“Conrad, I know there are good cops; my dad was one. But cops are like any other group of people—when they get together they act clannish. They like to show their collective muscle to people outside their clique. And society gives you guys a lot of power to bulk up your muscle. Sometimes I think my whole job consists of standing outside different cliques—of cops or businessmen or whoever—with a yellow flag to remind you that your outlook isn’t the only one.”

He was quiet a minute. “You still want to have dinner with me Friday?”

I felt my cheeks redden. “Sure. Yes, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Well, let’s just leave things here before we say so much we don’t want to get together again. I can’t think fast enough to do a discussion like this on the phone.” He hesitated, then said, “Will you promise to call me if someone tries to hurt you? Run you over, climb through your window, whatever? Would that be a violation of your principles?”

I agreed amiably enough, but my fists were still clenched when I hung up the phone. I should have known better than to get in bed with a policeman. Every day for the last two weeks I’d been acting before I thought. And every day it had gotten me into trouble.

The phone rang again as I was heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I was tempted to let it go—it was after eleven, after all. But maybe it was Rawlings wanting to smooth things out. I picked up the bedroom extension on the fifth ring. It was Murray Ryerson. By the noise in the background, he was calling from a party in full swing.

“You drunk, Murray? It’s way past a respectable time to call anyone.”

“You getting old, Warshawski? I thought your night just got going about now.”

I made a face into the phone. “Yes, I’m getting old. Now that you know that, is your investigative reporter’s mind at ease?”

“Not really, Vic.” He was shouting to be heard over the music. I held the receiver a few inches from my ear.

“How come you go falling into the Sanitary Canal without telling me about it? One of my gofers just came sidling up to me with the news at the bar here. Of course, he thought I must already know, since everybody believes you and I are pals. You made me look bad.”

“Come on, Murray, you told me the last time I saw you that what I was doing wasn’t news. Don’t you come playing that ‘all pals together’ tune on your violin. I won’t stand for it.” I was so angry, I snapped a pencil I’d been fiddling with in two.