sunken eyes. He gazed gloomily at the pistol in Corey's hand. He said, “What's the gun for?”
“General welfare.”
“Put it away,” the balding one said.
Corey had the gun pointed at them. He lowered it just a little but it was still ready. “Let's see the credentials.”
They looked at each other. Then they took out their wallets and showed the badges clipped onto the leather. Corey leaned over and read the names on the identification cards. The semi-bald one was William Heeley. The other card read Louis Donofrio. Both names meant nothing to Corey, but he kept looking at the cards in the wallets. He was focusing on something stamped slantwise on the cards. His eyes burned and behind the burning there was freezing. The stamped lettering read “Night Squad.”
Night Squad , he said to himself. And then, looking at the two men, “Night Squad?”
They didn't say anything. They stood waiting for him to put the gun away. Heeley showed his teeth and Donofrio looked very sad. Corey told himself not to mess with them; they were really Night Squad.
He put the gun in a dresser drawer and faced them and said, “You sure you got the right party?”
Heeley kept showing his teeth. “All right, let's check it. You Corey Bradford?”
He nodded slowly.
“Get dressed,” Heeley said. Corey opened his mouth to say something and Heeley spoke through his teeth. “Just get dressed and don't ask no questions.”
Corey started to put on his clothes. He was aching to ask them what they wanted him for, but again he reminded himself they were Night Squad and it didn't pay to tamper with them. Just go along with it , he told himself. You get involved with the Night Squad, there's no telling what they might do, even though they work from city hall and are listed officially as policemen.
But you know damn well what they really are. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over and tying his shoelaces. He was remembering editorials that referred to them as barbarians, and petitions circulated by various civic groups which had branded them butchers. On street corners and in various bars and poolrooms the local hustlers and hoodlums were always stiff with indignation as they talked about the Squad. “You get no breaks at all from them,” some two-bit thug would say. “You know what they amount to? They're gangsters.”
Now he was dressed and Donofrio opened the door and Heeley motioned him out. Again he wanted to ask what they wanted with him, and if it was any other branch of the police department he would have demanded to know what was happening. He grinned inside himself, genuinely amused at his own fright. He kept telling himself that this was the Night Squad.
Then they were outside and there was a car waiting. It wasn't a police car. Heeley got in behind the wheel. Then Donofrio climbed in and beckoned to Corey. So this puts me next to the door , Corey thought as he got in. If they were taking me in, they'd have me sitting in the middle. What goes here? What do they want?
The car moved off, made a turn onto Addison, stayed on Addison and crossed the bridge. There was no talk. Corey lit a cigarette and kept looking out the window as the car headed south on Banker Street going toward city hall. In the city hall courtyard Heeley parked the car next to a row of police cars. They got out and went into the hall and took the elevator up to the fifth floor.
It was room 529. A few squadmen were questioning a woman and two men. The woman was gasping with fear. The men were trying to hide their fright, but their faces were pale and one of them was beginning to tremble. Donofrio lit a cigarette and sat down on a bench near the window. Heeley pointed to the door of a side room and said to Corey, “In there.”
Corey walked into the adjacent room. It was a
“General welfare.”
“Put it away,” the balding one said.
Corey had the gun pointed at them. He lowered it just a little but it was still ready. “Let's see the credentials.”
They looked at each other. Then they took out their wallets and showed the badges clipped onto the leather. Corey leaned over and read the names on the identification cards. The semi-bald one was William Heeley. The other card read Louis Donofrio. Both names meant nothing to Corey, but he kept looking at the cards in the wallets. He was focusing on something stamped slantwise on the cards. His eyes burned and behind the burning there was freezing. The stamped lettering read “Night Squad.”
Night Squad , he said to himself. And then, looking at the two men, “Night Squad?”
They didn't say anything. They stood waiting for him to put the gun away. Heeley showed his teeth and Donofrio looked very sad. Corey told himself not to mess with them; they were really Night Squad.
He put the gun in a dresser drawer and faced them and said, “You sure you got the right party?”
Heeley kept showing his teeth. “All right, let's check it. You Corey Bradford?”
He nodded slowly.
“Get dressed,” Heeley said. Corey opened his mouth to say something and Heeley spoke through his teeth. “Just get dressed and don't ask no questions.”
Corey started to put on his clothes. He was aching to ask them what they wanted him for, but again he reminded himself they were Night Squad and it didn't pay to tamper with them. Just go along with it , he told himself. You get involved with the Night Squad, there's no telling what they might do, even though they work from city hall and are listed officially as policemen.
But you know damn well what they really are. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over and tying his shoelaces. He was remembering editorials that referred to them as barbarians, and petitions circulated by various civic groups which had branded them butchers. On street corners and in various bars and poolrooms the local hustlers and hoodlums were always stiff with indignation as they talked about the Squad. “You get no breaks at all from them,” some two-bit thug would say. “You know what they amount to? They're gangsters.”
Now he was dressed and Donofrio opened the door and Heeley motioned him out. Again he wanted to ask what they wanted with him, and if it was any other branch of the police department he would have demanded to know what was happening. He grinned inside himself, genuinely amused at his own fright. He kept telling himself that this was the Night Squad.
Then they were outside and there was a car waiting. It wasn't a police car. Heeley got in behind the wheel. Then Donofrio climbed in and beckoned to Corey. So this puts me next to the door , Corey thought as he got in. If they were taking me in, they'd have me sitting in the middle. What goes here? What do they want?
The car moved off, made a turn onto Addison, stayed on Addison and crossed the bridge. There was no talk. Corey lit a cigarette and kept looking out the window as the car headed south on Banker Street going toward city hall. In the city hall courtyard Heeley parked the car next to a row of police cars. They got out and went into the hall and took the elevator up to the fifth floor.
It was room 529. A few squadmen were questioning a woman and two men. The woman was gasping with fear. The men were trying to hide their fright, but their faces were pale and one of them was beginning to tremble. Donofrio lit a cigarette and sat down on a bench near the window. Heeley pointed to the door of a side room and said to Corey, “In there.”
Corey walked into the adjacent room. It was a
Similar Books
