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and they kind of calmed the kid down and got him out of here."
    "Before Dooley came in?"
    "Well, yeah. Yeah."
    "And the kid took the gun with him when he left?"
    "Yeah," Harry said. "Look, I didn't want no trouble in my place, you follow?"
    "I follow," Bush said. "Where does he live?"
    Harry blinked his eyes. He looked down at the bar top.
    "Where?" Bush repeated.
    "On Culver."
    "Where on Culver?"
    'The house on the corner of Culver and Mason. Look, fellows ..."
    "This guy mention anything about not liking cops?" Carella asked.
    "No, no," Harry said. "He's a fine boy. He just had a couple of sheets to the wind that night, that's all."
    "You know Mike Reardon?"
    "Oh, sure," Harry said.
    "This kid know Mike?"
    "Well, I can't say as I know. Look, the kid was just squiffed that night, that's all"
    "What's his name?"
    "Look, he was only tanked up, that's all. Hell, it was away back in 1950."
    "What's his name?"
    "Frank. Frank Clarke. With an 'e'."
    "What do you think, Steve?" Bush asked Carella.
    Carella shrugged. "It came too easy. It's never good when it comes that easy."
    "Let's check it, anyway," Bush said.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter FOUR
     
    there are smells inside a tenement, and they are not only the smell of cabbage. The smell of cabbage, to many, is and always will be a good wholesome smell and there are many who resent the steady propaganda which links cabbage with poverty.
    The smell inside a tenement is the smell of life.
    It is the smell of every function of life, the sweating, the cooking, the elimination, the breeding. It is all these smells and they are wedded into one gigantic smell which hits the nostrils the moment you enter the downstairs doorway. For the smell has been inside the building for decades. It has seeped through the floorboards and permeated the walls. It clings to the banister and the linoleum covered steps. It crouches in corners and it hovers about the naked light bulbs on each landing. The smell is always there, day and night. It is the stench of living, and it never sees the light of day, and it never sees the crisp brittleness of starlight.
    It was there on the morning of July 24th at 3:00 A.M. It was there in full force because the heat of the day had baked it into the walls. It hit Carella as he and Bush entered the building. He snorted through his nostrils and then struck a match and held it to the mailboxes.
    "There it is," Bush said. "Clarke. 3B."
    Carella shook out the match and they walked toward the steps. The garbage cans were in for the night, stacked on the ground floor landing behind the steps. Their aroma joined the other smells to clash in a medley of putridity. The building slept, but the smells were awake. On the second floor, a man—or a woman—snored loudly. On each door, close to the floor, the circular trap for a milk bottle lock hung despondently, awaiting the milkman's arrival. On one of the doors hung a plaque, and the plaque read IN GOD WE TRUST. And behind that door, there was undoubtedly the
    unbending steel bar of a police lock, embedded in the floor and tilted to lean against the door.
    Carella and Bush labored up to the third floor. The light bulb on the third floor landing was out Bush struck a match.
    "Down the hall there."
    "You want to do this up big?" Carella asked.
    "He's got a .45 in there, hasn't he?"
    "Still."
    "What the hell, my wife doesn't need my insurance money." Bush said.
    They walked to the door and flanked it. They drew their service revolvers with nonchalance. Carella didn't for a moment believe he'd need his gun, but caution never hurt. He drew back his left hand and knocked on the door.
    "Probably asleep," Bush said.
    "Betokens a clear conscience," Carella answered. He knocked again.
    "Who is it?" a voice answered.
    "Police. Want to open up?"
    "Oh, for Christ's sake," the voice mumbled. "Just a minute."
    "We won't need these," Bush said. He holstered his gun, and Carella followed suit. From within the apartment, they could hear bed springs