?All right now,? a burly white sergeant said. ?You had your fun, now move along.?
Socrates kept walking.
The second officer, who was also white and large, stood in front of Socrates pressing the five fingertips of his left hand against the hard sign. ?It's time for you to leave.?
Socrates showed no concern. He took two steps backward and turned to walk in the opposite direction.
?Halt!?
Socrates stopped. He didn't turn around though.
The policemen flanked him.
?It's time for you to leave,? the sergeant said again. He had a small purple scar underneath his right eye. Socrates tried to pick out some recognizable shape in the mark but there was none.
?If you don't go,? the other cop said, ?you're going to spend some special time with us across the street.?
Socrates began walking again. He'd taken two steps when the sergeant's hand tried to close around his right biceps. There weren't many human hands that could encompass Socrates' muscle.
?Show me some ID,? the policeman said.
It was a direct order. Socrates didn't want to talk to the cops. All he wanted was to stand there in silent testimony to the crimes of the man named Cardwell.
When he reached into his back pocket the officers came out with their guns.
?Stop what you're doing,? the sergeant commanded.
?But you asked for my ID,? Socrates said.
?Put your hands where I can see them.?
Socrates put out his arms like a Christian accepting the cross. There were policemen coming out from the station from across the street. The other cop grabbed Socrates by the wrist. He had a pair of handcuffs in his other hand but he couldn't figure out how to put the big man's wrists together.
?Hey, what you doin'?? a man complained. It was one of the men who had read Socrates' sign. ?This is a free country ain't it? A man could tell the truth if he want to.?
?This isn't any of your business,? the police sergeant said. ?Clear out.?
?I'ma stay right here!? the man yelled. ?I ain't leavin' my brother for no pig to shit on.?
The second policeman, not the sergeant, released Socrates and approached the new man threateningly.
?You better get the fuck outta here if you know what's good for you.?
But by then men and women had begun to come out of the diner and from out of the Pick-an'-Save down the street. One car full of young men blasting loud music parked at the curb and the men piled out of the black Buick.
?What's goin' on?? people were asking.
?They tryin' to arrest a man just 'cause he wanna protest.?
?I know that Matthew Cardwell.?
?He the one murdered that boy.?
The police from across the street advanced. They pulled truncheons and canisters of Mace from their belts.
?Why you wanna arrest this man?? a woman demanded. ?It's that cop oughtta be arrested. It's him did all them things the sign says.?
Socrates felt the handcuff clamp down around his left wrist. Before the policeman could grab the other wrist a
