America 1982-Chapter 505 - 97: Everything is Open for Discussion
Martin followed Tommy, whispering, "Boss, don’t tell me you orchestrated this too."
Approaching a coffee stand near the park in the center of the street, Tommy signaled the owner for a cup of coffee and a waffle. After taking a bite of the food handed to him by the owner, Tommy glanced at Martin and then continued walking.
As Martin pulled out his wallet and handed the owner a bill without waiting for change, he continued to pursue Tommy, asking, "Why? I mean... I am the campaign manager; I should be aware of Jeff’s campaign schedule."
"Martin, this was an accident, so it’s normal that you weren’t informed. Plus, you’re not cynical enough, no, I mean, of course, your skin is quite black," Tommy swallowed the waffle, took a sip of coffee, and, standing next to the park, calmly spoke as he watched Mrs. Parker in front of him narrating her tragic past through a megaphone:
"But your company is not there yet. It will take a long time to observe those employees to see if they can be trusted. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have Page running around at her age. When you’ve got a team that doesn’t care whether you’re too black or what you make them do, then you’ll be qualified to handle these dirty tricks. If one day, I use the same tricks to provoke Blacks, and you, upon hearing it, react with the same indifference as Page, it means you’re almost adapted to this kind of life."
Martin vigorously rubbed his face and spoke into the walkie-talkie: "Attention, on-site team members, we have an unexpected situation, but don’t move in; just keep watching. Act on my signal."
With one hand clutching her grandson to her chest and the other holding a megaphone, Mrs. Parker tearfully told the crowd and the cameras about her son and daughter-in-law’s tragic fate, saying:
"I know I shouldn’t be here, but now I don’t know where else to go. I have no option left but to resort to this foolish method, to seek justice from television journalists, to turn to the only people I can trust, and to make my last outcry before my husband and I are gone."
"It is Rosario Kennedy, the Democartic Party’s strong candidate for this district, who single-handedly spearheaded the pilot legislation responsible for my son and daughter-in-law’s death! She let those heinous criminals, who should have been imprisoned for life or even hanged, strut out of their cells! Allowing them to kill again! She made a mistake! Yet she bears no responsibility! She even campaigns for Congress with the same audacity as those criminals walking out of prison!"
As she spoke, her husband tremblingly held up a large poster above his head to show everyone; it was a bust of Rosario Kennedy with two blood-red devil horns drawn over her head and blood-stained fangs protruding from her mouth, with the words alongside: "This demon killed my parents!"
Flashlights flickered non-stop at the poster, and Mrs. Parker, clutching her grandson’s shoulders weakly, gasped for air before continuing with determination:
"I know I shouldn’t be questioning this candidate behind me, because he might not know me or have heard of this incident, but... he is being used by the vile Rosario Kennedy, by the vile Democratic Party! I quietly heard all of his self-introduction from the corner. He’s a regular plumber, a volunteer, fond of children, a soldier, and with a harmonious family. The Democratic Party has six such candidates in this election! What does this tell you? It’s the conspiracy of that wicked woman and the Democratic Party! To secure the election, they provoke ordinary people who shouldn’t be running, or have no chance of winning, to step forward and dilute the votes, stabilizing their own pool of votes to ensure their success!"
"That woman must have done this! She must be so malicious! Despite her wrongdoing, she still claims it’s humanitarian concern. If criminals also require humanitarian concern, then what is the use of police and jails in America? We might as well let such women decide who is to be arrested and who is to get out of jail freely! Maybe one day, for the sake of Cubans, she’ll concoct a law that puts all the Jewish people in jail!"
As the crowd heard the old woman’s last words, there was an immediate stir. A younger policeman at the side intruded with good intentions, cautiously reminding her, "Ma’am, please watch your tone and choice of words; these remarks are somewhat dangerous."
"You say I’m dangerous, do you find me, a Jewish woman whose son was murdered, dangerous?" the old woman glared at the cop who looked even younger than her son:
"Just stating the truth makes me dangerous? But that Cuban woman who kills Jews in America can run for Congress?"
A more seasoned police officer patted his colleague on the shoulder and deftly blocked Mrs. Parker’s glaring gaze with his body, saying in a lowered voice, "Don’t just speak out. This crowd is mostly Jewish, and maybe that female congresswoman won’t cause trouble, but if these Jewish people get irritated and complain enough to get you suspended, it would be as easy for them as counting money."
Mrs. Parker was very emotional, and some of the older Jewish people also spoke up, trying to comfort her and suggesting she go somewhere to rest first. Mrs. Parker shook her head, turned around, looked at the Jeff family who were still stupidly standing behind her as a backdrop, gave a slight nod to Jeff, then took the megaphone, held it to her mouth, and earnestly said:
