The Captain could have taken a partner away from another man and given him to Raeford, but the Captain did not do that. A man walking a beat by himself can get into plenty of trouble and the Captain thought happily that this was a fine way to find out exactly how much trouble Sam Raeford could take. The Captain did not like Raeford. It would have made him very happy to see Raeford quit, and everybody knew that, including Raeford.

On that last morning the Captain was by the window, watching, when Raeford came in. It had rained heavily all that night, but it was still a little early for the midnight shift to be checking off and the Captain thought gleefully that Raeford had given him a perfect opportunity to go down and give him hell. But watching Raeford come in—a big, lean man, shoulders hunched against the rain—the Captain did not move. There was something in the way Raeford walked, something stiff and unsettled, that reached down into the Captain and jarred him. Forty years as a cop had built this sense in the Captain, this ability to see trouble in a man simply in the way he moved, the general look of him. He could not see Raeford’s face clearly, but he knew suddenly and without doubt that something had happened on the midnight shift.

The discovery made the Captain feel good, and also curious. Exactly why he did not like Raeford he did not know and did not particularly care, but most of it was undoubtedly the fact that Raeford had a college degree. Of the ninety-odd men in the Department, Raeford was the only one with a degree. To the Captain, who always thought of college boys as the Stutz-Bearcat, raccoon-coat, spoiled-and-drunken crowd of his youth, a degree was an unnecessary thing, even a dangerous thing, for a cop to have. But it was more than that.

Like many a self-made man, the Captain resented those who’d had it “easy.” Those polite and quiet people who talked well and had good manners and just barely managed to hide their smiles if you made a mistake in English. Raeford was one of those, the Captain believed.

He was delighted to see that the other men did not take kindly to Raeford, either. Raeford was a good big man to have as a partner, but he was no man to have around if you were bucking for a promotion against him, and some of the men resented his education almost as badly as the Captain did. And so a silent, bitter little war had been waged for nearly two years.

What’s his angle? the Captain thought. A sharp guy like that could make a better buck anywhere, so what’s his angle? The Captain was certain that somewhere deep in Raeford there was a lack of guts. That much education was sure to take the fight out of a man. The Captain had never seen any fear in Raeford, nothing more than caution, but on this last day of the month he was still waiting stubbornly for fear to show. And when Raeford came in through the rain, the Captain saw something new in him, something strained, and felt suddenly an overpowering curiosity. The Captain had many other things on his mind, but he forgot them. He decided to go downstairs.

Raeford went into the station still not knowing exactly what he was going to do. He had wasted most of the night being angry; now, he told himself, it was time to do a little serious thinking. He went past the squad room and sat down in one of the little coffee booths at the foot of the stairs. It was not yet quite eight o’clock; the detectives were checking in upstairs. The man Raeford waited for, Detective Billy Kyle, would have to pass this way, coming down. Through the open window near him Raeford watched the rain beat down on the twisting palm fronds. Billy Kyle, my old buddy, Raeford thought bitterly, you’re in for a hell of a shock.

He waited, turning it over in his mind and trying to get it clear. Common sense told him that this thing could get bloody, that he ought to wait and think about it. He heard sounds of men at the top of the stairs. The first man he saw was the Captain, old Gilliam, but his glance went on by. The man behind Gilliam was Kyle.

His eyes followed Kyle down the stairs. He did not notice the Captain until the shadow fell across the table and he heard the rough, sarcastic voice.

“Mornin’, Sam. How’d it go last night?”

“Fine,” Raeford said, glancing at the Captain once without interest, then back at Kyle. “Just fine.”

The Captain was grinning with a peculiar twist, but Raeford did not really look at him. The next thing Gilliam said, Raeford knew automatically, was something the old man had stored up to taunt him with the next time they met.

“Hey, Sam.” The Captain’s grin widened. “Listen, I hear they got an opening downtown with the F.B.I. You got the schoolin’, the experience, why don’t you try?”

Raeford shook his head, watching Kyle come.

