Free The Journalist by G.L. Rockey

”
    “Looney tunes.”
    The waiter served the drinks.
    “Run a tab.” Zack said.
    “No tabs no more, new policy, cash only,
ten-twenty-five.”
    Mary raised an eyebrow.
    Zack reached deep and laid a twenty dollar
bill on the table and some coins.
    The server made change and left.
    “You skipping out on tabs again?” Mary tipped
her head.
    “I think it’s some of the Pi guys that hang
around here  ”
    “Please.” She sipped. “You know, I heard the
Feds had this place under surveillance.”
    “Now where did you hear a thing like
that?”
    “Oh, stuff it.” She put the mug of Tsingtao
down. “So, tell me again, why do you like this place so much. I
mean, you know, look at this tabletop. It’s rank with  what is that?”
    “Stewed puree of cicadas, part of the
ambience.”
    “You’re so full of it.” Mary said.
    “So, what are you going to tell Dr. Lande
tomorrow when you call her back?”
    “I’ll tell her that Boca is going to call her
personally.”
    “Mary  ”
    “Why do I have to take all those calls? She’s
calling for you.”
    “Mary  ” Zack noticed
the television over the bar flash up video of Senator Beno. He
pointed to the set. “There’s Beno, her Labor Day speech to the
AFL-CIO, Detroit.”
    Mary called to a heavyset bartender. “Hey,
sumo, turn that up  ”
    Sumo snarled something under his breath.
    “Hurry up  ” Mary
half-stood.
    “Will you sit down?” Zack said.
    She did and their attention went to the TV
video of Beno standing at an outdoor lectern. Her short black hair
buffeted by the wind, the sun bronzed her dark African-American
skin. She waved to a large applauding crowd then, as the applause
died down, began.
    “I don’t understand. Why does one individual
receive a million dollars in stock options and the next day the
company lays off a thousand workers? I don’t understand?”
    Cheers and applause from the labor day crowd
broke out.
    “Why is one person paid fifty million a year
to run a media conglomerate and the employees have to work two jobs
to make a house payment? I don’t understand.”
    Cheers.
    “And for what, these millions? To tool around
in a Rolls Royce, drive up to the takeout window for fries and a
Coke? I don’t understand.”
    Cheers.
    “You can get fries and a Coke on a bicycle.
Four wheels and a two-cycle engine can get you to Wendy’s just
fine. I don’t understand  ”
    Cheers and applause.
    “Let me tell you this, dear friends. History
is replete with societies toppled because they ended up with a
privileged class aristocracy perched at the top of the pile. It
simply doesn’t work. Sooner or later, the masses get tired of cheap
seats, broken promises, and ten-dollar beer.”
    Cheers.
    “And you know what the problem is, don’t
you.”
    Jeers, Cheers, shouts of “YES  ”
    “The problem is the cronies at the top won’t
let go of their wallets  They keep passing
the bucks up, passing it on, pass it up, wham-bam, thank you,
ma’am.”
    Cheers.
    “Pass the gold, pack it in, pass it on, pile
it up, pass it on—I doooo understand that, honey. It’s spelled
g-r-e-e-d  ”
    Wild applause.
    “Four thousand years ago, those over-libidoed
Pharaohs tried to take some of the gold out with them. They built
pyramids ten blocks long and a mile high. It’s still here,
honey—the gold—and where are they?
    Cheers.
    “I’m telling you, let go of the
stuff  ”
    Wild cheers.
    “Spread it around a little, while there’s
still time.”
    Cheers and applause.
    “There’s enough to go around for everybody.
Enough for every man, woman and child to live like a human being. I
don’t understand  ”
    Cheers.
    “And we wonder why the have-nots look at us
with contempt. Millions sleeping on the ground, eating garbage,
drinking rain, no roof over their heads, no toilet, no bed, no
nothing. And we suck up weight-loss infomercials and diet pills. I
don’t understand  ”
    Booos.
    “The biggest problem in