Chapter 9

Sal had heard about both Bostock and Grimes before. Cops did not have to be bastards and a lot of them weren't, but these two both had bad records, and it was only a question of time before they got kicked off the force. Not that all this was likely to help him any now. They began by refusing to get him a drink of water when he asked for it. Then they laughed at him when he said he hadn't had anything to eat since noon. But that was mild compared to what they did later.

Bostock said, "You kids think you can get away with anything." Sal did not reply.

Then Sergeant Grimes put in his nickel's worth: "We been taking care of guys like you for a long time. We can take care of dozens of you."

"All right," said Sal. "Take care of me." He braced himself slightly against the chair. Bostock strutted around the table and shook his fist under Sal's nose.

"Just tell us one thing, kid. What the hell were you doing about ten o'clock yesterday morning?"

"I wasn't doing anything."

"You weren't doing anything! You had to be doing something! Where were you?"

"I don't exactly remember."

"You don't exactly remember. You want me to help you to remember?" Suddenly Bostock opened his hand and slapped Sal across the face, as hard as he could hit. Sal, chair and all, went back slightly, then the chair came down on the floor. Sal's hands came up, fists clenched, on the recoil, a reflex, but he dropped them quickly in his lap again. He looked at his hands. They were still limp in his lap.

A thin whisper came from his lips; he didn't even realize he was saying anything. "Fuck you, too," Sa! said.

"I'll learn you. not to curse me, you little bastard," said Bostock. He opened his other hand and let Sal have it on the other side of his face. Sal and the whole chair nearly went over sideways. Then the chair rocked back into position and Sal sat quiet, his hands quiet, his face quiet, his lips drawn tight.

Bostock walked to one end of the room and back. He looked at Grimes. "He thinks he's a tough kid," Bostock said. Grimes did not move, but he said, "Yeah." Sal could see that a little of Bostock's excitement and tension had been transmitted to Grimes. Grimes didn't show it much, but he showed it some, by the angry light that began to come up in his eyes, by the hard smirk that began to play around Grime's mouth. Grimes worked himself up more slowly than Bostock, but at the end, he might be even worse.

Then Grimes said: "Why in hell don't you answer the questions? You save yourself a lot of trouble. Us too. You don't think we like this, do you?"

"You goddamn right I think you like it," Sal said.

Bostock slapped him again, first on one side, then on the other. "You keep your mouth shut," he said.

"Cut it out," said Grimes. He had hold of Bostock's arm. "Take it easief. Last time you did this you damn near got kicked off the force."

Bostock went to the window and stared moodily into the basement areaway. "It's the only way to handle these wise kids," he muttered.

Sergeant Grimes sat down opposite Sal. "He gets a little rough sometimes," Grimes said. "Why don't you tell us where you were at ten o'clock yesterday morning? Ought to be easy enough. Why make such a goddamn row over such a thing as that?"

"I didn't make any row," Sal said. "He made the row. All I said was I didn't remember."

"Well, try to remember. Make up something, I don't give a damn. Where do you think you might have been around that time?"

Sal watched him through slits of eyes, letting his hands rest limp in his lap, trying to feel cool and smooth.

Then he said: "Around ten o'clock?"

"Yeah. Where were you?"

"I was either inside the church on Verona Avenue or I was talking to Father Callaghan outside. I don't know which."

Bostock spun around from the window, stared at Sal. Then he took off his hat and threw it violently on the floor.

"God Almighty!" Bostock said.

Then nobody said anything for a while, but at last Grimes said: "What church? What's the name of the church?"

"Our Lady of Sorrows."

Grimes took a stub of a pencil and scribbled on a piece of scratch paper. Then he said: "You said you might have been talking to a priest? What's his name?"

"Father Callaghan," said Sal.

"Father Callaghan." Grimes scribbled it down and put the stub of a pencil down, too.

"What were you doing at the church? You don't look much like a church-going boy to me."

"What the hell's the difference what I look like to you?"

Sal saw the anger rise in Grimes' eyes, and the fists double up, but then Grimes relaxed.

"Now look, kid. Why make it so hard? You just answer the questions and there won't be no trouble."

