"Was I seeing things?" Tim glanced into the crowd. "Was that our landlord?"
"Leave them alone." Schiller pulled Tim back into the crowd in the square and whispered, "During the Industrial Revolution a few years ago, there were protesters on every street in New York. It's not that simple. They aren't criminals."
"You should be telling Dick and Jason that. I'm no teenage street hero." Tim lowered his voice further. "I spotted at least three Federal Bureau of Investigation agents in that group, two unidentified infiltrators, and at least ten people who had no demands and were just causing a fuss. The one at the very back only wanted to mooch some booze."
Schiller secretly gave him a thumbs-up. The two quickly blended into the crowd, and those who had been deliberately targeting them could no longer find them, so they did nothing too outrageous.
"They're after you?" Tim looked up and asked.
"Not exactly."
"Then they definitely are." Tim deduced, "What's their goal? The first demand of any march is to draw public attention. They think getting involved with you will give them a media sensation. Are you a celebrity?"
"Being too smart isn't always a good thing." Schiller's tone carried a threat. "When we get back, I'll tell your dad that you smoke."
"Quit it. He smokes too."
Schiller gritted his teeth. Tim said, "You don't look like the kind of person who'd make yourself universally known, so it was an accident? But what kind of accident could leave even you unable to fix it? Did it involve your friend? Iron Man?"
"Can you stop copying Batman's theology?"
Tim gave a quiet snort. "Now isn't the time for that. Someone's coming after you."
Schiller turned toward where Tim was looking and found a group of reporters rushing over