The cop was one of those massive men, big in the feet and solid bone in the head. He snarled at us, threatening us with his gun.
“Take it easy, brother,” I said, not liking the look of him. “You have two stiffs on your hands already. You don’t want two more.”
“I wouldn’t care.” he said, showing his teeth. “Two or four makes no difference to me. Back up against that wall until the wagon arrives.”
We backed up against the wall. It didn’t take long before we heard the wail of a siren. Two white-coated figures came panting up the stairs, together with a representative group from the Homicide Bureau. I was glad to see Detective District Commander Dunnigan was with them. He and I had done business with each other before.
“Hello,” he said, and stared at us. “This your funeral?”
“Very nearly was,” I said. “There’s another stiff inside. Could you tell this officer we’re not dangerous? I keep thinking he’s going to shoot us.”
Dunnigan waved the copper aside.
“I’ll be out to talk to you in a moment.”
He went in to look at Freedlander.
“He’s a pal of ours,” I told the copper who was glaring at us. “You should be more careful who you shoot at.”