"The subway is on strike since last week," the cabbie said. "The buses are also on strike. This means that everybody is using a car. They can make it faster if they wish to walk, but they use a car. It does not help matters, believe me."
"I can see that," Malone murmured.
"And the cops are not doing much good either," the cabbie went on, "since they went on strike sometime last Tuesday."
Malone nodded, and then did a double-take. "Cops?" he said. "On strike? But that's illegal. They could be arrested."
"You can be funny," the cabbie said. "I am too sad to be funny."
"But—"
"Unless you are from Rhode Island," the cabbie said, "or even farther away, you are deaf, dumb and blind. Everybody in New York knows what is going on by this time. I admit that it is not in the newspapers, but the newspapers do not tell the truth since, as I remember it, the City Council election of 1924, and then it is an accident, due to the major's best friend working in the printing plants."
"But cops can't go on strike," Malone said plaintively.
"This," the cabbie said in a judicious tone, "is true. But they do not give out any parking tickets any more, or any traffic citations either. They are working on bigger things, they say, and besides all this there are not so many cops on the force now. They are spread very thin."
Malone could see what was coming. "Arrests of policemen," he said, "and resignations."