was screaming as he threw bottles down onto the pavement.
“ Fantastic, ” Eric said, staring out at the Harlem night. He could not hide his excitement any more than he could stop his ceaseless looking around.
Haggerty turned off the car motor, pocketed the keys, lit a Camel. So far he had done nothing right in the way of disabusing the kid of his notion. They ’ d started with a steak dinner at Gallagher ’ s. There were a bunch of other detectives eating when they came in, and they all noted Haggerty and his companion. And they kept watching them. At first Haggerty thought it was because of the way the kid was dressed—neat dark gray dacron and cotton suit, blue button-down shirt, red rep tie. Haggerty wore his usual off-duty costume—an old baggy jacket just to hide his gun, faded pants, short-sleeve shirt, no tie.
Who was he kidding, that wasn ’ t it Eric was just as startling to look at in his way as his twin was in hers. Big, powerful, moved well. And the same olive complexion, the same sea-blue eyes.
Haggerty told him horror stories over dinner—when the junkie cracked his skull, when he took the cleaver shot in the stomach, and they thought he was dead from blood loss, when the loony he ’ d put away got out and shot him three times point-blank and God alone knew how he ’ d stayed alive. And on this last one he described the slow healing months, the pain, the pressure he ’ d put on his family, how his daughter almost cracked with worry; Haggerty piled it on. All the stories were true, of course, he never lied, not about anything, but usually if he talked about them at all it was only because someone else brought it up and he grazed over them, never going into detail. Now he went into detail. The fear, the hurt, the knowledge that some nut was going to any day blow you away tomorrow, the miserable way it ripped at any semblance of family fabric, if it was sad or gory, Haggerty let it out.
Eric just kept saying “ Really. ” Or “ Incredible. ” Or “ God, I wish I could have been there. ”
Once, when Haggerty went to the men ’ s room, Cooney followed him. Cooney had the next desk over in the precinct house. “ Who ’ s the co-ed? ” Cooney wondered.
“ Would you believe, a recruit? I ’ m trying to talk him out of it. ”
“ Play down the glamorous aspects then, ” Cooney advised. “ Don ’ t tell him about the free apples we get from fruit stands. ”
“ Mum ’ s the word, ” Haggerty promised and he went back to the table. After dinner, they walked through Times Square, Haggerty pointing out various points of sleaze. Then a long drive through the South Bronx, burned out and shameful.
And last, always last, Harlem.
“ Now we ’ re just going to sit quiet and watch, ” Haggerty said. He pointed out the newsstand a short distance away on the corner. The bar in the middle of the block, the dance hall beside it and across the street another dance hall, Earl ’ s, big and very loud. “ Earl ’ s is a bad place, capital B. ”
“ How so? ”
“ People get hurt in there. Frequently. ”
Eric stared across the street toward the large, lit place, the music surging out from the open doors. On the sidewalk in front of them, a number of drunks leaned on the buildings for support. Now a man left the bar, hesitated on the street a moment and a drunk left the support of the building, lost his balance, fell against the man who ’ d just left the bar. No harm though. The bar patron shoved the drunk away. The drunk staggered back to the safety of the building.
“ If we see a crime, will you arrest the guy? ”
“ I ’ m off duty, Eric; I guarantee you I won ’ t. ”
“ You mean you ’ ll just let it happen? A crime ?”
“ It ’ s like rebounding in basketball—if you go after every one you ’ ll get tired and pretty soon you ’ ll start missing some that are your responsibility. You play basketball? ”
“ I ’ m not into team sports. But I know what you mean.
“ Fantastic, ” Eric said, staring out at the Harlem night. He could not hide his excitement any more than he could stop his ceaseless looking around.
Haggerty turned off the car motor, pocketed the keys, lit a Camel. So far he had done nothing right in the way of disabusing the kid of his notion. They ’ d started with a steak dinner at Gallagher ’ s. There were a bunch of other detectives eating when they came in, and they all noted Haggerty and his companion. And they kept watching them. At first Haggerty thought it was because of the way the kid was dressed—neat dark gray dacron and cotton suit, blue button-down shirt, red rep tie. Haggerty wore his usual off-duty costume—an old baggy jacket just to hide his gun, faded pants, short-sleeve shirt, no tie.
Who was he kidding, that wasn ’ t it Eric was just as startling to look at in his way as his twin was in hers. Big, powerful, moved well. And the same olive complexion, the same sea-blue eyes.
Haggerty told him horror stories over dinner—when the junkie cracked his skull, when he took the cleaver shot in the stomach, and they thought he was dead from blood loss, when the loony he ’ d put away got out and shot him three times point-blank and God alone knew how he ’ d stayed alive. And on this last one he described the slow healing months, the pain, the pressure he ’ d put on his family, how his daughter almost cracked with worry; Haggerty piled it on. All the stories were true, of course, he never lied, not about anything, but usually if he talked about them at all it was only because someone else brought it up and he grazed over them, never going into detail. Now he went into detail. The fear, the hurt, the knowledge that some nut was going to any day blow you away tomorrow, the miserable way it ripped at any semblance of family fabric, if it was sad or gory, Haggerty let it out.
Eric just kept saying “ Really. ” Or “ Incredible. ” Or “ God, I wish I could have been there. ”
Once, when Haggerty went to the men ’ s room, Cooney followed him. Cooney had the next desk over in the precinct house. “ Who ’ s the co-ed? ” Cooney wondered.
“ Would you believe, a recruit? I ’ m trying to talk him out of it. ”
“ Play down the glamorous aspects then, ” Cooney advised. “ Don ’ t tell him about the free apples we get from fruit stands. ”
“ Mum ’ s the word, ” Haggerty promised and he went back to the table. After dinner, they walked through Times Square, Haggerty pointing out various points of sleaze. Then a long drive through the South Bronx, burned out and shameful.
And last, always last, Harlem.
“ Now we ’ re just going to sit quiet and watch, ” Haggerty said. He pointed out the newsstand a short distance away on the corner. The bar in the middle of the block, the dance hall beside it and across the street another dance hall, Earl ’ s, big and very loud. “ Earl ’ s is a bad place, capital B. ”
“ How so? ”
“ People get hurt in there. Frequently. ”
Eric stared across the street toward the large, lit place, the music surging out from the open doors. On the sidewalk in front of them, a number of drunks leaned on the buildings for support. Now a man left the bar, hesitated on the street a moment and a drunk left the support of the building, lost his balance, fell against the man who ’ d just left the bar. No harm though. The bar patron shoved the drunk away. The drunk staggered back to the safety of the building.
“ If we see a crime, will you arrest the guy? ”
“ I ’ m off duty, Eric; I guarantee you I won ’ t. ”
“ You mean you ’ ll just let it happen? A crime ?”
“ It ’ s like rebounding in basketball—if you go after every one you ’ ll get tired and pretty soon you ’ ll start missing some that are your responsibility. You play basketball? ”
“ I ’ m not into team sports. But I know what you mean.
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