"Okay, I'm not in the play," Larry said. "Okay? I didn't want to tell Mom. I got kicked out after the first few rehearsals. I guess I'm not a good actor. I guess…"
"You're a terrible actor, and a bad listener. You were never in the play, Larry. I said that just a few seconds ago."
"Well…"
"Why'd you lie? What have you been doing?"
"Now what would I be doing?" Larry said. "Listen, Dad, I'm sleepy. If you don't mind, I'd like to get to bed."
He was starting from the room when Byrnes shouted, "I DO MIND! COME BACK HERE!"
Larry turned slowly to face his father. "This isn't your grubby squad room, Pop," he said. "Don't yell at me like one of your lackeys."
"This has been my squad room longer than the 87th has," Byrnes said tightly. "Wipe the sneer out of your voice, or I'll kick your ass all over the street."
Larry's mouth fell open. He stared at Byrnes for a moment, and then said, "Listen, Dad, I'm really…"
Byrnes came up out of the chair suddenly. He walked to his son and said, "Empty your pockets."
"What?"
"I said…"
"Oh now, let's just hold this a minute," Larry said heatedly. "Now, let's just slow down. What the hell is this, anyway? Don't you play cop enough hours a day, you have to come home…"
"Shut up, Larry, I'm warning you!"
"Shut up yourself! For Christ's sake, I don't have to take this kind of…"
Byrnes slapped his son suddenly and viciously. He slapped him with an opened, callused hand that had been working since its owner was twelve years old, and that hand slapped Larry hard enough to knock him off his feet.
"Get up!" Byrnes said.
"You better not hit me again," Larry muttered.
"Get up!" Byrnes reached down, catching his son's collar with his hand. He yanked him to his feet, and then pulled him close and then said through clenched teeth, "Are you a drug addict?"
Silence crowded into the room, filling every corner.
"Wh… what?" Larry asked.
"Are you a drug addict?" Byrnes repeated. He was whispering now, and the whisper was loud in the silent room. The clock in the hallway added its voice, commenting in a monotone.
"Who… who told you?" Larry said at last.
"Are you?"
"I… I fool around a little."
"Sit down," Byrnes said wearily.
"Dad, I…"
"Sit down," Byrnes said, "Please."
Larry sat in the chair his father had vacated. Byrnes paced the room for several moments, and then stopped before Larry and asked, "How bad is it?"
"Not too bad."
"Heroin?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"I've been on for about four months now."
"Snorting?"
"No. No."
"Skin pops?"
"Dad, I…"
"Larry, Larry, are you mainlining?"
"Yes."
"How'd you start?"
"At the school. Some kid was shoving muggles. Marijuana, Dad. We call it…"
"I know the names," Byrnes said.
"So that's how I started. Then I forget, I think I had a snort of C, and then somebody gave me a snort of H, and that… Well, I tried a skin pop."
"How long before you went on mainline?"
"About two weeks."
"Then you're hooked solid," Byrnes said.
"I can take it or leave it alone," Larry answered defiantly.
"Sure. Where do you get your stuff?"
"Listen, Dad…"
"I'm asking as a father, not a cop!" Byrnes said quickly.
"Up… up in Grover Park."
"From whom?"
"What difference does it make? Look, Pop, I… I'll ditch the habit, okay? I mean, really, I will. But let's knock this off. It's kind of embarrassing, you know?"
"It's more embarrassing than you think. Did you know a boy named Aníbal Hernandez?"
Larry was silent.
"Look, son, you went all the way to Isola to buy. You bought in my precinct, in Grover Park. Did you know Aníbal Hernandez?"
"Yes," Larry admitted.
"How well?"
"I bought from him a coupla times. He was a mule, Dad. That means he pushed to other kids. Mostly because he had a habit himself."
"I know what a mule is," Byrnes said patiently. "How many times, exactly, did you buy from him?"
"A coupla times, I told you."
"Twice, you mean?"
"Well, more than that."
"Three times?"
"No."
"Four? For God's sake, Larry, how many times!"
"Well, like… well, to tell you the truth, I bought from him mostly. I mean, you know, you fall in with a pusher and if he gives you good stuff you stick with him. Anyway, he… he was a nice guy. Few times we… we shot up together, you know? Free. I mean, he didn't charge me anything for the junk. He laid it on me free. He was all right."
"You keep saying was. Do you know he's dead?"
"Yes. He hanged himself, I heard."
"Now listen to me carefully, Larry. I received a phone call the other day. The caller…"
"From who?"
"An anonymous call. I took it because it was related to the Hernandez death. This was before we got the coroner's report."
"Yeah?"
"The caller told me a few things about you."
"Like what? Like I'm a junkie, you mean?"
"Not only that."
"What then?"
"He told me where you were and what you were doing on the night of December 17th and the early morning of December 18th."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"So where was I supposed to have been?"
"In a basement room with Aníbal Hernandez."
"Yeah?"
"That's what the caller told me."
"So?"
"Is it true?"
"Maybe."
"Larry, don't get smart again! So help me God, I'll…"
"Okay, okay, I was with Annabelle."
"From what time to what time?"
"From about… let me see… it must have been nine o'clock. Yeah, from about nine to midnight, I guess. That's right. I left him about twelve or so."
"Were you with him at all that afternoon?"
"No. I met him in the street about nine. Then we went down to the basement."
"When you left him, did you come straight home?"
"No. I was high. Annabelle was already nodding on the cot, and I didn't want to fall asleep there. So I cut out, and I walked around a little."
"How high were you?"
"High," Larry said.
"What time did you get home?"
"I don't know. Very late."
"What's very late?"
"Three, four."
"Were you alone with Hernandez until midnight?"
"Yes."
"And he shot up, too, is that right?"
"Yes."
"And you left him asleep?"
"Well, nodding. You know—not here, not there."
"How much did Hernandez shoot?"
"We split a sixteenth."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure, Annabelle said so when he took out the deck. He said it was a sixteenth. I'll tell you the truth, I'm glad we shot up together. I hate to shoot up alone. It scares me. I'm afraid of an overdose."
"You say you shot up together? Did you both use the same syringe?"
"No. Annabelle had his spike, and I had mine."
"And where's your outfit now?"
"I got it. Why?"
"You still have your syringe?"
"Certainly."
"Tell me exactly what happened."
"I don't follow you."
"After Annabelle showed you the deck."
"I got out my spike, and he got out his. Then we cooked the stuff in some bottle caps, and…"
"The caps found on that orange crate under the light?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Yeah, there was an orange crate across the room."
"Did you take the syringes with you when you went to that orange crate?"
"No, I don't think so. We left them on the cot, I think."
"Then what?"
"We cooked the junk and went back to the cot, and Annabelle picked up his spike, and I picked up mine, and we loaded them and fixed ourselves."