by Otto Penzler
“You ain’t got no evidence,” the man bleeding from the cheek said.
“I thought I told you to shut up,” Hawes said, going to him. “What’s your name?”
“I’m supposed to shut up, how can I give you my name?” the man said.
“How would you like to give me your name through a mouthful of broken teeth?” Hawes said. Carella had never seen him this angry. The blood kept pouring down his cheek, as if in visible support of his anger. “What’s your goddamn name?” he shouted.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” Carella said.
“Good,” the man bleeding from under his jaw line said.
“Who wants this?” a uniformed cop at the railing said.
“Bring it in here and put it on my desk,” Hawes said. “What’s your name?”
“Henry,” the cop at the railing said.
“Not you,” Hawes said.
“Which desk is yours?” the cop asked.
“Over there,” Hawes said and gestured vaguely.
“What happened up here?” the cop asked, carrying the shopping bag in and putting it on the desk he assumed Hawes had indicated. The shopping bag was from one of the city’s larger department stores. A green wreath and a red bow were printed on it. Carella, already on the phone, glanced at the shopping bag as he dialed Mercy General.
“Your name,” Hawes said to the man bleeding from the cheek.
“I don’t tell you nothing till you read me my rights,” the man said.
“My name is Jimmy,” the other man said.
“Jimmy what?”
“You dope, don’t tell him nothin’ till he reads you Miranda.”
“You shut up,” Hawes said. “Jimmy what?”
“Knowles. James Nelson Knowles.”
“Now you done it,” the man bleeding from the cheek said.
“It don’t mean nothin’ he’s got my name,” Knowles said.
“You gonna be anonymous all night?” Hawes said to the other man.
Into the phone, Carella said, “I’m telling you we’ve got three people bleeding up here.”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Hawes said.
“Well, make it as fast as you can, will you?” Carella said and hung up. “They’re backed up till Easter, be a while before they can get here. Where’s that first-aid kit?” he said and went to the filing cabinets. “Don’t we have a first-aid kit up here?”
“This cut gets infected,” the anonymous man said, “I’m gonna sue the city. I die in a police station, there’s gonna be hell to pay. You better believe it.”
“What name should we put on the death certificate?” Hawes asked.
“Who the hell filed this in the missing-persons drawer?” Carella said.
“Tell him your name already, willya?” Knowles said.
“Thomas Carmody, OK?” the other man said. He said it to Knowles, as if he would not allow himself the indignity of discussing it with a cop.
Carella handed the kit to Hawes. “Put a bandage on that, willya?” he said. “You look like hell.”
“How about the citizens?” Carmody said. “You see that?” he said to Knowles. “They always take care of their own first.”
“On your feet,” Carella said.
“Here comes the rubber hose,” Carmody said.
Hawes carried the first-aid kit to the mirror. Carella led Carmody and Knowles to the detention cage. He threw back both bolts on the door, took the cuffs off them and said, “Inside, boys.” Carmody and Knowles went into the cage. Carella double-bolted the door again. Both men looked around the cage as if deciding whether or not the accommodations suited their taste. There were bars on the cage and protective steel mesh. There was no place to sit inside the cage. The two men walked around it, checking out the graffiti scribbled on the walls. Carella went to where Hawes was dabbing at his cut with a swab of cotton.
“Better put some peroxide on that,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Where’s that shopping bag?” Hawes asked.
“On the desk there. What happened?”
“I was checking out a ten-twenty on Culver and Twelfth, guy went in and stole a television set this guy had wrapped up in his closet, he was giving it to his wife for Christmas, you know? They were next door with their friends, having a drink, burglar must’ve got in through the fire-escape window; anyway, the TV’s gone. So I take down all the information—fat chance of ever getting it back—and then I go downstairs, and I’m heading for the car when there’s this yelling and screaming up the street, so I go see what’s the matter, and these two jerks are arguing over the shopping bag there on the desk.”
