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hear me? Get the hell over against that wall!”
    â€œWhat’d he do?” Fields asked.
    Boglio didn’t answer. He shoved out at the man, slamming him against the wall alongside the filing cabinets. “What’s your name?” he shouted.
    â€œArthur,” the man said.
    â€œArthur what? ”
    â€œArthur Semmers.”
    â€œYou drunk, Semmers?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAre you high?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAre you on junk?”
    â€œWhat’s—I don’t understand what you mean.”
    â€œNarcotics. Answer me, Semmers.”
    â€œNarcotics? Me? No, I ain’t never touched it, I swear.”
    â€œI’m gonna ask you some questions, Semmers,” Boglio said. “You want to get this, Frank?”
    â€œI’ve got a prisoner outside,” Randolph said.
    â€œThe little girl on the bench?” Boglio asked. His eyes locked with Randolph’s for a moment. “That can wait. This is business.”
    â€œOkay,” Randolph said. He took a pad from his back pocket and sat in a straight-backed chair near where Semmers stood crouched against the wall.
    â€œName’s Arthur Semmers,” Boglio said. “You got that, Frank?”
    â€œSpell it,” Randolph said.
    â€œS-E-M-M-E-R-S,” Semmers said.
    â€œHow old are you, Semmers?” Boglio asked.
    â€œThirty-one.”
    â€œBorn in this country?”
    â€œSure. Hey, what do you take me for, a greenhorn? Sure, I was born right here.”
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œEighteen-twelve South Fourth.”
    â€œYou getting this, Frank?”
    â€œI’m getting it,” Randolph said.
    â€œAll right, Semmers, tell me about it.”
    â€œWhat do you want to know?”
    â€œI want to know why you cut up that kid.”
    â€œI didn’t cut up nobody.”
    â€œSemmers, let’s get something straight. You’re in a squad room now, you dig me? You ain’t out in the street where we play the game by your rules. This is my ball park, Semmers. You don’t play the game my way, and you’re gonna wind up with the bat rammed down your throat.”
    â€œI still didn’t cut up nobody.”
    â€œOkay, Semmers,” Boglio said. “Let’s start it this way. Were you on Ashley Avenue, or weren’t you?”
    â€œSure, I was. There’s a law against being on Ashley Avenue?”
    â€œWere you in an alleyway near number four sixty-seven Ashley?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSemmers, there was a sixteen-year-old kid in that alleyway, too. He was stabbed four times, and we already took him to the hospital, and that kid’s liable to die. You know what homicide is, Semmers?”
    â€œThat’s when somebody gets killed.”
    â€œYou know what Homicide cops are like?”
    â€œNo. What?”
    â€œYou’d be laying on the floor almost dead by now if you was up at Homicide. Just thank God you’re here, Semmers, and don’t try my patience.”
    â€œI never seen no kid in the alley. I never cut up nobody.”
    Without warning, Boglio drew back his fist and smashed it into Semmers’ face. Semmers lurched back against the wall, bounced off it like a handball, and then clasped his shattered lip with his hand.
    â€œWhy’d you—”
    â€œShut up!” Boglio yelled.
    From where he sat, Randolph could see the blood spurting from Semmers’ mouth. Dispassionately, he watched.
    â€œTell me about the kid,” Boglio said.
    â€œThere ain’t nothing to—”
    Again, Boglio hit him, harder this time.
    â€œTell me about the kid,” he repeated.
    â€œI—”
    The fist lashed out again. Randolph watched.
    â€œYou going to need me any more?” he asked Boglio.
    â€œNo,” Boglio said, drawing back his fist.
    From across the room, Fields said, “For Christ’s sake, lay off, Rudy. You want to kill the poor bastard?”
    â€œI