"I'm not going to answer any goddamn more questions," Sal said. "I answered enough already."

He saw that this had inflamed Sergeant Grimes. Now Sergeant Grimes looked like Bostock. He got up, stood over Sal, and Sal could hear Grimes' breath coming out in short bursts, angrily.

"I tried to give you a chance, you little son of a bitch," Grimes said. "But you won't let me. Now you're going to talk and like it."

That was when Sal asked for the water. "Just give me a drink of water," he said.

"You can have the drink of water when you start answering questions."

"Okay, Buster," said Sal.

Sergeant Grimes towered over him, and there was the sound of an animal in his throat when he spoke. Bostock came back from the window and he stood on the other side.

"Now tell the truth," Grimes said. "Your pals told the truth and they put the finger on you. They said it was you who shot the girl. Maybe they were wrong."

"Rape them," said Sal. "And rape you, too."

Bostock slapped him across the side of the face. Sal let his eyes go like slits and clamped his jaw shut. His mouth was a thin line.

"All right," Grimes said. "You planned the whole thing. Then you shot the girl, because you were rattled or something, and your aim was lousy. You're a lousy shot, kid."

"I'm not a lousy shot," Sal said. "I can outshoot you guys any day in the week."

Grimes laughed savagely. "Oh, is that so? So you admit you're a gunman? You admit that, anyhow?"

Sal kept his mouth shut.

"You admit you're a gunman. Well, that's something. Now, why don't you come clean with the rest of it? You pulled the holdup and you shot the girl, didn't you?"

"Rape you, too," Sal said, just loud enough to be heard. Grimes swung from the bottom and his fist connected with Sal's chin. There was a sharp crack and Sal, chair and all, went over backward. They picked him and the chair up and put it all together again just as before.

"Now," said Grimes. "You did it, didn't you?"

"I didn't do anything," Sal said. A trickle of blood came out of his mouth with his words. He started to wipe it off, and Bostock struck his hand away.

"You did it. You shot the girl. Didn't you?"

"I want some water," Sal said.

"We'll give you all the water you want. Later on. We'll give you enough water to last you forever."

"I can't talk unless I get water," Sal said.

"You talk and you'll get the water. Why in hell don't you admit it? You shot the girl, didn't you?"

"No."

One of them slapped him. He didn't know which one. He didn't care. And this went on for hours, not just seeming hours, but real hours. Hours that were like whole days, whole months. He saw the clock on the wall, through bleary eyes. It was nine o'clock, it was ten o'clock, it was midnight, it was one, it was two. No water. No food. He wanted to put his head on the table and go to sleep. They wouldn't let him. They brought in a bright light and rigged it up so that it shone in his eyes. When they thought he was going to sleep they slapped him until he sat up straight in his chair, his thin fingers hanging on to the arms of the chair, his body aching, his head and throat on fire.

"You did it, didn't you? For God's sake, why don't you admit it and get it over with? You're going to admit it before we're through with you, why not now?"

"I didn't do it," Sal said. There was a ringing in his ears and his voice sounded like somebody else's voice.

Sal's eyes finally focused on the clock again. It was nearly five. The blinds had been pulled down at the windows, but there was a gray light showing along the edges.

"You did it, didn't you?" Bostock said.

"I want some water, you dirty little son of a bitch," Sal said.

"Come on," Bostock said. He lifted Sal up out of the chair and with Grimes helping him they carried Sal downstairs into the basement. They went past the pistol range and into an unoccupied corner.

"Stand against that wall," Bostock said. Sal stood against a cement wall. He tried to keep his knees from sagging.

"It was water you wanted, wasn't it?" Bostock said.

"Yes. Water."

"All right. You'll get water."

Bostock moved away to the other end of the basement and Sal made out a brassy gleam in his hands. At first he thought it was a pistol, but then he saw what it was. It was the nozzle of a fire hose.

"Okay," said Bostock. "All set." He heard Grimes say something a long way away and then it hit him. It hit him right in the middle of the belly, in the solar plexus, and it was like being hit by a railroad train. Sal went down in a heap, cracking his head on the cement floor. The water splashed in torrents all around him. He tried to scramble to his feet again, and the full force of the stream got him again. He went down. He tried it again, but the third time he just lay there.

