Tit for Tat

The middle room on the second floor of the 6th Precinct was a haze of cigarette smoke and considered stuffy even by the standards of the day.

It was August of 1950.

The Interrogation Room door was locked from the outside and a black steel-fan rattled uselessly within. The one window was open as wide as a little sticky window can be open, and the men inside, all three, were smoking unfiltered Lucky Strikes and dabbing white handkerchiefs to their moist foreheads.

Lt. Murphy, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, his breath still reeking of bourbon from an early lunch, leaned in close; “You gonna play ball, Gallagher, or do we gotta do this the hard way?”

“Murph, what the hell? Gallagher said. He had a high-pitched voice and thin shoulders. His tweed pants didn’t quite reach his white socks. ”You know me! What the fuck ya want?”

“We want answers,” said Lt. Morgan, who took this moment to blow cigarette smoke into the little man’s eyes.

“Yous talkin bout the jewel-heist?” asked Gallagher.

Both detectives looked at each other.

“You guys can’t pin that to me! You can’t prove a thing."

Murphy spoke close to Gallagher’s face. “Maybe we make a deal, huh?”

“A little tit for tat,” said Morgan, a smile now, fake as it was.

Gallagher’s eyes moved back and forth between the cops.

“Oh, I get it!” said Gallagher, looking at Murphy. “Oh, oh! I get it,” he said again, now looking at Morgan.

“Horse-Boy gets it,” Murphy said to Morgan.

They both dropped their butts on the floor and stepped hard with their thick-soled shoes.

Whang Bang in the sixth! Sure bet! Can I go now?”

“Scram,” said Morgan. He knocked twice on the door and winked once at his pard. “We’s done…”

-300 Words-