George expected them to tell him to get lost, but they were too intent on their argument to care about him.

“Those guns are not needed,” said Moore. “Will you please put them up? Somebody’s going to get killed.”

“You’re damn right!” said Lingo.

George walked away quickly, heading back to the motel.

Just before he went inside he turned to look, just in time to see the state troopers charge the crowd.

Then the riot started all over again.

George found Verena in the motel courtyard. “I have to go to Washington,” he said.

He did not want to go. He wanted to spend time with Verena, talking to her, deepening their newfound intimacy. He wanted to make her fall in love with him. But that would have to wait.

She said: “What are you going to do in Washington?”

“Make sure the Kennedy brothers understand what’s happening. They have to be told that Governor Wallace is provoking violence in order to undermine the deal.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“I’d like to get to the airport as early as possible and catch the first flight out. I might have to go via Atlanta.”

“How will you get to the airport?”

“I’m going to look for a taxi.”

“No cab will pick up a black man tonight—especially one with a lump on his forehead.”

George touched his face exploratively and found a bump just where she said. “How did that happen?” he said.

“I seem to remember seeing a bottle hit you.”

“Oh, yes. Well, it may be dumb, but I have to try to get to the airport.”

“What about your luggage?”

“I can’t pack in the dark. Besides, I don’t have much. I’m just going to go.”

“Be careful,” she said.

He kissed her. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her slim body to his. “It was great,” she whispered. Then she let him go.

He left the motel. The avenues heading directly downtown were blocked to the east: he would have to take a circuitous route. He walked west, then north, then turned east when he felt he was well clear of the rioting. He did not see any taxis. He might have to wait for the first bus of Sunday morning.

A faint light was showing in the eastern sky when a car screeched to a halt alongside him. He got ready to run, fearing white vigilantes, then changed his mind when three state troopers got out, rifles at the ready.

They won’t need much of an excuse to kill me, he thought fearfully.

The leader was a short man with a swagger. George noticed he had a sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeve. “Where are you going, boy?” the sergeant said.

“I’m trying to get to the airport, Sarge,” George said. “Maybe you can tell me where I can find a taxicab.”

The leader turned to the others with a grin. “He’s trying to get to the airport,” he repeated, as if the idea were risible. “He thinks we can help him find a taxi!”