“It was all your fault,” Carmody said to Knowles.
“You’re the one started it,” Knowles said.
“Anyway, it ain’t our shopping bag,” Carmody said.
“I figure it’s just two guys had too much to drink,” Hawes said, putting a patch over the cut, “so I go over to tell them to cool it, go home and sleep it off, this is Christmas Eve, right? All of a sudden, there’s a knife on the scene. One of them’s got a knife in his hand.”
“Not me,” Carmody said from the detention cage.
“Not me, either,” Knowles said.
“I don’t know who started cutting who first,” Hawes said, “but I’m looking at a lot of blood. Then the other guy gets hold of the knife some way, and he starts swinging away with it, and next thing I know, I’m in the middle of it, and I’m cut, too. What it turns out to be——”
“What knife?” Carmody said. “He’s dreaming.”
“Yeah, what knife?” Knowles said.
“The knife you threw down the sewer on the corner of Culver and Eleventh,” Hawes said, “which the blues are out searching in the muck for right this minute. I need this on Christmas Eve,” he said, studying the adhesive patch on his forehead. “I really need it.”
Carella went to the detention cage, unbolted the door and handed the first-aid kit to Carmody. “Here,” he said. “Use it.”
“I’m waiting for the ambulance to come,” Carmody said. “I want real medical treatment.”
“Suit yourself,” Carella said. “How about you?”
“If he wants to wait for the ambulance, then I want to wait for the ambulance, too,” Knowles said.
Carella bolted the cage again and went back to where Hawes was wiping blood from his hair with a wet towel. “What were they arguing about?” he asked.
“Nobody was arguing,” Carmody said.
“We’re good friends,” Knowles said.
“The stuff in the bag there,” Hawes said.
“I never saw that bag in my life,” Carmody said.
“Me, either,” Knowles said.
“What’s in the bag?” Carella asked.
“What do you think?” Hawes said.
“Frankincense,” Carmody said.
“Myrrh,” Knowles said, and both men burst out laughing.
“My ass,” Hawes said. “There’s enough pot in that bag to keep the whole city happy through New Year’s Day.”
“OK, let’s go,” a voice said from the railing.
Both detectives turned to see Meyer Meyer lead a kid through the gate in the railing. The kid looked about fourteen years old, and he had a sheep on a leash. The sheep’s wool was dirty and matted. The kid looked equally dirty and matted. Meyer, wearing a heavy overcoat and no hat, looked pristinely bald and sartorial by contrast.
“I got us a shepherd,” he said. His blue eyes were twinkling; his cheeks were ruddy from the cold outside. “Beginning to snow out there,” he said.
“I ain’t no shepherd,” the kid said.
“No, what you are is a thief, is what you are,” Meyer said, taking off his overcoat and hanging it on the rack to the left of the railing. “Sit down over there. Give your sheep a seat, too.”
“Sheeps carry all kinds of diseases,” Carmody said from the detention cage.
“Who asked you?” Meyer said.
“I catch some kind of disease from that animal, I’ll sue the city,” Carmody said.
In response, the sheep shit on the floor.
“Terrific,” Meyer said. “Whyn’t you steal something clean, like a snake, you dummy?”
“My sister wanted a sheep for Christmas,” the kid said.
“Steals a goddamn sheep from the farm in the zoo, can you believe it?” Meyer said. “You know what you can get for stealing a sheep? They can send you to jail for twenty years, you steal a sheep.”
“Fifty years,” Hawes said.
“My sister wanted a sheep,” the kid said and shrugged.
“His sister is Little Bopeep,” Meyer said. “What happened to your head?”
“I ran into a big-time dope operation,” Hawes said.
“That ain’t our dope in that bag there,” Carmody said.
“That ain’t even our bag there,” Knowles said.
“When do we get a lawyer here?” Carmody said.
“Shut up,” Hawes said.
“Don’t tell them nothin’ till they read you your rights, kid,” Carmody said.