“Oh, I forgot,” the Captain rasped. “You’ve got bum eyes. What a shame. All that book-readin’, hah? That’s what done it.”

Raeford spoke without expression to Kyle.

“Want to see you, Billy. Got a minute?”

Kyle stopped. “Always got time for the law,” he said cheerfully. The Captain stopped grinning, looked down at Raeford for a long moment and then simply turned and walked away without saying anything.

“How’s it goin’, Sam?” Kyle said. He was a big, toothy man in a trench coat and a wide-brimmed straw hat, chewing a cigar. His eyes were tired, but friendly and even peaceful. Raeford watched him, not knowing how to begin.

“Hear they got you on the midnight trick,” Kyle said, chuckling. “Gettin’ plenty of sleep? Got some old mosquito netting I can let you have cheap. You put it in the car window and park out on the beach, and you can sleep all night. Me and old Richards used to—”

“All right. Now listen,” Raeford said. “I know about you. I know about your business.”

“What business?”

“You’re on the take.”

Kyle stared.

“You’ve been taking for months.”

In the man’s expression there was genuine surprise, and for a long cold second Raeford wondered, but then Kyle became instantly expressionless—the carefully inscrutable cop’s face which a man learns after years in the business—and Raeford knew.

“Who told you?”

“A bird in an alley.”

“Which bird?”

Raeford grinned.

“You believe him?” Kyle asked.

“Yep.”

“Word of a stoolie?”

“Yep.”

“What else have you got?”

“Enough.”

Kyle swore. He put his hands on the table and started to rise. “I don’t have to listen to this—”

“If you move,” Raeford said, “I go to the Captain. Right now.”

Kyle stared down at him, half-standing. There was a sickness beginning to show in his eyes. He looked once over his shoulder at the detectives sitting at the next table.

“You picked a hell of a place for it.”

“Best place I know. Otherwise one of your friends might see us.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. He put a hand up and rubbed his eyes slowly. “I don’t get it. You haven’t told anybody?”
“No. Not yet.”

Kyle stared at him. “What’s the point?”

Raeford grinned tightly and pulled out a cigarette. The little counterman came by, delivering two cups of coffee, both black, and left wordlessly. When he was gone, Kyle broke into a sudden nervous smile.

“I get it. You want in. Hah,” He took the cigar out of his mouth and grunted. “Old Sam Raeford wants in.”

“Listen,” Raeford said. His voice was very low, but Kyle heard every word. “I’m going to give you a break. You’re a filthy, worthless louse and, after this is over, you and I are going to talk. We’ll get some things straightened out then—but right now I’m giving you a break.”

He stopped for breath as anger possessed him.

“I take this as personal,” he went on slowly, carefully. “I take this as damn personal. Listen. There’re two ways for it to go. One way is that I turn you in. I’ve seen that all before; I saw it once in New York and once here, in ’51, and it stinks. When they get you, the newspapers will play it as though more arrests are expected daily and every poor cop on a beat will get spit on. People look at you going by and it’s the same old story; they think there’s no such thing as an honest cop, and you can see the question on their faces—Are you the one they didn’t catch yet? That’s one way. The other way is that they don’t get you.”

Raeford paused. His face had been tight before; now it was getting mean.

“If they don’t get you, then the racket keeps on going. You pass it along like rot in a barrel. You find one poor guy who needs a buck too much, then another one and, first thing you know, a man can’t work here anymore—”

“Tough,” Kyle said. He was watching Raeford without expression, his forehead glistening.

“So I’m going to stop it.”

“How? You figure on turning me in?”

“No.”

“Because I wouldn’t advise turning me in. You might get hurt. You have a family. This is a big—”

“You said something about my family. You want to threaten me?” Raeford rose.

“No, no,” Kyle said frantically. “Sit down, will you? Don’t be so jumpy.”

Raeford sat. “You wouldn’t hurt a cop,” he said. “It doesn’t pay to rough up a cop.”

