Without replying, the two colored cops picked up Mister Baron and carried him toward the Buick, while the white cop held the back door open.

Neither Roman nor Sassafras had seen a thing.

“What’s happened to him?” Sassafras stopped crying long enough to ask.

“He fainted,” the white cop said. “Get over.”

She moved toward the middle, and they propped Mister Baron in the corner of the seat.

“Hey, boy,” the white cop called to Roman.

Roman looked around.

“I’m going to impound your car, and my partners are going to stay here until the ambulance comes and then bring you to the station. And I don’t want any trouble out of you folks; you understand?”

“Yassuh,” Roman said duly, as though the world had come to an end.

“All right,” the white cop said. “Just let this be a lesson; you can’t buy justice.”

“It weren’t him,” Sassafras said.

“You just keep him quiet if you know what’s good for you,” the cop said, and slammed the door.

He walked unhurriedly back to the Cadillac. One of the colored cops was sitting behind the wheel, the other sitting beside him. The white cop sat on the outside and slammed the door.

The cop driving started the motor and began easing off without turning on the lights. The big golden Cadillac crept silently around the back end of the Buick and had started past before Sassafras noticed it.

“Look, they is taking our car,” she cried.

Roman was too dejected to look up. “He’s impounding it,” he muttered.

“It ain’t just him; it’s all of them,” she said.

Roman’s cocked eyes came up in a startled face. “Why you reckon they is doing that?” he asked stupidly.

“I bet my life they is stealing it,” she said.

Roman jumped as though a time bomb had gone off in his pants. “Stealing my car!” he shouted, his hard, cable-like muscles coming into violent life.