As we moved down a small hill, the East Chicago Avenue Armory came into view. Ahead of us, the forward ranks of the marchers were massing on the street, which was closed to traffic at both ends. Before we were able to join them, the huge armory doors burst open. Hundreds of soldiers in gas masks swarmed out, pointing bayonet-fitted rifles. They charged forward. There was no escape. Tear gas canisters flew. People coughed, wheezed, screamed they couldn’t see, fell to the ground.

 

Marcellus called, “Let’s go!” We turned and followed him back the way we’d come.. His prosthetic knee caused him to run with an odd gait, but he was still fast. He kept checking to make sure we were keeping up.

 

I looked back down the hill. The police were in attack mode now, clubbing the fleeing marchers, throwing some into paddy wagons, leaving others bleeding in the street. My mind was racing along with my legs. Suddenly, I knew why the City granted the permit so readily, and why the police made sure we got to the armory. “This whole thing,” I shouted, “was a trap!”

 

Marcellus led us into a block-through alley. No cops followed us in, and it seemed for a moment that we’d escaped. When we made it halfway through, though, a canopied troop transport pulled up at the far end, blocking the exit. Two soldiers climbed out of the cab and walked toward us, hands resting on their sidearms. Soldiers on one end, cops on the other. Nowhere to run. Worst of all, there was terror in Cat’s eyes. I held her close.

 

Marcellus remained calm, though. “Stay here,” he ordered, strolling confidently toward the two soldiers. I noticed he was wearing his old army field jacket and combat boots. As he walked, he pulled a green beret from a pocket and put it on.

 

I couldn’t hear the conversation he struck up with them, but it seemed to begin well. I thought he might be able to talk us through this. But one of them raised his voice and pointed at us. Whatever Marcellus was selling, they weren’t buying it now. The guns were coming out of their holsters. I started forward, but Sharon grabbed my arm.

 

“Wait,” she said. “He can handle this.”

 

Sharon was right. Marcellus suddenly morphed into a whirl of chops, jabs and kicks. In less than a minute, the two soldiers were on the ground, one obviously unconscious, the other dazed. At his beckon, we ran forward.

 

“Get in the back of the truck,” he said. “I’ll drive.” At that moment, if he’d told us to jump on a flying carpet, we’d have done it.

 

We rushed to the rear of the transport and parted the curtain. Six more soldiers were sitting on benches. I froze, but Cat, as usual, grasped the situation instantly.

 

“Hurry!” she called. “Two of your friends are lying in the alley. They look hurt.”

 

The soldiers grabbed their rifles and jumped out of the truck. One turned back and asked, “Did you see what happened?”

 

By then I’d recovered. I answered, “No, but four guys ran past us as we were coming through. Big white guys. They looked like bikers.”

 

When all six were in the alley, we jumped into the truck and closed the curtain. Marcellus fired up the engine, and off we went. Ten minutes later, he drove it into the park where the march had begun. The weather was getting nasty now, and the park was deserted. We ran over to Tooter and headed for home.

 

Once we caught our breath, I said to Marcellus, “I guess that Special Forces training really came in handy today.”

 

“I guess it did,” he agreed.

 

“But how’d you know the keys were in the truck’s ignition?”

 

“I didn’t,” he replied, “and they weren’t. I hotwired it to get it started.”

 

“You hotwired it?

 

“Yeah. Cassius taught me how when I was a kid,” he explained, adding “I guess I’ve had a varied education. ‘Interdisciplinary’ is the college word for it, I think.”

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After dropping Sharon and him off at her place, we parked Tooter on High Street and rushed down the block. At our door, I paused and asked, “Shouldn’t we tell Emma what happened?”

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“Later,” Cat said firmly, pulling me inside. Upstairs, we went at each other with an adrenaline-fueled lust that bordered on violence. Once we were spent, we rested, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her body. After a while, she said, “Now, make that call.”

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