Carlton hesitated for a moment. “You keep a decent tongue in your head when you’re talking about Babe.”
Sellers said, “Just the same, you went out there, Carlton. It stands to reason you did.”
Carlton, quivering with anger, said, “God-damn it, let’s not misunderstand each other, Sergeant. If I’d gone out there and caught her with that son-of-a-bitch I’d have killed him so dead he never would have…”
“And then killed your wife,” Sellers said.
There were tears in Carlton’s eyes. “Not Babe,” he said. “I’d have booted her. I’d have kicked her. I’d have given her a black eye, and then I’d have said, ‘Get your clothes on and come home, you little tramp!’ And when I’d got her home I’d have loved her — just like I always will love her. Now then, keep your filthy mind on something else for a change, flat foot.”
Sellers said, “You’re drunk.”
“You’re damn right I’m drunk,” Carlton said. “Want to make something of it?”
Sellers got up and came to stand facing Carlton, chin to chin. “You watch yourself,” he said, his broad hulk making Carlton seem even more slender and fragile. “I could slap you real hard and break you in two. I could pick you up by the back of the neck and give you a good shake, and all of your teeth would jar loose. I know how you feel, and I’m making allowances for it, but don’t crowd your luck too far.”
“You know how I feel!” Carlton said sarcastically.
“I just want to know one thing,” Sellers said. “Did you hire this guy?”