Perry told him what he knew, which wasn't much. Jason listened carefully, as did the other vendors who arrived. "They're fucking with you, man. The cops, Disney, all of them. Just fucking with you. You go ahead and hire a lawyer to go to the court for you and see how far it gets you. They're not playing by any rules, they're not interested in the law you broke or whatever. They just want to fuck with you." Suzanne appeared over Perry's shoulder. "I'm Suzanne Church, Jason. I'm a reporter." "Sure, I know you. You were there when they burned down the old place." "That was me. I think you're right. They're fucking with you guys. I want to report on that because it might be that exposing it makes it harder to continue. Can I record what you guys say and do?" Jason grinned and slid the soggy cig from one corner of his mouth to the other and back again. "Sure, that's cool with me." He turned to the other sellers: "You guys don't mind, do you?" They joked and laughed and said no. Perry let out a breath slowly. These guys didn't want a confrontation with the cops -- they knew better than him that they couldn't win that one. Suzanne started interviewing them. The cops got out of their cars and stared at them. The woman cop had her mirrorshades on now, and so the both of them looked hard and eyeless. Perry looked away quickly. The vendors with cars were pulling them around to the roadside leading up to the ride, unpacking merchandise and setting it out on their hoods. Vendors from the shantytown headed home and came back with folding tables and blankets. These guys were business-people. They weren't going to let the law stand in the way of putting food on the table for their families. The cops got back into their cars. Kettlewell worked his way cautiously across the freeway, climbing laboriously over the median. He had changed into a smart blazer and slacks, with a crisp white shirt that hid his incipient belly. He looked like the Kettlewell of old, the kind of man used to giving orders and getting respect. "Hey, man," Perry said. Kettlewell's easy smile was reassuring. "Perry," he said, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leading him away. "Come here and talk with me." They stood in the lee of one of the sickly palms that stood by the roadside. The day was coming up hot and Perry's t-shirt stuck to his chest, though Kettlewell seemed dry and in control. "What's going on, Perry?" "Well, we did a phoner this morning with all the ride operators. They're going to work on raising money for the defense and getting pro-bono lawyers from the EFF or the ACLU or something." Kettlewell did a double-take. "Wait, what? They're going to ask the ACLU? They can't be trusted, Perry. They're *impact litigators* -- they'll take cases to make a point, even when it's not in their clients' best interests." "What could be more in our interests than getting lawyers to fight these bogus injunctions?"