Hail to the Chief

'You're goddamn right,' Big Anthony said.

'Since I would like to ask you some questions—'

'Save your breath.'

'—I'm now telling you that, first, you have the right to remain silent if you so desire. Do you understand that?'

'Sure.'

'Second, you don't have to answer any questions if you don't want to.'

'The same goes for the rest of you punks, so you might as well listen,' Broughan said.

'Do you understand that?'

'Yeah, yeah,' Big Anthony said.

'How about the rest of you?'

The other boys mumbled or nodded assent.

'Third,' Carella said, 'if you do decide to answer any questions-'

'I told you—'

'Shut up and listen to the man,' Broughan said.

'That's already a violation of my rights,' Big Anthony said.

'Where'd you get your law degree?' Broughan said.

'I don't need a law degree to—'

'Shut your fuckin' mouth and listen to the man,' Broughan said.

'If you do decide to answer any questions,' Carella said, 'the answers may be used as evidence against you. Do you understand that?'

'This is a waste of time.'

'Do you understand it?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

'And you also have the right to consult with an attorney before or during questioning. If you don't have money to hire a lawyer, we'll appoint one for you.'

'What the hell are you telling me all this crap for?' Big Anthony said.

'Because this is a democracy,' Broughan answered dryly.

'I ain't going to answer no questions, anyway.'

'You may decide to, who knows?' Broughan said. 'Freedom of choice, that's what the whole system's about.'

'Yeah, bullshit,' Big Anthony said.

'And lastly,' Carella said, 'if you do decide to answer any questions, with or without a lawyer present, you can stop any time you want to. Is that also clear?'

'It's all clear. I got nothing to say.'

'Fine. We're holding you for the Turman police either way.'

'I don't even know anybody named Margaret what-ever-the-hell.'

'The Turman cops have a witness who saw you in the woods off Route 14 last Thursday night. The girl's body was at your feet, and the witness overheard you arguing with another boy about whether or not to bury her.'

'Prove it.'

'Oh, I'm sure we will. Or they will. Or somebody will. With so many law-enforcement agencies involved, you're in pretty hot water. Anyway, if you've got nothing to say, that's that. Charlie, can we get somebody to take him down for booking and detention?'

'Oh, sure,' Broughan said, and reached for the phone on the corner of the table.

'There's only two agencies involved,' Big Anthony said.

'Until the FBI gets into it,' Carella said.

'Why would they get into it? You said—'

'Oh, I think the Turman cops have some idea the girl was kidnapped and transported across a state line. That's enough to bring in the FBI automatically. Pretty heavy stuff, Anthony. Killing a kidnap victim.'

'Hello, Mike, we got somebody we need booked and iced,' Broughan said into the phone. 'Send a patrolman up, will you?' He listened a moment, and then said, 'A warrant from the Turman police. Kidnap and homicide. No, we won't need a stenographer 'cause he don't want to make a statement. Right, thank you, Mike.' Broughan replaced the receiver on its cradle, turned to Carella and said, 'Done. You think we should talk to these other young gentlemen now? Regarding the double homicide at the candy store on Gatsby?'

The other young gentlemen had listened in somewhat awed stupefaction to the conversation between Carella and Big Anthony, and were now being made aware that it was their turn again. The attitude of the two cops was so matter-of-fact, so thoroughly bland, so real that it conversely generated an aura of unreality in the small, windowless Interrogation Room. Each of the boys (and especially Big Anthony, who had just been told what serious trouble he was in) was unprepared for this impersonal, antiseptic approach, and felt totally dehumanized by it. There was no saying Hey, listen, you guys, we were acting on orders, you know? Like this has nothing to do with murder. This is just stuff between the cliques. In fact, we're about to settle it, if you'll just let us alone.

Uh-uh. These cops were businessmen talking calmly and coolly about crimes committed, and about the penalties for those crimes, and about the various law-enforcement agencies who were going to make sure somebody paid those penalties. One of the boys, Charles 'Chingo' Ingersol, the powerful and highly respected enforcement officer of the Yankee Rebels, suddenly discovered that he had an irresistible urge to urinate, and he only hoped he would not wet his pants in front of the other guys. He debated asking the cops whether he could go down the hall to the bathroom. But he was sure they would refuse. They were hard-headed businessmen, and they weren't about to waste company time on somebody running down the hall to pee. Chingo was scared. All of them were scared. And both Carella and Broughan knew it.

'Chingo,' Broughan said, and the boy visibly started when his name was announced that way.

'Yeah,' he said, trying to affect his normal cool, even though an uncontrollable twitch had started in his lower left eyelid.

'You want to tell us what happened at the candy store?'

'Nothing happened.'

'Looked like a hell of a mess to me.'

'Yeah, somebody must've done something there,' Chingo said. 'But it wasn't us.'

'Then how come you were running out of the alleyway?'

'We were shooting crap back there when we heard the police siren. So we split, that's all.'

'Oh, you were shooting crap, I see,' Broughan said.

'That's it.'

'In the dark?'

'Well… we had a flashlight.'

'Where is it?'

'Where's what?'

'The flashlight.'

'We must've dropped it when we split.'

'You were shooting crap in an alley behind a candy store in Scarlet Avenger territory, is that what you're asking us to believe?'

'Yeah.'

'Yankee Rebels casually shooting crap in—'

'They didn't know we were there,' Chingo said.

The door to the Interrogation Room opened. A patrolman looked into the room, took a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and cheerfully said, 'Who's the customer?'

'The big one there,' Broughan said.

'Let's go, fella,' the patrolman said, and walked to Big Anthony, and closed the jagged, saw-toothed jaws of one handcuff over his right wrist. 'Your mother must feed you pretty good,' the patrolman said. 'How tall are you, anyway?'

'Six-four.'

'You're a healthy kid,' the patrolman said. 'Let's go, the sergeant wants to see you.'

'I didn't do nothing,' Big Anthony said to the patrolman.

'I know, I know,' the patrolman said understandingly. 'Nobody ever done nothing.'

'I don't even know the girl,' Big Anthony said.

'That makes us even,' the patrolman said. 'I don't know her either.'

'Look, whyn't you tell these guys…?'

'Me? I just work here,' the patrolman said. 'You tell them yourself.'

'They think I killed somebody.'

'Well, if you didn't kill anybody, it'll all be cleared up. Meantime, you come on downstairs 'cause the sergeant's got a few questions he wants to ask you, and he also wants to write your name in the big book. Okay?' He turned to Broughan. 'Has he been advised?'

'He has, but tell Mike to go through it again.'

'Who we holding him for?'

'The Turman police. And most likely the Feebs.'