They turned off the water and came and picked him up.

"You wanted water," Bostock said. "You want some more?"

"No."

"You going to talk?"

"Sure. I'll talk."

They took him upstairs and sat him down in the chair again. They both stood over him.

"All right," said Bostock. "Talk. How did it happen? Start at the beginning."

"Beginning of what?"

Bostock slapped him. "You want some more water?"

"No."

"You said you were going to talk. Now talk. You did it, didn't you? You planned the holdup, you staged it, you killed the girl. You did it. Didn't you?"

"Rape you, too," said Sal.

Bostock clenched his fists and his face seemed to swell up, red and splotchy, twice its size. Then Bostock backed away, took off his hat and slammed it down on the floor.

"God Almighty," said Bostock. He picked up his hat, tightened up his pistol belt and went out. The door slammed so hard behind him it shook the windows. In a couple of minutes he came back with a short stocky man whom Sal knew to be Hogan. Hogan was the night chief of detectives. Hogan stood with his hands in his hip pockets and looked at Sal and then he looked at Bostock. Hogan was boiling mad, and in a moment Sal saw that it was Bostock who was the object of his anger.

"I told you a million times to cut out this rough stuff," Hogan aid. "You guys seen too many movies or something. You don't have to slap these kids around, and nobody on the force tries it except you two."

"How you going to get anything out of them?" said Grimes.

"Use your heads, not your fists. I told you before, the next time this happened you're going to get kicked off the force. I'm going to put in a report on this and I'll see to it that you get a depart mental trial."

Bostock glared at him. "Where's Larkey?'' he asked.

"Home in bed," said Hogan. "He isn't due in until ten."

"Well, I'm going home to bed too," said Bostock. "And you can tell Larkey if he wants something out of this little bastard he can get it out himself. Come on, Grimes, let's blow out of here. Go ahead and get us on depart mental charges, Hogan. The hell with it." They both went out the door, slamming it again. Hogan stood there for a minute or so with his hands in his hip pockets, gazing down on Sal.

"Stop looking at me," said Sal in a whisper. "You don't have to look at me, do you?"

Hogan put his hand gently on Sal's shoulder. "I feel sorry for you, kid." He was silent for a while, and then he said: "You can go if you want."

Sal stared at him. He didn't quite get it at first. Then a grim trace of a smile came to his lips.

"They didn't get anything on me. I knew goddamn well they wouldn't."

Hogan kept looking at him, and then he said: "We've got plenty on you, kid. And don't forget it. The only thing that saved you this time was Father Callaghan."

"Father Callaghan?"

"We checked him on what you said. He said he was talking to you from ten to ten thirty yesterday morning."

This information seeped slowly into Sal's mind. He saw that possibly Father Callaghan was a little mixed up on the time.

Then he said: "That's right, too."

Hogan kept looking at him, with just the merest skepticism on his face. He said: "Those guys pushed you around. Grimes and Bostock, I mean. They weren't supposed to do that. They've been in trouble about it before and I didn't think they'd do it again. I meant it when I said I'd get them a depart mental trial."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I guess you don't believe it, Sal, but it's a fact, most cops are on the level. Every police department has a guy or two like that around and generally they get what's coming to them sooner or later." He paused for a moment. Then he said: "Do you mind if I say something else?"

Sal's lip curled. "You guys done all the talking so far. You might as well keep right on."

"All I'm going to say is this, kid. The life you're leading is going to catch up with you someday. I've seen kids like you come and go for thirty years, and I'm telling you. You can't win."

"Okay," said Sal.

"If you want any help there are people around here could help you. There are more people want to help you than there are want to push you around. I can tell you that."

"Rape them, too."

Hogan kept looking at him, seemed about to say something, but all he said was: "All right. We're through with you. Get out."

Sal went out the door marked Detective Bureau and through a side door into Court Street. The first thing he saw was a pile of copies of the paper. The big banner line said: "Three Killer Suspects Grilled."

Sal walked into Broad Street. The morning traffic was already humming. A pale sunlight struggled through the haze from the east, over the top of City Hall, but there was a breath of April wind like the kiss of a beautiful woman.