'I wonder how many men, women, and children have been killed as a result of his racist rantings?'
They left the environs of New Salem and headed, at a moderate speed, out into the countryside. They passed a sign welcoming all to New Salem.
'Salem,' Tom said, musing. 'Wasn't that where they burned all the witches?'
'Yes,' Hamp told him softly. 'This time we reversed it and clobbered a witch hunter. Joe, there's a bottle in that glove compartment.'
But the Indian beside him shot the black one of his looks from the side of his eyes and said quickly, 'Take it easy, Hamp. The day's not over. We wouldn't want them to hang a drunk driving romp on you.'
'Wizard,' Hamp said. 'But I'm not drunk.'
'You don't have to be. They'd book you anyway, if you showed any indication at all of drinking. Joe, throw that bottle out.'
Joe took the half-liter of booze from the dash compartment and looked at the label sadly before tossing the bottle far off the road into a field of sweet corn.
For a while, they drove along silently, each absorbed in his own thoughts in the anticlimax of what they'd just been through.
Joe said finally, 'That was a good spot to pot him from. How'd you locate it?'
Hamp said, 'Not much trouble. Teeter always starts off his campaigns in New Salem. It's the oldest town of any size in the state. That apartment was ideal. The renter lives alone and goes up to Chicago six months of the year to work on some part-time job. He hates the big city, so he returns here for the rest of the year. As it turned out, we needed the place just when he didn't.'
Tom looked over at him. 'How'd we find out about it?'
'One of our whitey members came to town and hung around for a while in bars in the neighborhoods we were interested in. He finally got to talking to this fellow.'
They held silence for a while. There was a certain tenseness in waiting for what they knew was to come, the inevitable.
Hamp said, 'Oh, oh. Here it is. Road block.'
Up ahead were two State Police vehicles barring the way. There were also two police hovercycles. Of the seven officers, two carried automatic Gyrojet carbines; the others, bolstered side arms. There were red lights flashing above the cars.
Hamp said, 'Play it cool. No temper, Joe, and no wisecracks.' They came to a halt some thirty feet from the barricade.
Two of the police troopers strolled toward them. About twenty feet off, one of them stopped and stood there, his legs parted, his holster unsnapped. The second trooper came up to the driver's window and looked in at them.
Hamp said, his voice modulated, 'What's the difficulty, officer?'
The state trooper said, 'I'll ask the questions, boy. Now, you three get out of there and line up against the side of this here car. Spread your legs and lean your hands up against it.'
Hamp said, his voice still quietly even, 'What's the charge, officer?'
Joe had brought a pocket transceiver out, flicked back the cover, activated it, and said, 'We have been stopped by police and ordered from our vehicle, evidently to be searched. The police officer's badge number is 358.'
The trooper looked at him coldly. He was a rawboned, lanky type, probably in his late twenties. His uniform boasted all the glory of a Hungarian brigadier. He said, 'Who you talking to?'
Joe smiled. 'A friend.'
Hamp repeated, 'What is the charge, officer? Isn't a warrant required to search a citizen?'
'Don't smartass me, boy,' the trooper said grimly. He dropped his hand to his Gyrojet pistol.
The black said, still mildly, 'My name isn't Boy. It's Horace Greeley Hampton. And I consider myself acting under duress.'
He opened the door of the hovercar and got out, followed by Tom and Joe, but not until Joe had said into his transceiver, 'The police officer called Mr. Hampton 'boy' contemptuously and made a gesture toward his sidearm, reinforcing his demand that we be searched.'
The three lined up against the car, as ordered, and the second trooper came up to help in frisking them. They were thorough.
The second state policeman said, as though disappointed, 'They're clean, Ranee.'
Ranee said, 'Go through the car.' While the other was obeying, he said to Hamp, Tom, and Joe, 'Okay, you three. Let's see your ID.'
They handed over their Universal Credit Cards, which performed the functions of identity cards, driver's licenses, and everything else a prole needed for identification.
He looked at them carefully, brought forth a police transceiver, and read off names and identity numbers into it, then asked for a police dossier check of the data banks.
He turned his pale eyes to them. 'Horace Greeley Hampton, Tom Horse, Jose Angel Mario Zavalla. Born in Ohio, Colorado, and Texas. All on Guaranteed Annual Stipend.' He sneered at that—an overly done, artificial sneer. 'What're you doing in this state?'
'We are on our way through,' Hamp said, his accent still that of an educated man.
'Where'd you just come from?'
'New Salem.'
'Oh, you did, eh? What were you doing there?'
'We went over to see the rally, listen to the governor's opening campaign speech.'
'Then what're you doing here?'
'The crowd was so large that we couldn't get anywhere near the speaker's stand. Besides, there had been quite a bit of drinking. Some of the, ah, gentlemen in the crowd didn't seem to like our complexions. At any rate, we decided to return to where we're staying.'
'Where's that?'
Joe said into his transceiver, 'We're being questioned, although thus far no charge has been made and we have not even been told whether or not we're under arrest. Our vehicle is being searched without our permission and without a warrant.'
Ranee glared at him but forced his eyes back to Hamp, who seemed to be the spokesman of this unorthodox trio.
Hamp said, 'We're staying at the We Shall Overcome Motel, near Leesville.'
The washed out, grayish eyes of the trooper tightened infinitesimally. He looked at Joe and said, 'And that's who you're talking to?'
Joe smiled his constant smile. 'That's right, Mr. Policeman, sir.'
Hamp looked over at him and slightly shook his head.
The second trooper emerged from the vehicle. He said, grudgingly, 'It's clean, Ranee.'
Ranee's police transceiver buzzed and he listened to the report on the police dossiers of the three, his face less than pleased.
Joe said, in his communication device, 'We have been checked out in the police data banks and have obviously been cleared; however, we are still being held without charge, without warrant, and…'
Ranee began to go red around his neck. 'Take that damned thing away from him,' he snapped to the other trooper, who was leaning back against the car, arms folded. He came erect gladly and started in the Mexican- American's direction.
Joe began to retreat backward, saying quickly into his transceiver, 'State Police officer Number 358 has ordered my transceiver taken. One of us is a black; notify the nearest Nat Turner Team. One of us is an Amerind; notify the Sons of Wounded Knee. I am a Chicano; get in touch with the Foes of the Alamo. Notify our legal department! Notify Civil Liberties. Alert the Reunited Nations Human Relations…'
The trooper was on him, grabbing the transceiver away. Joe smiled and winked at him.
Hamp, his face very serious, turned to Ranee and said, 'You're in the dill now, officer.'
The trooper's face was suddenly wan and he was breathing deeply. He looked from Hamp to Tom and Joe, then back again. His tongue came out and licked dry lips.
