The 1st Deadly Sin

supper.”

“Uh-huh,” the Chief nodded. “I’ll let her know when I know. Captain, why don’t-” He stopped suddenly, tilted his head. “Sirens,” he said. “Coming fast. That’ll be the troopers.”

It was five seconds before Captain Delaney heard them. Finally, two cars careened around the curve into the Park entrance, skidded to a stop outside the fence, their sirens sighing slowly down. Four men in each car and, bringing up the rear, a beat-up Ford sedan with “Orange County Clarion” lettered on the side. One man in that.

Delaney came down off the porch and watched as the eight troopers piled out of their cars, put their hands on their polished holsters.

“Beautiful,” he said aloud.

Then one man, not too tall, wider in the hips than the shoulders, stalked through the gate toward them.

“Oh-oh,” Chief Forrest murmured. “Here comes Smokey the Bear.”

The Captain took out his identification, watching the approaching officer. He was wearing the grey woolen winter uniform of the New York State Police, leather belt and holster gleaming wickedly. Squarely atop his head was the broad-brimmed, straight-brimmed, stiff-brimmed Stetson. He carried his chin out in front of him, a bare elbow, with narrow shoulders back, pigeon breast thrust. He marched up to them, stood vacant-faced. He glanced at Chief Forrest and nodded slightly, then stared at Delaney.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The Captain looked at him a moment, then proffered his identification. “Captain Edward X. Delaney, New York Police Department. Who are you?”

“Captain Bertram Sneed, New York State Police.”

“How do I know that?”

“Jesus Christ. What do I look like?”

“Oh, you look like a cop. No doubt about it; you’re wearing a cop’s uniform. But four men in cops' uniforms pulled the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. You just can’t be too sure. Here’s my ID. Where’s yours?”

Sneed opened his trap mouth, then shut it suddenly with a snap of teeth. He opened one button of his woolen jacket, tugged out his identification. They exchanged.

As they examined each other’s credentials, Delaney was conscious of men moving in, his men and Sneed’s men. They sensed a confrontation of brass, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Sneed and Delaney took back their ID cards.

“Captain,” Sneed said harshly, “we got a jurisdiction problem here.”

“Oh?” Delaney said. “Is that our problem?”

“Yes. This here Park is State property, under the protection of the New York State Police Organization. You’re out of your territory.”

Captain Delaney put away his identification, tugged down his jacket, squared his cap away.

“You’re right,” he smiled genially. “I’ll just take my men and get out. Nice to have met you, captain. Chief. Goodby.”

He was turning away when Sneed said, “Hey, wait a minute.”

Delaney paused. “Yes?”

“What’s the problem here?”

“Why,” Delaney said blandly, “it’s a problem of jurisdiction. Just like you said.”

“No, no. I mean what have we got? Where’s this here fugitive?”

“Oh…him. Well, he’s sitting on top of Devil’s Needle.” Chief Forrest had fished a wooden match from his side pocket and inserted the bare end into the corner of his mouth. He appeared to be sucking on it, watching the two captains with a benign smile on his droopy features.

“Sitting on top of the rock?” Sneed said. “Shit, is that all? We got some good climbers in our outfit. I’ll send a couple of men up there and we’ll take him.”

Delaney had turned away again, taken a few steps. His back was to Sneed when he halted, put his hands on his waist, then turned back again. He came close to Sneed.

“You shit-headed, wet-brained sonofabitch,” he said pleasantly. “By all rights, I should take my men and go and leave you to stew in your own juice, you fucking idiot. But when you talk about sending a brave man to his death because of your stupidity, I got to speak my piece. You haven’t even made a physical reconnaissance, for Christ’s sake. That’s a one-man climb, captain, and every man you send up there will get his skull crushed in. Is that what you want?”

Sneed’s puppet face had gone white under the lash of Delaney’s invective. Then red blotches appeared on his cheeks, discs of rouge, and his hands worked convulsively. Everyone stood in silence, frozen. But there was an interruption. A heavy white van turned into the entrance from the gravel road; heads turned to look at it. It was a mobile TV van from one of the national networks. They watched it park outside the gate. Men got out and began unloading equipment. Sneed turned back to Delaney.

“Well…hell,” he said, smiling triumphantly, “so I won’t send a man up. But the first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll have a helicopter up there and we’ll pick him off. Make a great TV picture.”

“Oh yes,” Delaney agreed. “A great TV picture. Of course, this man is just a suspect right now. He hasn’t been convicted of anything. Hasn’t even been tried. But you send your chopper up and grease him. I can see the headlines now: ‘State Cops Machine-gun Suspect on Mountaintop.’ Good publicity for your outfit. Good public relations. Especially after Attica.” The last word stiffened Captain Bertram Sneed. He didn’t breathe, his arms hanging like fluked anchors at his side.

“Another thing,” Delaney went on. “See that TV truck out there? By dawn, there’ll be two more. And reporters and photographers from newspapers and magazines. It’s already been on radio. If you don’t get the roads around here closed off in a hell of a hurry, by morning you’ll have a hundred thousand creeps and nuts with their wives and kiddies and picnic baskets of fried chicken, all hurrying to be in on the kill. Just like Floyd Collins in the cave.”

“I got to make a phone call,” Captain Sneed said hoarsely. He looked around frantically. Chief Forrest jerked a thumb toward the gate-keeper’s cottage. Sneed hurried toward it.

“You stay here a minute,” he called back to Delaney. “Please,” he added.

He got up on the porch, saw the smashed lock.

“Who blew open this door?” he cried.

“I did,” Chief Forrest said equably.

“State property,” Sneed said indignantly, and disappeared inside.

“O Lord, will my afflictions never cease?” the Chief asked.

“I shouldn’t have talked to him like that,” Delaney said in a low voice, his head bowed. “Especially in front of his men.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Captain,” the Chief said, still sucking on his matchstick. “I’ve heard better cussing-outs than that. Besides, you didn’t say nothing his men haven’t been saying for years. Amongst their selves, of course.”

“Who do you think he’s calling?”

“I know exactly who he’s calling: Major Samuel Barnes. He’s in command of Sneed’s troop.”

“What’s he like?”

“Sam? Cut from a different piece of cloth. A hard little man, smart as a whip. Knows his business. Sam comes from up near Woodstock. I knew his daddy. Hy Barnes made the best applejack in these parts, but Sam don’t like to be reminded of that. Smokey the Bear will explain the situation, and Major Sam will listen carefully. Sneed will complain about you being here, and he’ll tell Sneed what you said about machine gunning that man from a chopper, and what you said about a mob of nuts descending on us tomorrow. Sneed will tell the Mayor you said those things, because he’s too damned dumb to take credit for them hisself. Sam Barnes will think a few seconds, then he’ll say, ‘Sneed, you turd-kicking nincompoop, you get your fat ass out there and ask that New York City cop, just as polite as you can, if he’ll stick around and tell you what to do until I can get on the scene. And if you haven’t fucked things up too bad by the time I get there, you might-you just might-live to collect your pension, you asshole.’ Now you stick around a few minutes, sonny, and see if I ain’t exactly right.”

A few moments later Captain Sneed came out of the cottage, pulling on his gloves. His face was still white, and he moved like a man who has just been kneed in the groin. He came over to them with a ghastly smile.