A hush suddenly fell over the crowd. Richard watched in bemused wonder as J.R. took the stage, carrying his tuba. Was this some new, avant-garde direction for rap battle? Another chill overtook him as he saw the police captain jump up to the boards, pumping his fists in premature celebration. The crowd continued to murmur uneasily. Dread hung in the air like a pair of pantyhose on the shower-curtain rod of a bachelor waking from a drunken stupor, suddenly aware he wasn’t alone.

Ulysses’ beaming smile could have cut through the walls like a mad scientist’s errant laser. In one hand he held a handwritten notebook; with his other hand, he snapped his finger and thumb rhythmically. On the 5th beat, the tuba erupted with a cacophony that brought to mind a wild elephant in heat, drunk on overripe marula fruit. The police captain spit out words, their pitches rising and falling seemingly in time with boiling mud at a tourist-trap geyser, his swaying keeping time with trees blowing in storm winds that threatened to force the national park to close early.

Richard could only make out some of the words, but they fit together worse than hand-me-downs from a distant cousin. They didn’t address anyone in the room; they seemed to refer to times long since passed and people who weren’t around anymore. Another chill crept over him, and it wasn’t just because he thought Ulysses had met his gaze momentarily. Richard gaped at J.R., blowing his tuba strenuously, slowly waltzing in a circle, out of step with the captain’s words, and anything else in the charted universe. Or was it merely a 9/8 time signature? Richard’s eyes grew wide as he contemplated the police captain, clearly enjoying what he was doing far more than anyone watching him, and no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the pattern suddenly became clear. He felt tunnel vision creep into his field of view like a Halloween bully after his candy.

Was this…slam poetry?

Slowly at first, then picking up steam, the crowd began to boo. The joyful gleam in Ulysses’ eyes turned stormy, darting furiously over the crowd. Richard felt his stomach clench; if he hadn’t been overdue for a meal, he might have lost his last one. He knew the captain well enough to know what would come next, and he didn’t look forward to witnessing it.

The captain’s voice grew louder, and his words gained speed; the tuba, seemingly oblivious, continued to honk at the same disjointed pace. Anger crept into his voice and his subject matter. He was no longer enjoying a night out; instead, he was berating a class full of green recruits that had the temerity to not pick up their lessons on the first go. The boos were now loud enough to threaten to drown him out. In an instant, his face screwed up into a scowl, and he slammed his notebook against his leg, the loud crack momentarily startling the crowd into partial silence. “I don’t have to take this!” he boomed as he stormed off stage. J.R. continued his spirited tribute to the sounds of spring in the Serengeti. Turning around suddenly, Ulysses grabbed J.R.’s arm. “Shut the hell up already!” he roared. J.R. gaped open-mouthed at the captain’s retreating form, his face as pouty as a toddler being told it’s bedtime.

Richard watched the captain leave through the side entrance. A few moments passed, and suddenly he jolted: he was supposed to follow! Richard pushed his way through the surly crowd, not yet content with the amount of expressed disapproval. He passed the earlier group of hipster goths; unable to go through them, he pushed his way around the clog, shoving his way between two tightly-packed cliques. “Omigaw,” he heard one goth girl whine. “Pushing through a crowd…how derivative.”

Richard finally reached the edge of the throng, and found himself stumbling over unused chairs set around small round tables. The side exit seemed hopelessly far away. He ventured back into the crowd, finding them to be slightly less obstructive than static furniture. He neatly dodged a waitress carrying a tray full of beers and darted between two more people, finally reaching the side exit. He burst through the door and looked around; his heart sank as he realized Ulysses was nowhere in sight.

“Hey mister,” he heard a familiar voice say. He looked up to see the teenage runaway, looking back at him with soulful eyes. “Are you looking for the big guy that ran out of there?”

He nodded vigorously; her lips formed a snarl. “That jerk just about trampled me.” Then she pointed to her right. “He went that way and down the first street on the left.”

Richard’s eyes gleamed; the quarter had been a brilliant investment. He tipped his hat toward her before running off. She returned a warm smile.

Richard jogged down the street; the crowd thinned considerably once one left the main boulevard. He finally spotted Ulysses, about a block in the distance, just before he turned right to duck down another street. He redoubled his effort and rounded the corner.

Richard watched Ulysses pass an alley on his right. “Freeze!” someone yelled; Ulysses stopped cold and searched around frantically. Richard did likewise. Loud popping sounds suddenly erupted nearby, accompanied by flashes. “Ah, shoot!” Ulysses didn’t quite yell, but there’s no need to repeat profanity. He dropped to the ground; as Richard was about to do so, he saw movement on a few nearby rooftops, and flickering lights that ended with a reddish glow that descended to the ground, just before a big flash. Someone was throwing firecrackers at the police captain! Richard stood up and continued toward Ulysses, who still lay on the ground.

The explosion reports stopped; the captain raised his head and looked around. Another firecracker exploded some distance from the mouth of the alley, directly across from it. In a flash, Ulysses jumped to his feet and ran into the alley. Richard smirked as he approached the entrance and stood his ground. Ulysses knelt there panting; the alley was a dead end, a trash bin placed at the back wall. Piles of junk sat stacked against the other two walls. Richard’s footsteps echoed dimly; Ulysses whirled around and peered into the murkiness.

“Who’s there?!” he demanded.

Richard suddenly felt the full effect of several recent adrenaline surges. He had realized them dimly, but hadn’t had a moment to think about them, his attention being focused on more pressing matters. But there was the police captain, looking huge and standing tall, only a moment away from seeing Richard clearly, and cornered. His mind raced; what could he do about this?