“Sure, Sam, sure,” Kyle said, “but listen. I’m not trying to scare you, honest. But listen. What have they got to lose? If they don’t hurt a cop, they’re done. I tell you, some of these guys are mean. Mean like you never saw. You see? Don’t you know how big an operation—” He stopped, staring at Raeford. He realized for the first time that Raeford might have known only that he was on the take and nothing else. Raeford saw that too. Kyle wiped his forehead.

“Believe me, Sam, this is rough stuff. This ain’t just moonshine. You move and I guarantee you, they move, too. Just for plain meanness. So watch it, for God’s sake. Some of these guys come from…Look, why don’t you come in? You try to stop it and you’ll get hurt. Nobody’ll know…”

Raeford took a long puff on a cigarette and Kyle watched him with increasing hope.

“Here’s my idea,” Raeford said. “I’ll give you this one chance. I’ll say I knew about it all along. That you went into it on purpose when they approached you. You strung them along until you had enough evidence, with me on the outside to cover for you. Then we’ll break it. You won’t go to jail. You’ll be a hero. Nobody’ll know. There’ll be no dirt for the papers to play with.”

Kyle kept his mouth tight.

“I want evidence. Stuff that’ll stand up in court. We haven’t got time for pictures or tape. But get what you can. You must have something put away to cover you. Get it all together—and get it to me by tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Midnight. When I come on. Then we drive out the Captain.”

“Maybe not the Captain,” Kyle lowered his eyes.

“He’s in on it?”
“I don’t know. But you can’t trust anybody. I swear I don’t know. Listen, Sam, I’m trying to tell you, this is a big thing. There may be somebody else. You see? Who can we go to? Sam, we’re in trouble…”

Raeford’s mind was clicking. He had not believed until now that this was truly as big a thing as Kyle said. All Raeford had to go on was the tip of an old wino in an alley and, until this moment, it had not occurred to him that there was more to this than the numbers game and a little moonshine. But the mention of the Captain shook him. The Captain. Yes, the Captain. There was only one place to go—the F.B.I. George Bergen, the chief agent, could be trusted. But George was almost never in town. Raeford felt fear begin to grow inside him.

“And anyway,” Kyle pleaded, “will anybody believe me?”

“Sure,” Raeford said. “They’ll eat it up.” He smiled thinly.

“But—”

“You bring me the stuff. You’ve been in court enough to know what stuff. They’ll get lawyers down from the big city. We’ll need more than your word. Which I wouldn’t trust worth a cent.”

“You put me in a hell of a spot.”

“That’s a laugh. You’ve got the choice of being either a jailed crook or a free hero.”

“Or a dead nothing,” Kyle muttered.

Raeford’s voice was clear and dangerous. “Take your choice. But listen, buddy. This is my outfit. This place is where I want to be. For a long time in my life I figured I wasn’t sure what I wanted, college or no college, but then I found this. I was built for this. Someday the Captain will die, or retire, or maybe we’ll get him now, but that doesn’t make any difference. This is my place. And I’m looking out for it. I’m going to keep it clean, so help me God. Get that, Billy. You’re either clean or you’re dead.”

Kyle put both hands on the table and ran his tongue over his lips. There was a beaten look in his eyes, and fear, and something else.

“You’re the last guy I’d expect to stick his neck out like this,” Kyle said. “I figured you for a guy who didn’t care so much—about anything.”

Raeford, too, was a little surprised—at how rapidly he was being swept along once he had stopped hugging the shore and let himself slip out into the rushing current of his anger.

“You going to play?” Raeford said.

“What else?”

“Fine. See you tonight.”

“Listen. Sam.” Kyle heaved himself to his feet. There was a question on his face and Raeford knew what it was and saw that Kyle had to know and was afraid to ask.

Raeford grinned. “I’m covered, Billy. It’s all in the mail.”

“But then somebody knows I’m—”

“Not yet.”

“You swear it?”

Raeford grinned again. “What difference does it make?”

“I got to believe you.”

“True,” Raeford smiled. “True. You’ve got to believe me.”

