Hoff said, "Thanks, Ray, but no. We're taking a chance being outa the squad car this long. If the radio operator calls our number and we don't answer, we're on the carpet plenty. So long."
They went out. Ray looked at his glass and was surprised to find that it was empty. Morosely, for lack of a better idea, for lack of any place else to go or anything else to do, he put money on the bar and said, "One more, Jick."
Jick picked up the glass. "Anything wrong, Ray? You look kind of—well, not so good."
"Everything's wonderful," Ray said. "It's a great, wide, wonderful world."
Except, where was he going to get four hundred and eighty bucks by tomorrow night?
10:25 P.M.
Benny Knox had left his newsstand early; usually he didn't leave until eleven o'clock or when he'd sold out on papers, whichever came first. But tonight at a quarter after ten there'd been only a few papers left and he'd decided not to wait any longer; he'd waited that long only because Mr. Hoff had told him to finish out the evening and then go to the police station to turn himself in. That had disappointed him; he had hoped that Mr. Hoff and his partner would take him in themselves in the squad car, with the siren going and the red light flashing. He had had rides in automobiles only a few times in his life and never one in a squad car.
Now inside the police station he stood in front of the tall receiving desk, at which a gray-haired man was busily writing. The man hadn't looked up yet. That is, he'd looked up when Benny had come in but then had looked down and started writing again. Benny stood there waiting and feeling awkward, but he didn't want to interrupt the man. Under Benny's arm was clutched the cigar box, now with a rubber band around it, that held his receipts for the day. One thing about the money in it puzzled him. He'd counted it before he left the stand, because he always did, and there were about ten dollars less in it than there should have been. He couldn't figure out what could have happened to ten dollars—except for a vague recollection of someone laughing at him; he remembered feeling angry about that but he couldn't remember who the someone had been or how it connected with the ten dollars.
The gray-haired man at the desk put down his pen but he still didn't look toward Benny. He picked up the telephone and said into it, "Get me Burton." And then a few seconds later, "Lieutenant, Benny Knox is here. Shall I send him on upstairs, or—" And then, "Okay."
He put down the phone and looked at Benny. "The lieutenant wants to talk to you, in his office." He jerked a thumb. "Down that corridor, second door on your right."