Free Live Free

“So I’m going to borrow it for a while, okay? I’m surprised mine busted. Those things are usually built pretty good.”

“I cracked the glass in mine once. I socked this gambler with it. You got it?”

“Yeah … .No, damn it, this’s something else.”

Snow swirled about the two men.

The Assault

Glasser wore blue-tinted spectacles and a large and rather hairy tweed coat. The coat was burdened now with snow; the spectacles made Glasser appear blind, though he was not. He hurried forward, hand extended, as a real blind man might who had been informed of the proximity of the Messiah. “I’m Nate Glasser,” he announced. “Pleased to meet you, Sergeant.”

“Not no sergeant,” the policeman with the ax told him.

“I’m sorry,” Glasser said. “I thought you were a certain Sergeant Proudy.”

“Huh uh.”

“You see, as I walked past the police car, that one back there, I couldn’t help but overhear the radio. They were asking for Sergeant Proudy.”

“That’s our unit,” the big policeman said, quickening his step. “I believe I better see about it.”

He swung open the squad car’s door and jerked out the microphone. “This Unit Twenty-three, Dispatcher. Citizen say you calling us.”

“You still at that demolition site, Twenty-three?”

“Parked across the street.”

“We got a call, a seventeen fifty.”

“What address?”

“Caller didn’t say. Just that it was the Baker house, and there was a cruiser out front, but she didn’t see any officers. Then she yelled and hung up. We thought it might be you.”

“I’ll have a look,” the policeman said and tossed the microphone onto the seat.

Glasser touched his arm. “What’s a seventeen fifty, officer?”

“Home invasion. You know a Baker house ’round here?”

“I’m afraid I’m a stranger. I’m with Pee, Em, Gee, and Dee.”

“Hey!” The policeman raised the red ax he carried and trotted toward a group standing chatting on the sidewalk.

Loping beside him, Glasser told him, “They’re no good. They’re agents too. I know the whole bunch. Except the little guy.”

The little guy had turned at the policeman’s shout. Unlike the rest, he was shabby. His thick glasses scarcely reached the second button of the policeman’s coat.

“Sir, you know the Baker house?”

“Sure,” the little guy said. He pointed to the house next to the one before which he had been standing. “Not condemned. If they really build the ramp, it’ll be right next to the supports.”

The policeman was not listening. Ax in hand, he mounted the stoop, taking two steps at a time.

The door opened and a second policeman looked out. He had a round, freckled face. “I thought that was you, Bill. You got it, huh?”

Williams relaxed and lowered his ax. “Yeah. What you doing in here?”

“Playin’ with a kitty.”

“What you say?”

“You asked me. Come on in.”

Williams did. Like a shadow, the little guy slipped in with him, ducking under his arm as he closed the door. Inside, an old woman sat in a rocking chair, smiling indulgently. Sergeant Proudy crouched on the worn oriental carpet before her. He held a length of string from which was suspended a crumpled ball of pink paper. A kitten with intelligent yellow eyes watched the paper with fascination, occasionally extending a tentative paw.

“This place sure don’t smell good,” Williams said under his breath.

“It’s just the cat box, Bill.”

Sergeant Proudy glanced up. “You got the ax.”

“Yeah,” Williams said slowly. “Right.”

“Chop the door yet?”

“What you mean? I just got back. Dispatcher say somebody try to bust in here, and here I am.”

“That was me that called,” the old woman in the rocker said. “I hung up when I saw it was the police. No use crying wolf when the fire’s out.”

Williams asked Sergeant Proudy, “What happened, anyhow?”