The little guy giggled. He stood close against the wall, his hands high. “You ain’t got nothing on us,” he said through white lips.
The Sergeant walked over to the bed, and stood looking, The other two officers remained motionless, their guru menacingly still.
The Sergeant said, “Well, for God’s sake.”
He walked over to the little guy and hit him in the middle of his face with his gun butt. The little guy’s head thudded against the wall, and his legs spread, sliding him to the floor. He put his hands over his face, but he couldn’t make a sound; he seemed to go into a fit.
Joe buckled at the knees. “Okay, boss,” he quavered. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”
The Sergeant hunched his shoulders. “Sure, you didn’t, you dirty rat,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to nail you for a long time. Well, you’ve got it coming to you.” He jerked his head to the other two. “Get the bums outa here.”
Just then the door jerked open, and Alice stood there. The Sergeant stepped in front of her, and crowded her into the kitchen. She retreated, her eyes growing big.
She said, “You can’t take him away… he’s too ill…. Please.
The Sergeant said, “That guy on the bed—Duffy?”
Alice nodded dumbly. “He’s been shot… he’s bad… please leave him there. Look, I’m getting him some soup. It’s ready… you’ll let him have that?”