were not about to sit idly by

"I can't do anything, Keith, until I talk to this guy, okay? I have to know how much he is willing to say. Is he going to admit that he killed Nicole Yarber? Can you answer this?" "Well, Robbie, it's like this. We left Topeka in the middle of the night. We're driving like crazy to get to your office, and the sole purpose, according to Boyette when we left Topeka, was for him to come clean, admit to the rape and murder, and try to save Donte Drumm. That's what he said. But with this guy nothing is predictable. He may be in a coma right now, for all I know." "Should you check his pulse?" "No. He doesn't like to be touched." "Just hurry, damn it." "Watch your language, please. I'm a minister and I don't appreciate that language." "Sorry. Please hurry." Chapter 20 The march had been whispered about since Monday, but its details had not been finalized. When the week began, the execution was days away, and there was a fervent hope in the black community that a judge somewhere would wake up and stop it. But the days had passed and the higher powers were still asleep. Now the hour was near, and the blacks in Slone, especially the younger ones, were not about to sit idly by. The closing of the high school had energized them and left them free to look for a way to make noise. Around 10:00 a.m., a crowd began to gather at Washington Park, at the corner of Tenth Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard. Aided by cell phones and the Internet, the crowd multiplied, and before long a thousand blacks were milling about, restless, certain that something was about to happen but not sure exactly what. Two police cars arrived and parked down the street, safely away from the crowd. Trey Glover was Slone High School's starting tailback, and he drove an SUV with tinted windows, oversize tires, glistening chrome wheel covers, and an audio system that could break glass. He parked it on the street, opened all four doors, and began playing "White Man's Justice," an angry rap song by T. P. Slik.