But the two big men were polite and smiled easily.

"We're detectives from the D.A.'s office," one said to O'Malley apologetically, as both presented their identifications. "We have orders to bring you in for questioning."

The two young recruiting agents came to their feet, tense and angry.

"These white mothers can't let us alone," one said. "Now they're using our brothers against us."

Reverend O'Malley waved them down and spoke to the detectives, "Have you got a warrant?"

"No, but it would save you a lot of trouble if you came peacefully."

The second detective added, "You can take your time and finish with your people, but I'd advise you to talk to the D.A."

"All right," Reverend O'Malley said calmly. "Later."

The detectives moved to one side. Everyone relaxed. One of the recruiting agents ordered a serving of barbecue.

For a moment attention was centered on a meat delivery truck which had entered the lot. It had been passed by the zealous volunteers guarding the gate.

"You're just in time, boy," the black chef called to the white driver as the truck approached. "We're running out of ribs."

A flash of lightning spotlighted the grinning faces of the two white men on the front seat.

"Wait 'til we turn around, boss," the driver's helper called in a southern voice.

The truck went forward towards the speaker's table. Eyes watched it indifferently. The truck turned, backed, gently plowing a path through the milling mob.

Ignoring the slight commotion, Reverend O'Malley continued speaking from the amplifiers: "These damn southern white folks have worked us like dogs for four hundred years and when we ask them to pay off, they ship us up to the North."