2 Grand Delusion by Matt Witten Read Free Book Online Page B

homeless!" Lia's voice had been growing almost imperceptibly louder and stronger, and now it suddenly exploded in the hot Orian Cillarnian air. Her good eye somehow seemed to be looking directly at every single person in the crowded room. "Friends, if you're positive the SERC plan is bad for us, then vote against it. But if you're like Helen and me, and you're not sure, then you have to vote for it! Those twelve men tip the scales! Speaking for myself, I'm not just a West Sider. I'm not just the president of this S.O.S. Association. I am also a Christian! And Jesus Christ teaches me that every man is a child of God, and as much as I love the West Side, there are things in this world—and the next—that are more important than property values!"
    Then Lia sat down.
    At first no one moved, but then one person clapped, and then more people, and more, and by the time the applause finally died down, it was obvious that Lia Kalmus had just single-handedly swung the room to the SERC. Hal Starette's sweat stains didn't suddenly shrink, but they did stop getting bigger.
    A little while later Lia called a vote. Several politicos I hadn't noticed before, because they were blocked from my view in the front row, stood up and started counting hands. I recognized four of them: the commissioner of public works, two city councilmen, and last but not least, the confirmed sleazoid who's the mayor of Saratoga. The hall was so packed that tallying the exact totals was laborious, but when all was said and done, the SERC plan won 182 to 133. With the councilmen nodding in agreement by his side, the mayor announced that he and the council would vote tomorrow to approve the plan.
    Yes, by gum, despite all its flaws, we still live in the greatest country in the world. This S.O.S. meeting was an inspiring demonstration of good old-fashioned American democracy at its finest. It took the stench of that zoning hearing out of my head, with its pompous bureaucrats, amoral lawyers, and crooked violent cops.
    Lia Kalmus, with her stunning speech, had just replaced Harold Stassen as my favorite all-time public statesman. (H.S., for the uninitiated, was a one-time Minnesota governor who spent the last forty years of his life running increasingly deranged campaigns for the presidency.) I was feeling so patriotic that when I got home I watched the last inning of the baseball playoffs on television.
    Even better, the Yankees got whupped. Another triumph of good over evil.
    I brushed my teeth and went to bed. Andrea shifted in her sleep and spooned me. Subconsciously at least, she had forgiven me for my outburst at City Hall. Snuggling next to her, I closed my eyes and fell sound asleep.
    But not for long.
    I was woken up from dreamland by a car door slamming—or maybe two car doors slamming, my head was still fuzzy. Those damn neighbors again, I thought. Then the night was shattered by an ear-piercing shriek. Pierced my ears, anyway. Andrea and the kids were amazingly still asleep.
    It was past midnight. I swung out of bed and reached for the phone. But then a car backfired outside, followed by another shriek, even more desperate than the first. I couldn't tell if these shrieks came from a woman, child, or even a man for that matter; they were ageless, genderless shouts of pure pain and terror. To heck with calling the cops—they'd take half an hour to get here. An attack of middle-age macho came over me, and I put on my slippers and threw a robe over my pajamas, preparing to go forth and do battle.
    But macho man though I was, I didn't go forth to battle just yet. First I stopped off in the john, following my number one rule for success and happiness in life: Never begin an important project with a full bladder.
    Then I went outside.
    Unfortunately, the fifteen seconds it took me to find relief made all the difference. Because by the time I got outside, the night was eerily silent again. Nothing but distant car sounds and a far-off street lamp buzzing.
    But