“Who’s gonna clean up this sheep dip on the floor?” Carella asked.
“Anybody want coffee?” Miscolo said from outside the railing. “I got a fresh pot brewing in the office.” He was wearing a blue sweater over regulation blue trousers, and there was a smile on his face until he saw the sheep. His eyes opened wide. “What’s that?” he asked. “A deer?”
“It’s Rudolph,” Carmody said from the detention cage.
“No kidding, is that a deer in here?” Miscolo asked.
“It’s a raccoon,” Knowles said.
“It’s my sister’s Christmas present,” the kid said.
“I’m pretty sure that’s against regulations, a deer up here in the squad room,” Miscolo said. “Who wants coffee?”
“I wouldn’t mind a cup,” Carmody said.
“I’d advise against it,” Meyer said.
“Even on Christmas Eve, I have to take crap about my coffee,” Miscolo said, shaking his head. “You want some, it’s down the hall.”
“I already told you I want some,” Carmody said.
“You ain’t in jail yet,” Miscolo said. “This ain’t a free soup kitchen.”
“Christmas Eve,” Carmody said, “he won’t give us a cup of coffee.”
“You better get that animal out of here,” Miscolo said to no one and went off down the corridor.
“Why won’t you let me take the sheep to my sister?” the kid asked.
“ ’Cause it ain’t your sheep,” Meyer said. “It belongs to the zoo. You stole it from the zoo.”
“The zoo belongs to everybody in this city,” the kid said.
“Tell ’im,” Carmody said.
“What’s this I hear?” Bert Kling said from the railing. “Inside, mister.” His blond hair was wet with snow. He was carrying a huge valise in one hand, and his free hand was on the shoulder of a tall black man whose wrists were handcuffed behind his back. The black man was wearing a red-plaid Mackinaw, its shoulders wet. Snowflakes still glistened in his curly black hair. Kling looked at the sheep. “Miscolo told me it was a deer,” he said.
“Miscolo’s a city boy,” Carella said.
“So am I,” Kling said, “but I know a sheep from a deer.” He looked down. “Who made on the floor?” he asked.
“The sheep,” Meyer said.
“My sister’s present,” the kid said.
Kling put down the heavy valise and led the black man to the detention cage. “OK, back away,” he said to Carmody and Knowles and waited for them to move away from the door. He unbolted the door, took the cuffs off his prisoner and said, “Make yourself at home.” He bolted the door again. “Snowing up a storm out there,” he said and went to the coatrack. “Any coffee brewing?”
“In the clerical office,” Carella said.
“I meant real coffee,” Kling said, taking off his coat and hanging it up.
“What’s in the valise?” Hawes asked. “Looks like a steamer trunk you got there.”
“Silver and gold,” Kling said. “My friend there in the cage ripped off a pawnshop on The Stem. Guy was just about to close, he walks in with a sawed-off shotgun, wants everything in the store. I got a guitar downstairs in the car. You play guitar?” he asked the black man in the cage.
The black man said nothing.
“Enough jewelry in here to make the queen of England happy,” Kling said.
“Where’s the shotgun?” Meyer asked.
“In the car,” Kling said. “I only got two hands.” He looked at Hawes. “What happened to your head?” he asked.
“I’m getting tired of telling people what happened to my head,” Hawes said.
“When’s that ambulance coming?” Carmody asked. “I’m bleeding to death here.”
“So use the kit,” Carella said.
“And jeopardize my case against the city?” Carmody said. “No way.”
Hawes walked to the windows.
“Really coming down out there,” he said.
“Think the shift’ll have trouble getting in?” Meyer said.
“Maybe. Three inches out there already, looks like.”
Hawes turned to look at the clock.
Meyer looked at the clock, too.
All at once, everyone in the squad room was looking at the clock.
