I was startled by two backhoes that were starting to dig by the border fence. I could see both of them had a man on board to protect them. I heard a bunch of crack, crack, cracks, and looked around. One of the observers that John was with was down. It also looked like he might have been hit.Crouching low, I ran back toward the group as fast as I could. In order to stay out of the line of fire, I had to circle around to the back of the group and come up behind them. John was holding a compress on the guy's gut while trying to hold his own arm.I ripped the sleeve off John's shirt, folded up part of it, then used the rest to wrap around his arm and tie it off. Then I checked the ACLU guy's pulse to find it thready. Using the borrowed radio, I called for an ambulance. The duty man that answered said the driver was afraid to get close, so I told him to drive the ambulance himself.As soon as the paramedic began working on the ACLU representative, another one was hit, but this time only in. “Honey,” my wife said, “hear the man out.”“I wasn’t…”“Doesn’t matter,” she said.I glared at her; my darling wife had this grin on her face. She laughed at me, not aloud, but under her breath. Nonetheless, she enjoyed this. Her amusement at my predicaments in life was not at all a subtle criticism. On top of everything else, we’d been at odds about blacks for years. I never liked them, my parents never liked them, we considered them a threat to white Christians, to white lives.He scowled at me, putting the bundle of documents and money in his hand into a shirt pocket. He opened my door, placed his swarthy hand on my shoulder.“Sir, step out of the car, please,” he said. Remaining polite but insistent, he squeezed my shoulder with his gigantic ape paw of a hand, digging his fat thumb into the flesh just above my collarbone, his gargantuan, long fingers into the muscles of my neck.“No,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder and lurched forward, trying to make the cop let go of his grip. “Write.
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