“Now, boys,” the Rev. Beat interrupted.

“Who you calling ‘boy,’ Uncle Tom?” the Black Panther inquired threateningly. He gave the small, neatly suited ecclesiast a push with a hangnailed forefinger. Charles W. Throckwall of the ASPPV noted the interchange from the corner of his eye.

“See here, fellow,” he blurted. “That’s a man of the cloth you’re pushing—”

“Stop, thief!” a skinny female in a fantastic hat yelled. Will Kiley, bounding pop-shopward with the golden amulet, skidded on the oily blood and caromed into Throckwall, who rebounded in what appeared to be a leap toward the Panther. The latter withdrew for reinforcements, jostling a meatcutter. The meatcutter threw the unfortunate chap at Jake, who replied by placing two short jabs in the lower belt region of the policeman just as the uniformed minion thrust the summons at him. Whistles sounded the charge. Union men slugged it out with wreckers and militant sociologists. Christians and Realtors battled side by side. Big Louis Morono played his hoses over all parties without discrimination due to race, creed, or national origin.

“By George, Charlie,” the real estate lobby chief called to his aide. “Maybe we’d better rethink our program. They’ve got quite a body of public opinion on their side, it appears!”

“We can’t fight this kind of organization,” Charlie agreed. “We better pull back and regroup.”

“Leroy,” the Rev. Beat’s lieutenant shouted in his leader’s ear. ”Possibly we misjudged the magnitude of the backlash—”

“Hey, boss,” Jake’s aide cried over the tumult. “We only got ten minutes to finish the job, which Ajax’s rep is riding on the outcome!”

Jake grunted and strained chest to chest with the union Enforcer.

“Deal?” he muttered tentatively.

“How’s about if your boys do the primary breakdown and my guys take it from there? And kind of get your thumb outta my eye, OK?”