Clu looked straight into a camera. "I am not a member of the Communist Party," she said. "I believe the Communist Party is seriously mistaken about many things - but philosophically I’m a Communist - that’s with a small c." 
     There was excited buzz among the reporters. I saw a look of distress flicker across Mrs. Soaper’s face. I distinctly heard her say, "Ooh-wee!" under her breath. But her face got calm again in a second. She had led her movement through many severe strains. "Can you get her away from them?" she whispered to me. 
     I went over and tried to push through the reporters to Clu. But her plan was at work, and immediate historical factors favored it. 
     "What do you think of the Detroit riots?" another reporter asked. 
     "The events in Detroit were caused by police brutality - and I believe that people have a right to defend themselves from police brutality!" Clu blurted out rapidly as I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the circle of reporters. "Mrs. Soaper thinks we should go - now!" I whispered to her and we ran to our car. 
     "What the hell are you and your plan trying to do?" I asked as we drove off. 
     "I was only following in the tradition of Malcolm X," Clu said, as calm as if she was presiding over a tea party. A cop car and a car from the local TV channel were following us. 
     "A lot of Detroit has just burned to the ground, somebody we know has just been killed, Stan’s in the stockade and Will may go there!" I shouted, slamming my hands down hard on her dashboard. "Doesn’t any of that register with you?" 
     "Yes it does - very much," Clu said, and I have never seen her face set in a more serious and determined expression. "If you appreciated when I shouted END THE WAR at Will’s first court martial, you should be able to appreciate this," she said. 
     "And you worry about Will telling his experiences with the Viet Cong!" I said, flinging my hands out in exasperation. Instead of going to the Barrage, we drove to Ben’s motel. We got out of the car and ran upstairs and knocked on Ben’s door. I could see the cop car and the TV news car turn away and drive off as Ben let us in. 
     "You came early," he said. 
     "The cops followed us," Clu said. "We were going to the bar, but it’s better to be around a lawyer if you have cops after you. And-thanks for the help the other night." 
     She reached out to hug him and collapsed in his arms. I plopped down on the bed. Clu let go of Ben and slumped down in an armchair. Being militant can make you very tired quickly. 
     Clu and I closed our eyes for a few minutes. Ben had handled enough things like this in the Movement so that he understood. We woke up and tried to explain what had happened - often talking across each other’s version. Clu and I were starting to quarrel when he put up his hands and said, "Easy, easy! Stop!" 
     We quit babbling and he went on. "All I can say is that I don’t want any surprises in the courtroom. It will be great to have the Committee people there and the Vanguard if they come, but no demonstrations! You want to know what the mood is in this town, listen to this!" He held up a copy of the Pronghorn CONSTITUTION and turned to the editorial page. 
     "In the CONSTIPATION here it says ‘The flag burners, the vilifiers of Uncle Sam, the riot leaders, the subversives, and the Private Will Orry’s are still invoking the protection of United States law while they take sides with the enemy in time of war. Should they be allowed to do so? We do not know. It is not an easy question, blah, blah .   ’Get it? This place could go off at any time. I remember what your friend Jim Ed said about the Impact Area merchants - they are scared and scared people are dangerous. I did some checking up. Fort Clay was once a post for all-black cavalry units and their descendants still live around here. This place has one of the highest percentages of blacks in the state - and one of the most corrupt and brutal police departments." 
     "I get your drift," I said. 
     "You guys have more influence than you realize," Ben went on, folding up the paper. "They’re afraid that all this agitating could start a riot by the black G.I.’s and the local blacks together. You can hear it every time you go to a coffee shop around here. Detroit out where the buffalo roam. You’ve got the whites here stirred up - now keep it cool for a while. I have more to tell you later tonight." 
     There was a knock at the door. Ben opened it and let Will in. We all hugged. Then we turned on the local news. Clu’s remark about being a communist was given more play than all of Mrs. Soaper’s swimming pool demonstration. 
     "If you’re a communist, I guess I am too," Will said to Clu. "I just don’t know if I could broadcast it." 
