Mr Finkelstein nodded willingly and turned his cigar butt around between his pursed lips.

Newman looked up at him. ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do if anything … if they start anything with you?’

Finkelstein began to look embarrassed. He took out his cigar and inspected it. ‘You got some definite information they’re going to start with me?’

His eyes had come to glisten now. And Newman saw that he was afraid, and was trying not to show it.

‘It’s coming all right. I don’t know when, but it’s coming.’

‘Well,’ Finkelstein said, and when his cigar quivered, he went to the ash tray on the cash register and steadied himself by rubbing out its glowing end. Newman felt he would ordinarily have smoked it down further. ‘I can’t do very much, naturally. What I can do I’ll do,’ he said. Then facing Newman directly, he admitted, ‘Unless they shall come with too many I’ll maybe take care of myself. If there’s too many I wouldn’t do so good.’

‘That’s funny, I thought you’d know what you were going to do.’

‘Well I got something, I …’ After hesitating a moment, and smiling in embarrassment, Finkelstein went to the front of the store and opened a long drawer near the floor and took out a shiny baseball bat and came with it to Newman. ‘That’s what they call a Louisville Slugger. Solid wood,’ he said, holding it out for Newman’s view. Newman touched the smooth grain and put his hand back into his pocket.. Finkelstein went back to the drawer and carefully put the bat away. Then he stood there looking into Newman’s eyes.

Newman said; ‘I should think that if you really made it clear to the police …’

‘Mr Newman,’ the other said, shaking his head slowly, ‘you are talking like this never happened before.’

Looking at the man Newman knew now what kept him from losing his mind.

‘That meeting,’ Finkelstein went on, ‘wasn’t in no secret cellar. The police know what’s going on. There just ain’t no law against people hating each other. It ain’t … there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s their right to make a meeting like that to murder people,’ he said sarcastically. ‘The only good it will do to go to the police is that a … a delegation should go. I tell them, but they listen and they go away. Mrs Depaw tells them but she’s an old lady, what does she mean to them? If a couple of men on the block would … would …’

Newman saw himself standing beside Finkelstein in the precinct house, with the eyes of the Irish cop glancing from the Jew to him.

‘Mr Finkelstein,’ he broke in, ‘I’ll tell you what I think.’

‘Yes,’ Finkelstein said, listening eagerly.

Newman no longer looked at him, but kept his eyes moving among the merchandise on the shelves. ‘I think there’s only one sensible thing for you to do.’

‘Yes,’ Finkelstein whispered, his chin raised, his lips parted.