“Bastards!” yelled Diana, freeing herself from Booker and using her full girth to ram into one of the photographers. He stumbled back, and fell. Booker used his trumpet case to smack another in the guts. Curses rained down. A photographer blinded me with his flashbulb right in front of my eyes, and I swung my handbag at him, knocking the camera out of his hands onto the sidewalk, where it landed with a gratifying crack. I felt a smack across my face, a blow that made my ears ring, and I reeled and fell with a thud to the pavement. With one hand Terrence pushed the guy away and with the other he pulled me to my feet, wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. Though mayhem raged around us, we seemed briefly isolated as I looked up into his eyes, and suddenly remembered the deer jumping over us, and our frantic physical clutching at each other, but just then police sirens blared and cop cars descended. Uniformed men with nightsticks poured out of the vehicles and swept through the crowd, some invading the Comet Club, crying out, Raid! Raid! Terrence and I were yanked apart, and he was marched toward the wall while I was thrust roughly in the other direction, stumbling when my high heel broke off. I could see Diana, bent forward, a cop twisting her arm behind her back as he marched her to the car and thrust her into the back seat. I was prodded with a nightstick into that same car. While Diana spewed invective, I watched as Jonathan was dragged along the sidewalk by the back of his coat and flung into the car beside me. His beautiful face was a mass of blood. My face was smeared with blood too. The door slammed shut.

From behind the grille we watched as white and black people were marched out of the Comet Club, pushed, punched by armed cops, everyone screaming and swearing over the sirens. The white people were thrust toward the curb, the Negroes, the men flung up against the wall, the women treated a little less brutally. From around the corner I saw another cop leading Booker in handcuffs. The cop held his trumpet case and now and then hit him with it, once in the head, once in the stomach, once in the groin. Booker crumpled. The last I saw of Terrence, before the car we were in sped away from the scene, he was lined up with other Negroes, men and women, facing the wall, feet spread, hands behind his head.