Raeford watched him go. He sat nodding pleasantly to lawyers, to people he knew, and his stomach was fluttery. He was not covered, of course. He had not even thought about covering himself. He had learned about it in an alley early that morning. He’d heard it from an old wino named T-Bone, a scrawny, ancient, humble little man who did his drinking in private and whom Raeford had never had the heart to jail. The old man had repaid him once and for all with a fast, frightened word whispered in an alley. It had been a hard thing to believe, but T-Bone had been authentically scared and had run off right after telling him. Raeford had not thought about covering himself. He had wanted only to clean it up.

The more he thought about it, the uglier it got. Nobody else in the world knew what had just passed between him and Kyle. It was a very lonesome feeling. If anything were to happen to Raeford now, when he left the station, nobody would ever know why. Nobody except maybe T-Bone, and he would never breathe a word of it to a living soul.

Raeford kept watching people go by, looking to see if anyone was watching him, somebody else inside the station, and he thought suddenly of the way the two men had come down the stairs together—Kyle and the Captain.

He got up quickly and headed for the pay phone in the hall. But what to do? He could write a note to George Bergen: If I am killed, ask Billy Kyle why. That would be just fine. That’s what you call being covered, protection.

He swore silently. All right, dammit, relax. They don’t know you aren’t covered. You may be that stupid, but they wouldn’t figure that you are. Not you, not the College Cop.

He put through a call to George Bergen. Bergen was over in Tampa and would not be back until very late. Raeford had expected that. He thought carefully for a moment and then told the girl to tell Bergen that Billy Kyle had a line on a racket, that it might involve some of the men in the Department and that he, Raeford, needed help. That was all he said. If something did happen, Bergen would at least know enough to look up Kyle.

He went out to his car and drove home.

He did not tell Martha. She kissed him “hello” and went on with her sewing, and Raeford played with Jed on the living room floor. Then he went to bed.

He got to sleep finally around noon. When he awoke, it was after four and the rain had stopped. He rolled over and looked out the window.

They lived on a wooded lot near the edge of town and there were only three other houses on the long block, set back and hidden among large, lovely Poinciana trees. Behind the house there was nothing but scrub pine and palmetto all the way back to Frenchman’s Creek, a clean open view that Raeford loved, and he watched it now silently. It would be a clear night. He began to feel better about everything and slept soundly for several hours. At supper he was cheerful and they had a fine time at the table. But Martha worried about his not getting enough sleep.

Raeford grinned. “May pick up a few winks in the cruiser tonight. Billy Kyle said he’d let me have some mosquito netting—”

“Sam! You wouldn’t! What if they ever caught you!”

Raeford chuckled and grabbed his wife. It was such a small thing to be worried about—being caught sleeping in the cruiser—that suddenly he felt very good. He swung Martha around the room, scaring little Jed mightily, and they knelt together and got the little boy to laughing again. Then they watched television together and it was a good night.

It ended shortly after ten o’clock. Martha went off to bed and left him alone. It was as if the lights had gone off inside him. He shaved and dressed to go to work. Then it began to bother him, really. He couldn’t shake his fear. He went back into the living room and sat down and there were alarm bells going off all around him. He got up suddenly and went to the phone and called Bergen’s home. There was no answer. He waited until eleven-thirty, when it was time to go to work, but the worry did not subside.

He put on his jacket. He had his hand on the doorknob when a thought hit him. You’re leaving your family alone.

He was paralyzed for several seconds. They wouldn’t do anything like that…But his mind flashed ahead and he saw it all vividly. Kyle waiting for him at the station, Kyle saying softly, cheerfully, “’Evening Sam. There are a couple of boys at your house. Right now. They aren’t very bright, like you. Just mean. With your wife and kid. What’s your move?”

He backed away from the door. You’re getting spooky, he thought; come on, now.

But he went back to the phone and called the station. He checked off sick for the night. Sergeant Gates kidded him from the other end of the wire. He told Gates, if Billy Kyle was looking for him, to send Kyle by. He added that he would probably be awake very late and, if the Zone 5 cruiser felt like dropping in for a fast cup of coffee, they’d be welcome.

