along Post Street and seeing a Go signal at Van Ness would start speeding to try and make the signal if he thought he had a clear run for it at Polk Street.
A kid was selling newspapers on the corner. There was quite a bit of traffic.
I took from my pocket the list of witnesses that Lieutenant Sheldon had given me and wondered if it was complete.
There was a woman whose occupation was listed simply as a saleslady, a man who worked in a nearby drugstore, a motorist who “saw it all” from a place midway in the block, and a man who ran a little cigar stand had heard the crash, and run out to see what it was all about.
There wasn’t anything about a newsboy.
I started thinking that over, then I walked up and bought a paper, gave the kid two bits, and told him to keep the change.
“This your regular beat?” I asked.
He nodded, his sharp eyes studying the people and the traffic, looking for an opportunity to sell another paper.
“Here every night?”
He nodded.
I said suddenly, “How come you didn’t tell the police what you knew about that hit-and-run case last Tuesday night?”
He would have started to run if I hadn’t grabbed his arm. “Come on, kid,” I said, “let’s have it.”
He looked like a trapped rabbit. “You can’t come busting up and start pushing me around like this.”
“Who’s pushing you around?”
“You are.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I told him. “How much money did they pay you to clam up?”
“Go roll a hoop.”
“That,” I told him, “is what is known as compounding a felony.”
“I’ve got some friends on the force here,” he said. “Fellows that aren’t going to stand for having me pushed around.”
“You may have some friends on the force,” I said, “but you’re not dealing with the force now. Do you know any good judges?”
I saw him wince at that.
“Of course,” I said, “a good friend who is a judge
“Aw, what are you picking on me for? Give a guy a break, can’t you?”
“What difference does it make to you?” I asked him. “Did somebody give you money?”
“Of course not.”
“Perhaps trying a little blackmail?”
“Aw, have a heart, mister. Gee, I was going to play it on the square and then I realized I couldn’t.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
“Because I was in trouble down in Los Angeles. I skipped parole. I ain’t supposed to be selling papers. I’m supposed to be reporting to a probation officer every thirty days and all that stuff. I didn’t like it and I came up here and been going straight.”
“Why didn’t you report the hit-and-run?”
“How could I? I thought I was going to be smart. I took down the guy’s number and figured I’d make a grandstand with the cops, and then I suddenly realized what it would mean. The D.A. would call me as a witness and the smart guy who was defending the fellow would start ripping me up the back and down the front and show that I had skipped out on parole, the jury wouldn’t believe me, and I’d get sent back to L.A. as a parole violator.”
“Pretty smart for a kid, aren’t you?”
“I ain’t a kid.”
I looked down into the prematurely wise little face with the sharp eyes sizing me up, studying me for a weak point where he could take advantage of me, felt the bony little shoulder under my hand, and said, “Okay, kid. You play square with me and I’ll play square with you. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“How are you getting along up here?”
“I’m doing good. I’m keeping on the straight and narrow. The trouble down in L.A. I had too many friends. I’d get out with the gang and they’d start calling me sissy if I didn’t ride along.”
“What were they doing?”
“Believe me, mister, they were getting so they were doing damn near everything. It started out with kid stuff, then when Butch got to be head of the outfit he said the only fellows who could run with the gang were the ones who had guts enough to be regular guys. I mean he’s tough.”
“Why didn’t you go to the probation officer and tell him all that?”
“Think I was going to rat?”
“Why didn’t you just stay home and mind your own business?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“So you took a powder and came up here?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re going straight?”
“Like a string.”
“Give me the license number and I’ll try to keep you out of it.”
He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket that had been torn from the edge of a newspaper. On it was scribbled a number, written with a hard pencil so that it was all but illegible.
I studied it carefully.
He went on in an eager, whining voice. “That’s the car that hit the guy. The driver came tearing down the hill and almost hit me. That’s when I got so mad I started to take his number. He was a fat, middle-aged guy with a little blonde plastered up against him. She started to kiss him just as they got to the corner, or he was kissing her, or they were kissing each other, I don’t know which.”
“What did you do?”
“I jumped out of the way and thought the guy was going to crash into the curb. I took his number — that is, I got out the pencil and was writing it down on the edge of the paper when he smacked right into this guy.”
“Then what?”
“Then he slowed down for a minute and I thought he was stopping; then the wren said something to him and changed his mind. He stepped on it.”
“No one after him?”
“Sure. A guy tried to nail him just as some goof swung out from the curb. They smashed up and littered the street with broken glass. By that time people were running around giving help to the old man, and all of a sudden I realized that I was in a spot; that if I told the police who the fellow was I’d be a gone coon.”
“Who was he?”
“I tell you I don’t know. All I know is he was driving a dark sedan, he was going like hell, and he and this babe were pitching woo right up to the time they hit the street intersection.”
“Drunk?”
“How do I know? He was busy doing other things besides driving the automobile. Now I’ve given you a break, mister. Let me go.”
I handed him five dollars. “Go buy yourself a Coca- Cola, buddy, and quit worrying about it.”
He looked at the five for a moment, then swiftly crumpled it and shoved it down into his pocket. “That all?” he asked.
I said, “Would you know this gent if you saw him again, the one who was driving the car?”
He looked at me with eyes that were suddenly hard and shrewd. “No,” he said.
“Couldn’t recognize him if you saw him in a line-up?”
“No.”