     The TV announcer went on, "The self-styled communist is apparently here for the court-martial of anti-war Private Will Orry. She is conferring with Orry’s lawyer Ben Markovitz at the Big Chief Motel. Pronghorn police Chief Hal Willis says the area is under constant surveillance. Willis was questioned about potential dangers today." 
     The TV image cut to the police chief. A reporter asked, "What can be done to prevent a riot here in Pronghorn?" 
     "I’m pretty frustrated," Chief Willis said. "We don’t know what we can do. If  I knew anything more I could do, I’d sure do it." 
     Ben switched off the news and said, "Anybody here want a soda? There’s a machine out on the balcony." 
     "Yes!" all three of us chorused. I raised my fist. It had been a hot, thirsty day for me with nothing to drink for hours. Ben opened the door and walked out on the balcony, "Hey, will you look at that!" Ben called out. 
     We all ran out on the balcony. Down in the motel courtyard was a van from the local radio station. A news man was standing by it, microphone in hand. 
     "A crowd is gathering here..." he said into the microphone. There was no crowd at all. But in five minutes the crowd was there. They must have been following the radio station’s van. Cars filled the motel courtyard and people piled out - merchants and bartenders from the Impact Area. The man Bump and I had seen giving his spiel in front of Rydell’s jewelry store was there, screaming and shaking his fist when he saw Clu and the rest of us up on the balcony. Then motorcycles drove in. It was the Gorillas, a local bike club who liked to beat up on G.I.’s like their fathers and grand fathers before them did. Their rival club was the Red Clay Runners, mostly G.I.’s and recent ex-G.I.’s who hung around the Barrage and provided an informal security force for that place - against Gorillas. 
By now there were about 300 in the crowd. As soon as the Gorillas were there, they charged up the stairs toward the motel balcony. We backed inside Ben’s room and locked and chained the door. The mob came up and started hammering on the door with their fists and kicking it. I could hear the voices of a couple of older men: 
     "Remember back during the real war, how we used to handle traitors like them Jehovah Witnesses?" 
     "I remember! Yes Sir, I remember!" 
     And I could recognize the voice of one of the Gorillas: 
     "Do we kill the Communist bitch first? Or do we fuck her first and then kill her?" Clu stayed calm but breathed deeply. 
     The motel owner came upstairs and began to beg the crowd in a whimpering, weepy voice. "My life savings are tied up in this motel! Please don’t tear it down!" 
     But the crowd didn’t stop battering at the door until they heard a police siren. I looked out the window and saw that they retreated downstairs, but they stayed down in the courtyard and the cops made no attempt to make them leave. 
     The motel owner came up and knocked on the door. Ben opened it a crack, leaving it chained. 
     "You’re causing a disturbance and you’ll have to leave or I’ll have you arrested," the motel owner said. 
     "Nonsense!" Ben said. "I’m a lawyer having an important conference with my clients and I’ve paid for the room in advance." 
     "You’ll have to leave!" the owner said, sounding angry and frightened. 
Ben picked up the phone and made a collect call. "I’m on the phone now with a friend of mine who is a judge on the Federal Circuit court of appeals. Hello, Jack, how goes it? There’s something highly irregular here in Pronghorn. There is a mob at our motel threatening me and my clients and the cops won’t disperse them! What? OK!  OK!" 
     He hung up. "That was a Federal judge. He’s going to do something about this immediately." 
     "Just leave-just leave!" The owner kept saying. 
In about five minutes the phone rang. This time it was the attorney general of our state who had been called away from his supper by the Federal judge. 
     "OK, Mr. Attorney General, OK," Ben said. "Just say so the motel owner here can hear it, that I have a right to be in this room conferring with my clients if I’m paid up." 
     He held the receiver to the door and I could hear a faint "yes!" come out of it. "Thank you Mr. Attorney General," Ben said. "now contact Police Chief Willis here in Pronghorn and tell him he has to give us protection." 
