“You were too rough with him,” Hawes said. He said it suddenly and tersely. He did not turn to look at Kling.
“He may have killed them,” Kling answered tonelessly.
“And maybe he didn’t. Who the hell are you? The Lord High Executioner?”
“You want to fight with me, Cotton?” Kling asked.
“No. I’m just telling you.”
“What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you there are good cops and shitty cops, and I’d hate to see you become one of the shitty ones.”
“Thanks.”
“You’d better watch it, Bert.”
“Thanks.”
They stood on the sidewalk for a moment as the homeward-bound office workers rushed past them. There didn’t seem much else to say for the moment. Like polite strangers, they stood with their coats open and their hands in their pockets.
“You going back uptown?” Kling asked.
“I thought you might want to type up the report,” Hawes said. He paused, and then caustically added, “You asked all the questions.”
“I guess I did.”
“Sure. So you do the report.”
“You sore?”
“Yes.”
“Screw you,” Kling said, and he walked off into the crowd.
Hawes stared after him for a moment, and then shook his head. He took his hands out of his pockets, hesitated, put his hands back into his pockets again, and then walked toward the subway kiosk on the corner.
He was glad to be away from Kling and away from the squadroom. He was glad to be with Christine Maxwell who came in from the kitchen of her apartment carrying a tray with a Martini shaker and two iced Martini glasses. He watched her as she walked toward him. She had let her blond hair grow long since he’d first known her, and it hung loose around the oval of her face now, sleekly reflecting pinpoint ticks of light from the fading sun that filtered through the window. She had taken off her shoes the moment she’d come home from work, but she still wore her stockings and she padded across the room silently, walking with an intuitively feminine grace, insinuatingly female, her straight black skirt tightening over each forward thrust of thigh and leg, the cocktail tray balanced on one long tapered hand, the other hand brushing at an eyelash that had fallen to her cheek. She wore a blue silk blouse that echoed the lilac blue of her eyes, clung loosely to the soft curve of her bosom. She put down the tray and felt his eyes on her and smiled, “Stop it, you make me nervous.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me that way.” Quickly, she poured both glasses full to the brim.
“What way?”
“You’re undressing me.” Christine handed him one of the Martinis and hastily added, “With your eyes.”
“That would be a most impractical way to undress you,” Hawes said. “With my eyes.”
“Yes, but you’re doing it, anyway.”
“I’m simply looking at you. I enjoy looking at you.” He lifted his glass in the air, said, “Here’s looking at you,” and swallowed a huge gulp of gin and vermouth.
Christine sat in the chair opposite him, pulling her legs under her, sipping at her drink. She looked over the edge of the glass and said, “I think you ought to marry me. Then you could look at me all day long.”
“I can’t marry you,” Hawes said.
“Why not?”
“Because good cops die young.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Are you insinuating I’m not a good cop?”
“I thank you’re an excellent cop. But you’re not exactly young any more.”
“That’s true. I’m beginning to creak a little in the joints.” He paused and said, “But good cops die old, too. In fact, all cops die, sooner or later. Good ones, bad ones, honest ones, crooked ones…”
“Crooked cops? The ones who take bribes?”
“That’s right. They die, too.”
Christine shook her head, a mischievous grin on her mouth. “Crooked cops never die,” she said.
“No?”
“No. They’re just paid away.”
Hawes winced and drained his glass. “I think you went pretty far for that one,” he said.
“I think you went pretty far to avoid discussing our imminent marriage.”
“Our eminent marriage, you mean.”
“I mean imminent, but it’ll be eminent, too.”
“You know, I have the feeling I’m drunk,” Hawes said, “and all I’ve had is a single drink.”
“I’m an intoxicating woman,” Christine said.
“Come on over here and intoxicate me a little.”
Christine shook her head. “Nope. I want another drink first.” She drained her glass and poured two fresh Martinis. “Besides, we were discussing marriage. Are you an honest cop?”
“Absolutely,” Hawes said, picking up his drink.
“Don’t you think honest cops should seek honest women?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then why won’t you make me an honest woman?”
“You are an honest woman. Only an honest woman could mix a Martini like this one.”
“What’s wrong with it, and you’re changing the subject again.”
“I was thinking of your legs,” Hawes said.
“I thought you were thinking of my Martinis.”
“That’s why it sounded as though I were changing the subject.”
“Now I feel a little drunk,” Christine said. She shook her head, as if to clear it. “How was that again?”
“What’s the matter?” Hawes asked. “Don’t you dig Ionesco?”
“I not only don’t dig him, I also don’t understand him.”
“Come over here on the couch, and I’ll explain Ionesco.”