
“You displayed weapons in an aggressive manner.”
“The pipe and chain. I was holding them down at my sides.”
“It looked to me like you were getting ready to attack us with them,” Granderson insisted. “I ordered preemptive action to protect the safety and well-being of my fellow officers.” The scowl turned into an ugly
grin. “I bet it hurt like hell, didn’t it?”
“I’ve grabbed live wires before,” Jake said with a shrug. “No big deal.”
“Yeah, you thought no big deal when you were layin’ there on the ground twitching and drooling.”
Jake felt anger bubbling up inside him, but Chief McRainey had just warned him to stay out of trouble, and besides, a jackwagon like Cal Granderson wasn’t worth it. Jake just said, “I’ve been released pending the results of an investigation into tonight’s incident.”
“You could’ve killed somebody. They ought to boot you out of here.”
“I was outnumbered at least ten to one. The way that mob was forming, it could have been twenty or thirty to one in no time. And you blame me for what happened?”
“You assaulted two students for no reason. You resorted to violence.”
“What about those goons in the black hoods who wanted to bust me up?”
“Fascism should be resisted by all available means.”
“You’re a cop!” Jake said, frustration making his voice rise. “Those Antifa kids hate you, too!”
“Authority figures or not, some of us are on the right side of history,” Granderson said with a sneer.
The chief’s door opened.
“Jake? You’re still here? Go back to the dorm! Don’t you have studying to do?”
Jake thought about the book he had tossed aside to go to the aid of the young woman named Annie. That had been a mistake, all right. He should have stuck with the socialistic drivel.
He held up his hands and said, “I’m going, I’m going.”
“Do I need to have an officer escort you back to Olmsted Hall?”
“No, I’ll be all right.”
“I’m more worried about anybody you happen to run into.”
“No trouble, I swear,” Jake said.
McRainey didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything as Jake left the building, and neither did Granderson.
The night was still warm and pleasant. As Jake walked along concrete paths, under trees, past stately old brick buildings instead of the chrome-and-glass monstrosities found in so many other places, he could almost believe he had been transported back in time to a college the way it used to be . . . or the way it was in movies, anyway. He almost expected to run into some blond ingenue.
Instead, when he was in a particularly dark, shadow-filled stretch of sidewalk, two shapes stepped out in front of him and brought him to an abrupt stop. Some faint sounds from behind told him the jaws of the trap had just closed on that side, as well.
“Hello, fellas,” Jake said. “Are you the campus patrol, come to see that I get back to my dorm safely?”
A muffled voice, disguised even more by whispering, said, “Shut up.”
“Got the hoods on, don’t you? I don’t get it. If you think you’re standing up for what’s right, why not show your faces? Why not take credit for being on the right side of history?”
“Earlier, that was a show for the cell phones,” the spokesman rasped. “Those videos are already up on social media and have tens of thousands of views. The big bad alt-right warrior brought down by the people.”
“Brought down by a bunch of volts of electricity, you mean.”
The hooded figure ignored the comment and went on, “This is for keeps now. We don’t want your kind here, Nazi. And if it takes putting you in the hospital to make you leave, we’ll do it.”
“I’m not a Nazi or a fascist,” Jake snapped. “Go buy a damn dictionary. The Nazis were socialists. Your side.”
“A convenient lie.”
“Study some history, you damn fool! Or go on spouting your precious narrative, I don’t care. Just get out of my way.”
“Not this time.” The man chuckled under the hood. “You see, we’re not kids playing at being revolutionaries.”
That was true, Jake realized suddenly. He couldn’t make out many details in the poor light, but there was something fundamentally different in the way these guys stood and moved. Something. . . professional.
Most of the members of the various Antifa groups really were kids. Spoiled, brainwashed, vicious little monsters . . . but still kids.
Jake had read enough about the movement, though, to have come across rumors that within the groups—terrorist cells, if somebody wanted to call them what they really were—individuals had been planted by the liberal billionaires who funded such madness. Men and women with military, paramilitary, and mercenary backgrounds who had done things that would make the kids cry and wet themselves just to think about. They were there to keep the useful idiots in line, to make sure they showed up where they were supposed to and rioted right on cue, and also to take care of any actual dirty business that came up.
Like getting rid of a former army Ranger who, for some reason, they considered more of a threat than he really was. Hell, Jake thought, all he wanted was to be left alone. If they would do that, he would be alternately disgusted and amused by the kids’ antics but would largely ignore them, as long as they ignored him.
