“Eighty-seventh Squad,” he said, “Carella.”
“Steve, this is Artie Brown.”
“Hello, Artie,” Carella said.
“I just wrapped up this squeal on North Trinity. Guy came home, and they’re happily in the sack.”
“Good for them,” Carella said. “I wish I was happily in the sack.”
“You want me to come back there, or what?”
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Go home, Artie.”
“You sure? What about the report?”
“I’m typing it now.”
“Okay then, I’ll see you,” Brown said.
“Right,” Carella said, and put the receiver back onto its cradle, and looked up at the wall clock, and sighed. The telephone on Carl Kapek’s desk was ringing.
“Eighty-seventh,” he said, “Kapek speaking.”
“This is Danny Gimp,” the voice on the other end said.
“Hello, Danny, what’ve you got for me?”
“Nothing,” Danny said.
Di Maeo, Meriwether, and Levine were packing it in, hoping to resume their vacations without further interruption. Levine seemed certain that Brown and Carella would get promotions out of this one; there were always promotions when you cracked a case involving somebody doing something to a cop. Di Maeo agreed with him, and commented that some guys had all the luck. They went down the iron-runged steps, and past the muster desk, and through the old building’s entrance doors. Meriwether stopped on the front steps to tie his shoelace. Alex Delgado was just getting back to the station house. He bummed a cigarette from Levine, said good night to all of them, and went inside. It was almost 7:45, and some of the relieving shift was already in the squadroom.
In a little while, the daywatch could go home.
Kapek had been cruising from bar to bar along The Stem since 8 P.M. It was now twenty minutes past eleven, and his heart skipped a beat when the black girl in the red dress came through the doors of Romeo’s on Twelfth Street. The girl sashayed past the men sitting on stools along the length of the bar, took a seat at the far end near the telephones, and crossed her legs. Kapek gave her ten minutes to eye every guy in the joint, and then walked past her to the telephones. He dialed the squadroom and got Finch, the catcher on the relieving team.
“What are you doing?” Finch wanted to know.
“Oh, cruising around,” Kapek said.
“I thought you went home hours ago.”
“No rest for the weary,” Kapek said. “I’m about to make a bust. If I’m lucky.”
“Need some help?”
“Nope,” Kapek said.
“Then why the hell did you call?”
“Just to make some small talk,” Kapek said.
“I’ve got a knifing on Ainsley,” Finch answered. “Go make small talk someplace else.”
Kapek took his advice. He hung up, felt in the coin return chute for his dime, shrugged, and went out to sit next to the girl at the bar.
“I’ll bet your name is Suzie,” he said.
“Wrong,” the girl said, and grinned. “It’s Belinda.”
“Belinda, you are one beautiful piece,” Kapek said.
“You think so, huh?”
“I do most sincerely think so,” Kapek said. “May I offer to buy you a drink?”
“I’d be flattered,” Belinda said.
They chatted for close to twenty minutes. Belinda indicated that she found Kapek highly attractive; it was rare that a girl could just wander into a neighborhood bar and find someone of Kapek’s intelligence and sensitivity, she told him. She indicated, too, that she would like to spend some time with Kapek a little later on, but that her husband was a very jealous man and that she couldn’t risk leaving the bar with Kapek because word might get back to her husband and then there would be all kinds of hell to pay. Kapek told her he certainly understood her position.
“Still,” Belinda said, “I sure would love to spend some time with you, honey.” Kapek nodded.
“What do you suppose we can do?” he asked.
“You can meet me outside, can’t you?”
“Sure,” he said. “Where?”
“Let’s drink up. Then I’ll leave, and you can follow me out in a few minutes. How does that sound?”
Kapek looked up at the clock behind the bar. It was ten minutes to twelve. “That sounds fine to me,” he said.
Belinda lifted her whiskey sour and drained it. She winked at him and swiveled away from the bar. At the door, she turned, winked again, and then went out. Kapek gave her five minutes. He finished his scotch and soda, paid for the drinks, and went out after her. Belinda was waiting on the next corner. She signaled to him and began walking rapidly up The Stem. Kapek nodded and followed her. She walked two blocks east, looked back at him once again, and turned abruptly left on Fifteenth Street. Kapek reached the corner and drew his pistol. He hesitated, cleared his throat to let them know he was coming, and then rounded the corner.
A white man was standing there with his fist cocked. Kapek thrust the gun into his face and said, “Everybody stand still.” Belinda started to break. He grabbed her wrist, flung her against the brick wall of the building, said, “You, too, honey,” and took his handcuffs from his belt.
He looked at his watch.
It was a minute to midnight.
Another day was about to start.