The detectives were thinking the heavy snow would delay the graveyard shift and cause them to get home later than they were hoping. The men in the detention cage were thinking the snow might somehow delay the process of criminal justice. The kid sitting at Meyer’s desk was thinking it was only half an hour before Christmas and his sister wasn’t going to get the sheep she wanted. The squad room was almost as silent as when Carella had been alone in it.
And then Andy Parker arrived with his prisoners.
“Move it,” he said and opened the gate in the railing.
Parker was wearing a leather jacket that made him look like a biker. Under the jacket, he was wearing a plaid-woolen shirt and a red muffler. The blue-woolen watch cap on his head was covered with snow. His blue-corduroy trousers were covered with snow. Even the three-day beard stubble on his face had snowflakes clinging to it. His prisoners looked equally white, their faces pale and frightened.
The young man was wearing a rumpled black suit, sprinkled with snow that was rapidly melting as he stood uncertainly in the opening to the squad room. Under the suit, he wore only a shirt open at the collar, no tie. Carella guessed he was twenty years old. The young woman with him—girl, more accurately—couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She was wearing a lightweight spring coat open over what Carella’s mother used to call a house dress, a printed-cotton thing with buttons at the throat. Her long black hair was dusted with snow. Her brown eyes were wide in her face. She stood shivering just inside the railing, looking more terrified than any human being Carella had ever seen.
She also looked enormously pregnant.
As Carella watched her, she suddenly clutched her belly and grimaced in pain. He realized all at once that she was already in labor.
“I said move it,” Parker said, and it seemed to Carella that he actually would push the pregnant girl into the squad room. Instead, he shoved past the couple and went directly to the coatrack. “Sit down over there,” he said, taking off his jacket and hat. “What the hell is that, a sheep?”
“That’s my sister’s Christmas present,” the kid said, though Parker hadn’t been addressing him.
“Lucky her,” Parker said.
There was only one chair alongside his desk. The young man in the soggy black suit held it out for the girl, and she sat in it. He stood alongside her as Parker took a seat behind the desk and rolled a sheaf of D. D. forms into the typewriter.
“I hope you all got chains on your cars,” he said to no one and then turned to the girl. “What’s your name, sister?” he asked.
“Maria Garcia Lopez,” the girl s
aid and winced again in pain.
“She’s in labor,” Carella said and went quickly to the telephone.
“You’re a doctor all of a sudden?” Parker said and turned to the girl again. “How old are you, Maria?” he asked.
“Sixteen.”
“Where do you live, Maria?”
“Well, thass the pro’lem,” the young man said.
“Who’s talking to you?” Parker said.
“You were assin’ Maria——”
“Listen, you understand English?” Parker said. “When I’m talkin’ to this girl here, I don’t need no help from——”
“You wann’ to know where we live——”
“I want an address for this girl here, is what I——”
“You wann’ the address where we s’pose’ to be livin’?” the young man said.
“All right, what’s your name, wise guy?” Parker said.
“José Lopez.”
“The famous bullfighter?” Parker said and turned to look at Carella, hoping for a laugh.
Carella was on the telephone. Into the receiver, he said, “I know I already called you, but now we’ve got a pregnant woman up here. Can you send that ambulance in a hurry?”
“I ain’ no bullfighter,” José said to Parker.
“What are you, then?”
“I wass cut sugar cane in Puerto Rico, but now I don’ have no job. Thass why my wife an’ me we come here this city, to fine a job. Before d’ baby comes.”
“So what were you doing in that abandoned building?” Parker said and turned to Carella again. “I found them in an abandoned building on South Sixth, huddled around this fire they built.”
Carella had just hung up the phone. “Nothing’s moving out there,” he said. “They don’t know when the ambulance’ll be here.”
“You know it’s against the law to take up residence in a building owned by the city?” Parker said. “That’s called squatting, José, you know what squatting is? You also know it’s against the law to set fires inside buildings? That’s called arson, José, you know what arson is?”
“We wass cold,” José said.