But that wasn’t to be. These guys were actual threats, and the odds were four to one. Jake was willing to bet they were armed, probably with pipes. Maybe they wouldn’t kill him, but they would beat him damn close to the point of death.
They would try, anyway.
“I’m a peaceable man,” he said again, under his breath, more to himself than to his enemies.
“What was that?”
“I said, I’m a peaceable man.”
Didn’t mean anything to the hooded figures. The spokesman snapped, “Get him!”
CHAPTER 6
The men behind him closed in first. Jake had to turn to meet their attack, which cost him a fraction of a second.
But he was fast enough to overcome that and darted aside from the pipe that streaked down toward his head with deadly force. It almost got his shoulder, which could have been disastrous, but it barely missed and raked down the outside of his upper right arm instead.
The hooded men hadn’t been lurking here in the shadows, waiting for him, just so they could beat him up. They meant to kill him. Just because he hadn’t eagerly swallowed and regurgitated their line of political bull. “Wrongthink” was a capital offense in their minds.
Well, despite his promise to Frank McRainey, Jake was in no mood right now to pull any punches himself.
The man who had just tried to crack his skull open was off balance because the blow had missed. As he stumbled forward a little, Jake kicked him in the right kneecap and heard the bone pop. The man screeched in pain under the hood. Jake gave him a hard, two-handed shove in the chest that sent him flying back into his partner.
In a continuation of the same move, Jake launched himself off the sidewalk, hit the grass, somersaulted over, and came up on his feet again. That took him out of easy reach of the two who had been in front of him, including the spokesman for the attackers.
They were still close, though, and they came at him fast, veering apart to come at him from different angles. Jake could tell by the way they moved that they’d had some training, maybe military, maybe police academy. Or else their group, funded by liberal money, had paid somebody with experience to teach them a few things.
Jake went down again, used a leg sweep to take one man’s legs out from under him, and rolled to avoid the pipe wielded by the other one. He came up, blocked an attempted backhand with his right forearm, and hammered his left fist into the hooded face.
The guy’s head rocked back. Jake stepped in, slid his right arm under the man’s right arm, got his left hand on the elbow, and broke it with a hard, pinching twist. The man said, “Ahhh!” and dropped the pipe. It thudded to the ground at Jake’s feet.
He dived again and snatched up the fallen pipe as he rolled over. He brought it up just in time to block another swipe. The pipes clanged together loudly. Would that be enough to make somebody call the campus cops and report it? Jake didn’t know, and he didn’t want to wind up in McRaine
y’s office yet again tonight, so he figured it would be best to wrap this up quickly.
The two men he still faced might have something to say about that, however. Broken Kneecap and Broken Elbow were out of the fight, but their comrades swarmed Jake as he scrambled to his feet, slashing with the pipes they held. He was forced to give ground, as for a moment it was all he could do to block the blows aimed at him. The pipes rang together like an anvil chorus.
One of the blows got through and slammed against Jake’s side. Pain exploded through him. He didn’t think it broke a rib, but it hurt like hell, that was for sure, and made him stumble. Both attackers surged forward to seize this momentary advantage.
Jake’s back bumped against something, stopping him. One of the trees in Nafziger Plaza, he realized. In a way, he was grateful for that. It protected his back, so one of the hooded men couldn’t circle and try to come at him from that direction.
And it meant that this was where he would make his stand. His lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace.
“Come on, you sons of bitches,” he said.
They redoubled their attack, but that frenzied effort proved to be a mistake. As much as anything else, they got in each other’s way, and during the split second when they were trying to recover from that awkwardness, Jake sensed as much as saw an opening and lashed out with the pipe in his hand.
It landed on a man’s right shoulder and brought a cry of pain. Jake flicked the pipe up and to the right in a short, sharp backhand that traveled only a few inches but packed enough force to break the man’s jaw. Jake heard bone crunch under the impact. It was a satisfying sound.
As the injured man sagged, Jake kicked his feet out from under him. The man toppled over into his companion, just as Jake intended. That man shoved Broken Jaw away and started to retreat. In fact, the sudden prospect of an even fight didn’t seem to appeal to him at all.
He turned and ran.
Jake could have let him go, but that thought never occurred to him. He took off after the guy.
They had surrounded him like jackals eager to pull down a helpless victim and feast.
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