     He hung up. About five minutes later the phone rang again. Ben picked it up. "It’s the state Attorney General again," he said. He listened a little bit. Then he told us, "He says that Police Chief Willis says that if the people of Pronghorn want to have a little fun out on their street, they have a right to do it." Then into the phone, "Thank you Mr. Attorney General. Give Chief Willis my regards and tell him I’ll sue him for everything he’s got." And he hung up. 
     Then he went over and spoke to the motel owner who was still just beyond the chain at the door. "Now go away. I’m paid up till ten o’clock tomorrow and I’m in the middle of a conference with clients." And then Ben slammed the door in the motel owner’s face. 
     "Now Will, come on back to the bathroom," Ben said. "I want to get all the details straight before I tell the others." Will walked back into the bathroom with Ben and I could hear the shower turned on full blast. 
      A few minutes later, Will and Ben came out. Then Ben called, "OK, Clu, come on back here and I’ll explain some things and you’ll understand why no more courtroom demonstrations for a while." 
      In a little bit, Clu came out and Ben said, "Dale! Now it’s your turn!" 
 I went back in the bathroom. The shower was still roaring. "Keep your voice low," Ben said. "There were two FBI guys who followed me here yesterday, so most likely the place is bugged. The shower is the best I can do about that. 
      "Now," he went on, "I have a practical problem you can help me with. I have a lot of cases besides Will and his friends and I can’t keep coming back for court-martial after court-martial after court-martial." He was twirling his forefinger like a Talmudic scholar making points. 
      "Your buddy Will has a damn good spy system," Ben said, "one of his contacts is a stockade guard. The guard says Stan Bennett is being held in solitary for his whole two weeks. He’s got two chaplains working on him, trying to get him to break, and a couple of military intelligence guys come by now and then and really give it to him serious. They want a case against Will - possession of dope, explosives or illegal fire arms, whatever and they want Stan as the main witness against him. They’re telling Stan that if he doesn’t go along as soon as he gets out he’ll get caught with pot in his locker, or whatever, and end up in Leavenworth. They’re betting that he’ll crack and come over to their side." 
      "But Stan’s a big, husky guy," I said. "Why don’t they go after a little guy like Pete Yoder who already has told the press that he’s not with us?" 
     "Because all Pete was worried about was making sure that the $7,000 insurance money came so his mom could have some of it," Ben said. "Once I promised him I’ll help him get the insurance, everything was cool. He has the faith - like the whiskery old characters who taught me Talmud before I became a pinko. They had been through Auschwitz. Nothing could break them. Pete’s like that. But sooner or later, Stan will break. Will says he can tell." 
      "Here’s where you come in," Ben continued, "all I could do was have Will tell the guard to tell Stan that he has a lawyer now and he should just keep it together until he gets out. But once he gets out - I understand you have ways of helping somebody get somewhere else if they have to." 
      For  once I smiled a proud smile. 
      "I think Interstate Transportation will be at your service," I said. 
 Ben clapped me on the shoulder, "Good!" he said, "Now see if you can arrange to get Will out of here and back to his barracks without going through that mob." 
      I called Hattie at the Barrage. "Is Frog or Jim Ed there?" I asked. 
      "No, they’re out on business," she said. That meant out of town on a pot deal. "I don’t know when they’ll be back." 
      "Well, have them come by the Big Chief Motel when they get back," I said. "Tell them it’s an emergency - about Will." 
      "OK," she said and hung up. 
      By three a.m. the crowd in the courtyard was down to about a hundred. Then Frog and Jim Ed drove up and got out. They had some guys from the Red Clay Runners bike club with them - three tall, lean characters, not burly like Frog or their enemies, the Gorilla bike club. They looked more like hippies than bikers except one of them had short hair because he was an active duty G.I. 
      Frog and Jim Ed and the three Red Clay Runners made their way through the crowd of Impact Area merchants and Gorillas. When they got to the foot of the stairs, Frog called out, "Will! I’ve come to take you back to the post!" 
      Will hugged us and went out the door and ran down to Frog and his friends. They got in Frog’s car and drove off. By dawn there were only about ten people left in the courtyard - those who were too drunk to leave.