At that moment a big beefy cop stepped forward. He undid the little strap holding his pistol in his holster and started shouting at Huey, “Don’t point that gun at me! Stop pointing that gun at me!” He kept making gestures as though he was going for his gun.
This was the most tense of moments. Huey stopped in his tracks and stared at the cop.
“Let’s split, Huey! Let’s split!” Bobby Seale was saying.
Ignoring him, Huey walked to within a few feet of the cop and said, “What’s the matter, you got an itchy finger?”
The cop made no reply.
“You want to draw your gun?” Huey asked him.
The other cops were calling out for this cop to cool it, to take it easy, but he didn’t seem able to hear them. He was staring into Huey’s eyes, measuring him.
“OK,” Huey said. “You big fat racist pig, draw your gun!”
The cop made no move.
“Draw it, you cowardly dog!” Huey pumped a round into the chamber of the shotgun. “I’m waiting,” he said, and stood there waiting for the cop to draw.
All the other cops moved back out of the line of fire. I moved back, too, onto the top step of Ramparts. I was thinking, staring at Huey surrounded by all those cops and daring one of them to draw: Goddam, that nigger is c-r-a-z-y!
Then the cop facing Huey gave up. He heaved a heavy sigh and lowered his head. Huey literally laughed in his face and then went off up the street at a jaunty pace, disappearing in a blaze of dazzling sunlight.
- Eldridge Cleaver in Soul On Ice