"I don't want to blast 'em!" the furrier wailed. "Why do we hire you guys, anyway?"
"We're spread too thin, Pete. We'll send the patrol car past and put a scare into your friends, but don't expect us to tie up six men for every shop on Broad Street. We're spread too thin and we have to keep moving. Matter of fact, I ought to let your brother handle the store himself and deputize you right here and now."
"No you don't, Red!" The man backed away and was gone.
A wide-eyed scout darted up and gave old Red the three-fingered salute. "Big fight, Chief, down on the river, foot of Sullivan. I don't know what it's about, maybe one of the boats—"
The chief yelled at two waiting men in Legion caps: "Take a car. They're trying to take over one of the ferries at Sullivan Street. Break it up and keep patrolling the river. We've got to keep the boats in our hands." The men stolidly moved off to the car pool.
Mickey Groff knew by then where he'd be useful. He went up to the chief's table and said, "I'd like to be deputized."
The old man stared at him. "And go looting with a badge? Who're you, mister? I haven't seen you in town before."
"Mickey Groff. From New York. I came in to see your burgess about taking over the old Swanscomb Mill for a factory of mine."
"Groff. Henry talked about your offer. All right—Groff." The old man suddenly grinned. "Think I'll even trust you with a gun. Know how to use one?"
"Yes. The army."