“Hey, hold on a minute,” Gates interrupted. “The Captain’s here. Wants to talk to you.”

Now what? Raeford thought. Is he going to rib me about being sick? Or did he see Kyle and I were together this morning…?

“Raeford?” The Captain’s voice grated in his ear. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t feel well,” Raeford said.
“I bet. Listen. You were buddy-buddy with that old snow-bird, that T-Bone? That little guy hangs out around the bus station?”

“Yes,” Raeford said, chilled.

“Well, what do you know about him? You hear anything about him lately?”

“No.”
“You sure? You better be sure.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“All right. We found him back of the bus station about an hour ago. With a wire around his neck. You don’t know anything?”

“No.”

“You sure you can’t come down to work tonight?”

“I can’t come down.”

“Well, maybe I’ll come out. Would you like that?”

“Do what you please.”

The Captain hung up. Raeford stood holding the phone, his stomach turning over, his mind blank. Then outrage took over again and swept him along. He put down the phone and took his gun out of his holster and checked it.

Just a pathetic old drunk, he thought. Meaning to do me a favor. “If you know where the trouble lies,” T-Bone had said, “then maybe you can stay out of it.” A favor somebody had seen him give.

He called Bergen again. No answer. He turned off all the lights. After a while he went into the hall closet and took down his deer rifle and loaded it. The .38 in his hand was a good gun, but he could not shoot with it as he could with the rifle.

The clock ticked past midnight. Kyle did not come. Martha slept deeply, not knowing he was at home. He felt cold and alone. He called Bergen again without results.

One o’clock and no Kyle. What will you do? he thought. What happens now? He wished the boys in the Zone 5 cruiser would come. He decided to call and hurry them up and dialed the station.

The phone was dead.

He set the phone down gently. Now he knew there was very little time. He went back into the living room for the rifle. Then he went in where Jed slept and lifted the little boy from the crib and placed him on the floor under it, swathed in blankets, knowing the boy would sleep on and saying to himself suddenly, with an awful feeling of guilt, that he had not had the right to do this. He thought about Martha, but there was no time to do anything about her. He realized that the only thing to do was to get the trouble away from the house.

He let himself out the back door, into the darkness. Behind the house nothing moved. He wormed around to the side of the house, on his belly, sliding the rifle in front of him. He got away about twenty yards and was behind a palmetto when he saw them coming.

Their car was parked a little way down the road. There was a streetlight in front of his house and they had shied away from it, like cockroaches, retreating into the dark. They had cut the wire near the end of the block—he guessed they were experts on telephone matters—and they were coming slowly up the block, three of them.

The one in the middle was Kyle. Raeford slid the rifle out in front of him, through the stiff palmetto leaves. He brought out his revolver and laid it on the ground by his right hand. He thought that, anyway, he would get Kyle before they got him.

The men split up. Kyle came on up the walk and the other two went around each side of the house. One of them was coming right at Raeford. He passed under the streetlight and metal glinted in his hands. He moved on into the bush, coming very close to Raeford, beginning to crouch. Raeford saw that, if this one shot, he would be shooting right into the house and, therefore, he would have to take him first. He pointed the rifle at the man and swung his head to look at Kyle.

The big man was waiting on the walk until the others were in position. The third man had gone around to the back of the house. Raeford waited not ten yards from Kyle, crouching behind the palmetto. Kyle went up to the door and opened his coat, taking out his gun. He rang the bell. But he can’t do that, Raeford thought. Martha will come. He turned to look at the man behind the palmetto nearby him.

“Billy!” he called, over his shoulder. “I’m over here.” Then he shot the other man twice in the middle of his body.

