“You better not,” Corey said softly through the lazy smile. Donofrio straightened to his full height of six feet one inch, mobilized all the power that amounted in weight to more than a hundred and ninety pounds, then walked toward Corey. “All right, then,” Corey said, and slipped away from a right hand aimed at his head. Donofrio moved in rhythm with Corey’s maneuver and was already hooking with the left as Corey started a counter to his head. Corey landed and Donofrio landed and they both fell back. Donofrio’s hook had connected with Corey’s side just under the ribs. Some blood came from Donofrio’s mouth where Corey’s right hand had loosened a few front teeth. Now Donofrio walked in again. Corey was bent over with his right hand pressed to his side and his left out, jabbing. Donofrio chopped at the left, bringing it down, then hammered his right hand to Corey’s head. Corey went to the floor.

Donofrio kicked Corey in the ribs, then aimed a kick at his head. Corey managed to roll away. Donofrio started another kick but McDermott got up from the desk and grabbed Donofrio who kept trying to kick at Corey’s head. Donofrio got away from the detective-sergeant and took hold of a chair, raising it high with the intention of cracking Corey’s skull. The other squadmen rushed in. Two of them hit Donofrio low, at the knees. The other two got him around the middle and at the shoulders. They were taking him to the floor, but he was maniacal at this moment and broke away from them. He still held the chair with one hand. Again he raised it as he ran for Corey, who was trying to get up from the floor. McDermott got between them, put a bear hug on the Italian and kept squeezing. Donofrio’s head went back, his mouth opened wide, his arms limp and his knees buckling. McDermott kept squeezing. Donofrio’s eyes rolled and he was losing consciousness. The detective-sergeant slackened his hold. Donofrio made a wheezing sound as he took in air. The chair was overturned on the floor and Donofrio gave it a sad look. Then McDermott let go of him and Donofrio collapsed on the floor beside the chair. He was semiconscious, making wheezing noises, resting on his side with his knees close to his middle. His hands were clutching his middle.

Corey stood near the window. He was rubbing the side of his head. Then he put his hand against his ribs where he’d been kicked. He grunted and leaned back against the windowsill. McDermott went back to the desk and sat down. Donofrio remained on the floor. The other squadmen were grouped around him, ready to stop him in case he got up and made another try for Corey.

McDermott looked at Corey and said, “You hurt?”

“Sure I’m hurt. He damn near busted my ribs.”