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“I think he was still asleep, chief,” Lynch said.

“Just wasting his life away lying in bed like that,” Loambaugh said and winked at Lynch. “Of course, that’s unless you got something pretty to do your lying with. We’re not disturbing anything are we, Mr. Dye?”

“Just my disposition,” I said and headed for the phone. I picked it up, got room service and ordered coffee. “You’ve already had yours, haven’t you?” I said to Lynch and Loambaugh. It wasn’t polite, but I have yet to be complimented on my morning manners.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to another cup, would you, Cal?” Lynch said.

Cal said he wouldn’t say no either so I ordered coffee for four on the chance that somebody else might decide to turn neighborly. If they didn’t, I’d drink it myself.

“You don’t mind if I get dressed?” I said. I had no pajamas and for a robe I was using the topcoat furnished by Carmingler.

“Take your time,” Lynch said. “Cal and I’ll just sit here and jaw a while.”

“Would you like a toothpick?” I said.

Lynch said, “Huh?” and I said, “Never mind,” and headed for the bathroom, taking some fresh clothes with me. I showered, shaved and dressed before the coffee arrived. The Sycamore prided itself on leisurely service. The room-service waiter served the coffee, slopping only a little of it into my saucer. Nor did he neglect the saucers of my two guests. Lynch poured the spilled coffee back into his cup; the chief of police ignored his, while I soaked mine up with a napkin.

“We like to be up and doing in Swankerton,” Lynch said after the waiter had gone.

“I noticed,” I said.

“I ran into the chief here at the coffee shop so we had breakfast together.”

“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about breakfast at dawn,” I said.

“I bet you were sneaking down the hall, carrying your shoes in your hand about dawn, weren’t you, Mr. Dye?” the chief of police said, winking at me over the rim of his cup. I winked back and thought that he seemed to have all the makings of a dedicated voyeur. Or he could have been one of those who merely likes to talk about it.

“Well,” Lynch said, “since the chief’s a bit interested in what your decision’s going to be about that little proposition we made you yesterday, and since I’m damned interested, and since the chief already had a piece of business to do with you this morning, we figured we’d drop by together and maybe get everything settled with one visit.” Lynch leaned back in his chair and nodded his head in satisfaction over the way he had explained things. His chins bobbed up and down and I noticed that his shirt was too tight around the collar and that a roll of fat oozed down over it. He had on a different suit that morning, a wash and wear cord that fitted him like a tent. Perhaps he hoped to grow into it.

“What business?” I said to Loambaugh.

He put his cup down on the writing desk and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, a concerned look on his face. I had the feeling that he practiced the look at night in the bathroom mirror with the door locked. “We got your friend down in the tank, Mr. Dye.”

“What friend?”

“Homer Necessary.”

“Have you charged him?”

Loambaugh shook his head. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I thought I’d better talk to you first.”

“Why’d they bring him in?”

Loambaugh shrugged. “He was drunk.”

“That all?”

“Disorderly.”

“What else?”

Loambaugh sighed and shook his head in what I interpreted as a regretful manner. “Well, it’s pretty hard to ignore resisting arrest.”

“Where did all this happen?” I said.

“The Easy Alibi, across the street.”

“That belongs to Fred Merriweather,” I said. “Your pet city councilman.”

“That’s right!” Lynch said, trying to work a little astonished recall into his tone, but not doing very well at it. “You met him yesterday.”

“What time did they pick Necessary up?” I said to Loambaugh.

He looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. “Midnight or thereabouts.”

“What’s the leeway?”

“Quarter till, quarter after.”

I lit my first cigarette of the day. It tasted good, as only the first one did anymore. I’d be smoking my habit the rest of the day. “No buy,” I said.

Loambaugh smiled faintly. “Now why’d you say that, Mr. Dye?” He sounded humble, almost hurt.

“It was a roust.”

“We don’t make it a habit of—”

“You don’t roust drunks in this town. I know that. You take them home and pat them on the head and tuck them into bed. You never throw them in the tank unless they’re winos with no place else to sleep. When Necessary left me at eleven-fifty last night, he was sober. I’ve seen him drink and he could have gone on all night and into the morning. But you say he got drunk in twenty-five minutes and I say you’re wrong. Chloral hydrate might have worked that fast, but then you couldn’t have him on a resisting arrest charge, could you?”

“Well, chief, Mr. Dye seems to have come up with some pretty good points,” Lynch said, smiling and bobbing.

“He’s been booked,” Loambaugh said. “He can post bond and get out or he can sit there and await trial. That might take a week or so. Maybe more.”

“How much is his bond?”

“Five hundred.”

“Has he got it?”

“He didn’t have a dime on him,” Loambaugh said with a straight face.

“I want him out of there in fifteen minutes,” I said.

Despite his tan, a flush spread up the sides of Loambaugh’s neck. It hit his face and raced to his ears, which turned a dark rosy shade. He had that tight, controlled tone back in his voice, the same tone that he’d used when I’d met him the day before. “Nobody,” he said, spacing his words, “nobody tells me how to run my—”

“Shut up and listen, Cal,” Lynch said, no longer the jolly fat man. He looked at me and there was nothing jolly in his eyes either. “I don’t know what you’re used to, Mr. Dye, but folks don’t talk to the chief of police in this town like you just did unless they got a mighty good reason. Or some mighty good friends.”

“Like you?” I said.

He nodded. “Like me.”

“I was in this fine community of yours for less than eight hours before a couple of punks tried to jump me in this room. I thought you might have sent them.”

“No.”

“All right, you didn’t. Somebody else did and Homer Necessary was around to help keep me out of the hospital. I want him around so that he can keep an eye on me and, for that matter, so that I can keep an eye on him. I think you follow me.”

Lynch turned to the police chief. “Tell them to get him out of there.”

“He’s already on the blotter,” Loambaugh said.

“Well, now, that’s just too goddamned bad, ain’t it, Cal? I don’t reckon anything can be done if he’s already on the blotter. I mean that’s just like holy writ engraved in stone. But maybe if you just picked up the phone and told them to hunt around for that old bottle of ink eradicator they just may be able to make that blotter read the way it should rightfully read, and when they’re done doing that they can just get one of those fancy, new air-conditioned Ford squad cars and carry Mr. Necessary back to his hotel with your apologies.” The phrasing was the phrasing of the South, but the accent was that of Newark. Or Jersey City.

“While they’re hunting around for the ink eradicator,” I said, “tell them to look behind the rear seat in the squad car. That’s probably where they’ll find the money that fell out of Necessary’s pocket.”