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squad. You’ll only louse it. Couldn’t you tell that?”
    â€œI could feel it.” I grinned at him, “Nobody was speaking up.”
    â€œYou got the bull on ’em too quick. They ain’t used to the old tactics. They’re going grand these days. Big thinking. They don’t do them cellar jobs no more. Man, you want to freeze them fat slobs ... then bring up the old days down behind the furnace. Me, hell ... it scares me too. I couldn’t take that crap now.”
    â€œNeither can they, laddie. They like to smear it on, but that’s all. Things have changed.”
    Cat laughed back. “Like I said, I’m with you. It won’t be for long, but while it lasts I’m with you.”
    â€œYou not scared of dying?”
    â€œMan, man, I’m just scared of living. It’s killing me.” He grinned again and we took off down the street.

Chapter Four
    The cop on the beat had been old when I first knew him. Below the sweatband of his cap the gray was an insigna that meant more than approaching retirement. It meant a guy tough enough to stay around that long, one who knew all the ropes and all the rules, good or bad. In a way there was a determined finality in his stride, always that singular purpose of going ahead, never back. The hand that had swung a night stick for thirty years had lost none of its rhythm. The baton moved like a live thing on the end of the thong, its purpose immediate and deadly, a symbol no one could mistake.
    He stopped in front of me and said, “I heard you came back, Deep.”
    â€œYou know the grapevine, Mr. Sullivan. Travels fast.”
    â€œI also heard there’s been trouble already.”
    â€œNot really.”
    His finger came up and traced a heart-shaped design a little to the left of center on my chest. “That’s a vulnerable spot. Just a few grams of lead there and you’re done, boy.”
    â€œYou’re talking like the old days, Mr. Sullivan.”
    â€œYou’re making like the old days, Deep.” The wrinkles around his eyes seemed to freeze up. “Until now it’s been quiet. Nobody’s been shot up.”
    â€œExcept Bennett.”
    â€œHe wasn’t worth much. Not more shooting. Nothing’s worth that much.”
    â€œYou’ve grown pretty philosophical since you whaled the crap out of me with a pair of handcuffs twenty-five years ago.”
    He nodded, remembering. “It didn’t do much good, did it?”
    â€œSome, Mr. Sullivan, some. I know the damage a guy can do swinging a set of cuffs. It won’t happen again.”
    â€œDon’t be too sure.” His eyes went tight again. “You’re in a big bind now, kid. Real big. You can start making the most of your days. There won’t be many more.”
    I gave him a short laugh and looked at the hand that danced the night stick. His face went red and drawn and he said, “Still the wise guy. How many have you shot up, Deep?”
    â€œFive,” I said. “Five and two probables.”
    â€œDon’t make trouble on my beat.”
    I shoved my hands down in my pockets and shrugged, “I’ll try to oblige, old-timer. But if it happens, be careful. I have a sort of peculiar affection for you.”
    When I walked away I could feel all the little eyes that had watched follow me and knew the ears that had heard would pass things on. Maybe it had been a long time since trouble had touched the neighborhood, but those days were long gone now.
    Â 
    In twenty-five years the only thing that had changed in Brogan’s market was the merchandise. The sidewalk was piled high with crated vegetables, obscuring the windows, and inside Brogan was still his same busy self in a tomato-stained apron and straw kady.
    Beside the store front a narrow door led into a stairwell leading to the upper four floors, an almost opaque ascent where the bannister was a necessary guide. The second floor bell