He swung in time to see Kyle beginning to shoot, crouching, backing away. The bullets zipped in the hard leaves and Raeford shot carefully twice, and Kyle collapsed on the walk. Raeford tried to swing around for the other, the one behind the house, but that one was already shooting and Raeford felt himself punched suddenly in the side and he fell over; the rifle jarred out of his hands. The man kept shooting and Raeford was hit again in the leg, and then there was quiet and he could hear the sound of the man running in the brush. Raeford made a great effort and dragged the revolver out from under him.

But the man was running away. Raeford looked down the street and saw the car beginning to move, a black door open, and realized there had been a fourth man waiting. He lifted the gun and aimed at the running man, but he could not hold steadily and there were houses in the line of fire. He watched dumbly while the car turned around in the road and then saw without surprise more shooting and the car swerve and run headlong into a tree as a cruiser came up into the light. The boys had finally come for coffee…

The Captain was badly shaken. When he got there, it was all over. Kyle was dead and Raeford was being patched. Martha would not stop crying and there was a mob around the house, much light and much noise. The Captain had a lifetime of emergencies behind him and all this was nothing new, but standing over Raeford and looking down, seeing the man bloodied and torn before him and realizing what he had done, really done, the Captain was stunned. What shook him as much as anything else was Raeford’s insistence, weak and defiant, that he and Billy Kyle had been together in this thing, that Kyle was clean.

“What you tryin’ to give me, boy?” the captain exploded. “I knew there was something up with Kyle! Bergen and I both knew it. We would’ve had him sooner or later—but what you tryin’ to do? You tryin’ to clear him? My God—”

“The papers,” Raeford murmured. “Can’t we keep it out of the papers? You know what they do when a cop goes bad…”

The Captain saw. When the force of it hit him, he blinked and had to turn away. Raeford explained it all slowly. The Captain was a long while getting it down, but he was a hard old man and he took it. After a while he said gently, “Sam, You did all this? Why?”

Raeford closed his eyes. “I don’t know, exactly. I just couldn’t take a guy like that fouling us all up. I thought—”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

Raeford grinned faintly. “I thought you might be in on it.”

“Me?” The Captain stared. “Me? I been forty years building this outfit!” But after a moment his face softened. “Funny thing. This morning, you know, when I saw you and Kyle sit down together—I thought you were in it.”

Raeford opened his eyes. The two men stared at each other.

The Captain murmured, shaking his head, “How wrong can you be?” He broke into a sudden wide grin. Raeford grinned with him.

“Well,” the Captain said. He patted Raeford gently on the arm. “It was a pretty dumb thing, you know that. All around. I always figured you for brains. But I never thought you’d do a stupid thing that took guts. Just shows you.” The Captain shook his head again, not knowing what to say. Raeford stared at him. After a while the Captain said:

“Sam. You know how it is. You understand, don’t you? This whole job is changing, changing all the time. I’ve been kidding myself, not wanting to face it…Now you got to be a high school graduate to be a cop; pretty soon they’ll want more. Used to be no crime laboratories, no nice manners, just a man on a beat with guts and a good arm…well…pretty soon the guys that run it will be guys like you…”

Raeford did not say anything, but the Captain saw understanding in Raeford’s eyes and felt suddenly moved.

“All the same, it was a dumb thing,” he said gruffly. “You try to be a good cop and put your neck on the block covering for a bad cop. What kind of dopey thing is that?”

Raeford nodded ruefully.

“So,” the Captain said, rising. “You got a lot to learn, Sam. Better get well in a hurry. There ain’t a better man to teach you than me, and I ain’t likely to be around much longer. So hurry. Right?”

“Right,” Raeford said.

He turned abruptly and walked off. Raeford watched him go.

But you won’t teach me anything about not sticking my neck out, Raeford thought. I know all about that. A fellow can go all his life playing it safe, not fighting for what he believes, keeping his mouth tight when he knows inside he should be shouting a challenge, never doing anything foolish, but never doing a brave thing, either…And then, finally, everyone has him pegged.

They’d had Raeford pegged as the college cop. Now it was something different. They would know he was just a good man—and that was the best. After a while he smiled as he had not smiled for along time and lay back and went to sleep.

First published in Redbook, June 1958

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