The white cops stared.

“What did they do with Lady Gypsy?” one asked.

“That’s him on the bed,” Coffin Ed said.

“That ain’t the question,” Grave Digger said. “We got to find out who it was slugged him.”

“He isn’t talking,” a white cop said.

“We’ll fix that,” Grave Digger said. “Get a bottle of vinegar from the kitchen.”

He reached over and clutched Lady Gypsy by the arm and pulled him over to the side of the bed. Then, when the cop brought the vinegar, he opened the bottle and poured the lukewarm liquid over Lady Gypsy’s face.

“That the way you do it?” the cop asked.

“It works,” Grave Digger said.

“Every time,” Coffin Ed supplemented.

Lady Gypsy stirred and spluttered. “Who is that pissing on me?” he said in a distinct, cultivated voice.

“It’s me, Digger,” Grave Digger said.

Lady Gypsy sat up suddenly on the side of the bed. He opened his eyes and saw all the white cops staring at him.

“You sonofabitch,” he said.

Grave Digger slapped him with his left hand.

His head fell to one side and straightened up as though his neck were made of rubber.

“It wasn’t my fault the bastard got away,” he said, fingering an egg-size lump on the back of his head. He looked down at his half-naked self. “He took my second-best ensemble.”

“Fill us in,” Grave Digger said. “And don’t start begging for sympathy.”

Lady Gypsy flipped back the covers and wiped his face with the top end of the sheet. “He’s a rough boy,” he said. “A square, but really ragged.” There were threads of desire and admiration in his voice. “And he’s carrying a rusty forty-five.”

“If you go patsy on me, I’ll kick out your teeth,” Grave Digger said.

Again the white cops looked at him curiously.

“You don’t have any compassion for anybody,” Lady Gypsy said in his cultivated voice.

“It’s how you look at it,” Grave Digger said. He turned to Coffin Ed. “Get out your stop watch, Ed. I’m going to give him ninety seconds.”

Lady Gypsy regarded him impassively through glazed, yellow-speckled brownish eyes that had the slight blue cast of age.

“You are an animal,” he said.

Grave Digger hit him in the mouth. It made a sound like water splashing, and blood drops spurted from the corners of Lady Gypsy’s mouth. But his big, flaccid body didn’t move, and his flat, stoical expression went unruffled.

“I’m not scared of you, Digger,” he said. “But I’m going to tell you what I know because I don’t want to get beat up.” He wiped the blood from his bruised and swelling lips with the vinegary sheet end. “You’re forgetting it was me who tipped you.”

“Yeah, and you let him sap you and get away while you was making a pass at him,” Grave Digger accused.

“That’s not so. He followed me in here and heard me phoning.” He nodded toward the telephone on the night table. “Not that I wouldn’t have if I had known what was coming,” he added.