Indy Pen Dance Day
Jan Hamminga
Rumours surrounding a trending story
1.
A large black limousine was slowly making its way through the expectant crowds. People would only reluctantly step aside.
No cars today, a middle-aged man in a yellow and red striped T-shirt shouted.
Indy pen dance now, a power dressed young woman added.
People around them started jumping about, making writing movements with their hands. Indy pen dance. Then they jeered and laughed it off.
Inside the vehicle, Aleta Sant Cesc Amargo was talking on the phone.
Mariano, I'm scared. You must come and rescue me.
Quiet now, Aleta, a nervous voice said. It's understood. Police are ready to act. It's only your word we're waiting for.
No, Mariano, I'm honestly afraid. Aleta peeked through the blinded window at the shady figures passing by right behind the glass. The crowd are terribly excited.
People are celebrating, my dear. The fools actually believe they are going to vote.
The voice broke out in a high-pitched cackle.
There's nothing funny here, Mariano!
Aleta, please. You are inside one of the safest cars in the country. I use it myself when I'm visiting your town. Anyway, it's all a hoax and they know it. We honestly can't see much trouble coming from this collective daydream. Not yet, that is. But it'll be November before you know it, so we thought it time to create some of our own. Trouble, that is.
Again the schoolboyish laugh.
I know you are right, Aleta Sant Cesc Amargo gave in on a shriek. Jorge promised nothing would happen. It's just that you don't know ...
But I do, Aleta. I'm watching this big tv screen and I will tell you everybody is just happy to be there. The punks are in their own neighbourhood, doing their own thing. We'll deal with them afterwards. O, look, I see your car now and people are stepping aside quietly, if not exactly enthusiastically.
They should line the streets. Why can't they line the streets?
Because there are too many of them. Look, I'm not going to discuss this all day. Why couldn't you come on bicycle? You all are into biking up there, aren't you?
The others, perhaps. I'm having a meeting with the mayor. The mayor is going to deliver a speech and people are waiting to hear promises. What if the mood suddenly changes?
But they will get promises. New, empty promises. Don't you worry too much about that department. Now if you are ready, unlock the car door and wait for the police officer to enter. He will look like a punk and he will smear some fake blood on your face and then other police officers will show up to arrest him. It's all well-rehearsed and nothing can go wrong.
Mariano, though not really the man for such a thing, admitted a brief pause which Aleta did not profit from.
Unlock the door now, dear. Don't ask the driver, don't involve him in any way. You do it. Just your door.
As if she were being hypnotised, Aleta in a slow and deliberate manner began searching for the correct button on the slightly over-equipped door panel console.
Got it!
You rang, miss? the driver asked.
What? Me? O yes, how far to go?
The other side of the square. But there's not much movement going on at the moment. I'm not even sure if I can get you to the entrance, to be honestly speaking.
Well, then we must wait, mustn't we?
That might be a good idea. I'll keep the engine running, though.
Both satisfied with this solution, they wouldn't have to wait long. The door was pulled open, a tall guy in freshly damaged jeans and a black satan shirt jumped in. He gave Atleta Sant Cesc Amargo a punch in the face with a blood drenched cloth around his fist, or whatever it was, then with his free right hand pulled out a gun and shot the driver in the head.
2.
Before the crowd could back off, four undercover agents in indy pen dance wear jumped in. They checked if the driver was dead and pointed a weapon to the first cop's head.
You'd better be real quiet, young man, and you give up that gun and whatever other weapon you may have on you.
Aleta Sant Cesc Amargo all the while was staring in horror at the dead body which until a few seconds ago had been her driver for the day.
Are you okay, miss? the officer that had ended up on her left side informed. It wasn't too heavy a blow, I reckon.
I'm certainly not okay, Aleta blurred out. A man has just been shot.
That is of course very unfortunate, the officer admitted. He was quite handsome, with a cold flash in his eyes. We have the aggressor and we'll deal with him.
I mean, this wasn't necessary.
What wasn't?
You could have shot him in his arm. You know, keep him alive. Not shoot at all.
The police officer smiled and put an arm around Aleta Sant Cesc Amargo's always hard wound shoulder. I fear we are getting confused here, miss. As you may recall it was an anarchist who actually fired the bullet. Everybody has seen it. We are here to save you.
Sirens could indeed be heard and this time the public was more inclined to make way.
It's Aleta Sant Cesc Amargo, a woman exclaimed.
They wanted to kill Amargo!
A murmur came, people looking at the limousine, it's her.
What is she doing in a car, anyway?
3.
People further away also begin commenting.
Amargo seems to have been hit in the face. She's crying.
There was a shot, wasn't there? Is there a perpetrator?
From my humble position, dear, I would say yes. A tall guy in funny clothes is being taken away.
She is about fifteen meters away, but on her long legs oversees most of the crowd in front of her.
Funny clothes?
A bit too freshly damaged jeans and a brand name black satan shirt.
Are we witnessing a psyop on indy pen dance day?
I certainly am, dear.
Her companion gave her a short, hard smile.
Shout something. Shout, hey, it's fake. The assaulter is a cop.
No, it's not fake. There is a body. People are screaming. They can see a body.
Who might that belong to, you wonder. The driver, perhaps?
Possibly.
She tapped the man in front of her on the shoulder.
Has the driver taken a hit?
I believe so. Some are saying he is dead.
His thirty head years, lived in mostly benevolent circumstances, radiated security.
My name is Anna.
Xavi.
D'you hear that, dear? They shot the driver.
That's sickeningly bad.
And now they are going after us. Look.
All entrances to the medieval town hall square, capacity 10,000, had suddenly been locked off by riot police, semi-sized machineguns in their hands.
You may want to sit down and not get hurt the first time round, advised her informer.
She lay her hand on his wrist, admiring his withering beauty. And you yourself?
I'm not sitting down for anybody anymore. That part of life is behind me now. Been real nice meeting you.
Nice.
4.
Girl drags companion down to the ground.
They are going to shoot us.
They are not. Who told you so?
Nobody. I just thought of it.
Don't you get worked up now. They only want to scare us.
That's what you have been saying so far.
