"Bring him in, Cotton!" Byrnes said.
"If we move him, Pete, he's liable to ..
"Goddamnit, that's an order! Do as I say!"
Hawes turned toward Byrnes, his eyes narrowed.
"Yes, sir," he said and there was barely concealed vehemence in his voice.
He reached down for a grip on the prostrate Miscolo. The man was heavy, heavier now with unconsciousness. He could feel Miscolo's bulk as he lifted him from the floor, his muscular arms straining against the man's weight. He braced himself and then shoved Miscob higher into his arms with a supporting knee. He could feel Miscolo's hot blood rushing against his naked forearm. Staggering with his load, he carried Miscolo through the gate and into the squad room
"Put him back there," Virginia said.
"On the floor. Out of sight." She turned to Byrnes.
"If anybody comes up here, it was an accident, do you hear me? A gun went off accidentally. Nobody was hurt."
"We're going to have to get a doctor for him," Hawes said.
"We're going to have to get nothing for him," Virginia snapped.
"The man's been ..
"Put him down, redhead! Behind the filing cabinets. And fast."
Hawes carried Miscolo to a point beyond the filing cabinets where the area of squad room was hidden from the corridor outside. Gently, he lowered Miscolo to the floor. He was rising when he heard footsteps in the hallway beyond. Virginia sat at the desk quietly, putting her purse up in front of the bottle of nitro as a shield, and then quickly moving the pistol directly behind the bottle so that it too was hidden by the bag.
"Remember, Lieutenant," she whispered, and Dave Murchison, the desk sergeant came puffing down the1 hallway. Dave was in his fifties, a stout man who didn't like to climb steps and who visited the Detective Division upstairs only when it was absolutely necessary. 11e stopped just outside the railing, and then waited before speaking while he caught his breath.
"hey, Lieutenant," he said, "sounded like a shot up here."
"Yes," Byrnes said hesitantly.
"It was. A shot."
"Anything the ... "Just a gun went off. By accident," Byrnes said.
"Nothing to worry about. Nobody.." nobody hurt."
"Jesus, it scared the living be jabbers out of me," Murchison said.
"You sure everything's okay?"
"Yes. Yes, everything's okay."
Murchison looked at his superior curiously, and then his eyes wandered into the squad room pausing on Virginia Dodge, and then passing to where Angelica Gomez sat with her shapely legs crossed.
"Sure got a full house, huh, Loot?" he said.
"Yes. Yes, we're sort of crowded, Dave."
Murchison continued to look at Byrnes curiously.
"Well," he said, shrugging, "long as everything's okay. I'll be seeing you, Pete."
He was turning to go when Byrnes said, "Forthwith."
"Huh?" Murchison said.
Byrnes was smiling thinly. He did not repeat the word.
"Well, I'll be seeing you," Murchison said, puzzled, and he walked off down the corridor.
The squad room was silent. They could hear Murchison's heavy tread on the metal steps leading to the floor below.
"Have we got any Sulfapaks?" Hawes asked from where he was crouched over Miscolo.
"The junk desk," Willis answered.
"There should be one in there."
He moved quickly to the desk in the corner of the room, a desk which served as a catch-all for the men of the squad, a desk piled high with Wanted circulars, and notices from Headquarters and pamphlets put out by the department and two empty holsters, and a spilled box of paper clips, and an empty Thermos bottle, a fingerprint roller, an unfinished game of Dots, the scattered tiles of a Scrabble setup and numerous other such unfilable materials. Willis opened one of the drawers, found a first-aid kit and hurried to fiawes, who had ripped open Miscolo's shin.
"God," Willis said, "he's bleeding like a stuck pig."
heard him. As gently as he knew how, he applied the Sulfapak to Miscolo's wound.
"Can you get something for his head?" he asked.
"Here, take my jacket," Willis answered.
He removed it, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and then-almost tenderly-put it beneath Miscolo's head.
Byrnes walked over to the men.
"What do you think?"
"It isn't good," Hawes said.
"He needs a doctor."
"How can I get a doctor?"
"Talk to her."
"What good will that do?"
"For Christ's sake, you're in command here!"
"Am I?"
"Aren't you?"
"Virginia Dodge has pounded a wedge into my command, Cotton, and split it wide open. As long as she sits there with her wedge-that damn l~ottle of soup-I can't do a thing. Do you want me to kill everyone in this room? Is that what you want?"
"I want you to get a doctor for a man who's been shot,"I Hawes answered.
"No doctor!" Virginia called across the room.
"Forget it. No doctor!"
"Does that answer you?" Byrnes wanted to know.
"It answers me," Hawes said.
"Don't be a hero, Cotton. There're more lives in the than your own."
"I'm not particularly dense, Pete," Hawes said.
"But what guarantee do we have that she won't fling that bottle when Steve arrives anyway? And even if she doesn't, whal gives us the goddam right to sacrifice Steve Carella on out own petty selfish altars?"
"Would it be better to sacrifice every man in this roon, on Steve's altar?"
"Stop that talking over there," Virginia said.
"Get on the other side of the room, Lieutenant! You, Shorty, over here! And you get in the corner, Redhead."
The men split up. Angelica Gomez watched them with an amused smile on her face. She rose then, her skir sliding back over a ripe thigh as she did. Swiveling his;
Dodge sat chastely with her gun and her bottle of tr( glycerin. Hawes watched them.
He watched partially because he was mad as hell at the Skipper and he wanted to figure out a way of putting Virginia Dodge out of commission. But he watched, too, because the Puerto Rican girl was the most delicious-looking female he had seen in a dog's age.
In his own mind, he didn't know whether Angelica's buttocks interested him more than did the bottle of nitro on the desk. As he toyed with various plans for the bottle of nitro, he also toyed with various fantasies concerning the blonde's explosiveness, and as he fantasized he found that Angelica Gomez was more and more delightful to watch. The girl moved with contradictory economy and fluidity, slender ankle flowing into shapely calf and knee, hip grinding, flat simplicity of belly, firm rounded thrust of breast, sweeping curve of throat and jaw, aristocratic tilt of nose. She seemed absolutely at home within the specified confines of her body. It was a distinct pleasure to watch her. She was perhaps the most unselfconscious female he had ever met. At the same time, he reminded himself, she had slit a man's throat. A nice girl.