“No, you listen,” Cahill said. “The lady says you’ve got her ring … what kind of ring, lady?”
“A star sapphire.”
“So you just put your hands on the wall here and lean on them, and spread your legs, and if you ain’t got her ring, you got nothin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve got no right to …”
“Then you want to go down the precinct? Okay, fine, we’ll go down the precinct, we’ll talk there. Let’s go, my car’s up the street.”
“Why don’t you just give me the ring, mister?” Helen said. “Save yourself a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t have your goddamn …”
“Okay, fine, let’s go down the precinct,” Cahill said.
“All right, all right,” Michael said angrily, and leaned against the wall, his arms spread, his legs spread, his fingers spread, “let’s get this over with, okay? I don’t have the ring, you can search me from now to …”
“Fine, we’ll just see what you got,” Cahill said.
Michael’s immediate impulse was to attack; the army had taught him that. But the army had also taught him never to start up with an M.P. Indignantly, angrily, he endured the frisk. Cahill ran his hands up and down Michael’s legs, and then tossed up Michael’s jacket and reached into the right hip pocket of his trousers, and took out his wallet. Behind him, Michael could hear him rummaging through the wallet.
“This you?” Cahill asked. “Michael Barnes?”
“Yes.”
“This your driver’s license?”
“Yes.”
“You from Florida?”
“Yes.”
“These your credit cards?”
“Yes, everything in the wallet is mine.”
“Okay, fine,” Cahill said, and put the wallet back into Michael’s hip pocket and then began patting down the pockets of his jacket.
“If you don’t mind,” Michael said, “it’s goddamn cold out here. I wish you’d …”
“Well, well, well,” Cahill said, and his hands stopped. Michael felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Cahill was reaching into the right-hand pocket of Michael’s jacket. “What have we here?” he said. Michael held his breath.
“Off the wall,” Cahill said, “off it! Turn around!”
Michael shoved himself off the wall. He turned. Cahill was holding a star sapphire ring between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.
“This your ring, miss?” he asked Helen.
“Yes,” she said.
“Officer,” Michael said, “I don’t know how that got in my pocket, but …”
“Let’s go,” Cahill said, “we all three of us got some work to do down the precinct.”
“Could I have my ring, please?” Helen said.
“This is evidence, miss,” Cahill said.
“No, it isn’t evidence, it’s a gift from my father, and I’d like it back, please.”
“Miss, when we get down the precinct …”
“I’m not going down the precinct …”
“Miss …”
“… or up the precinct or around the …”
“Miss, this individual here stole your ring …”
“Yes, but now we’ve got it back, so let me have it.”
“Miss …”
“I told you I don’t want to make any trouble for him.”
“This individual is a thief, miss.”
“I don’t care what he is, just let me have the ring,” Helen said.
Cahill looked at her.
“I do not wish to press charges, okay?” she said. “Do you understand that?”
“That’s how criminals go free in this city,” Cahill said. “Because people are afraid to …”
“Just give me the goddamn ring!” Helen said.
“Here’s the goddamn ring,” Cahill said sourly, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She put the ring on her finger.
“Good night,” she said, and walked off.
“You’re a very lucky thief,” Cahill said, and walked off in the opposite direction.
“I’m not a goddamn thief!” Michael shouted to the empty air.
The words plumed out of his mouth, carried away on the wind, the vapor dissipating into the lazy swirl of snowflakes. His dark brown hair was covered with snow, the shoulders of his brown jacket were covered with snow, he had not been in a snowstorm for a good long time now—since before his mother sold the hardware business in Boston and loaned Michael the money for the groves in Florida—but now he was up to his ass in snow. Well, not quite. Not yet. Only up to the insteps of his shoes so far. He realized all at once that he was shivering. He shoved open the door to the bar.
Mahogany and brass, green-shaded lamps, the gentle chink of ice in glasses, the buzz of conversation, the friendly sound of laughter. Everything just as it had been before the blonde accused him of stealing her ring. Shaking his head, still amazed by what had happened, he went back to where he’d left his glass on the bar. He downed what was left of the scotch in two swallows and signaled to the bartender for another one.
The bartender scooped ice into a glass, began pouring from the bottle of Dewar’s.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“Don’t ask,” Michael said.
“Was that guy a cop?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it? The girl hit on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he Vice?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“‘Cause I thought maybe she was a hooker …”
“No, she was a lawyer.”
“So what was it then?”
“She said I stole her … look, I don’t want to discuss it,” Michael said. “It’s over and done with, I don’t even want to think about it anymore.”
Shaking his head again, he picked up the fresh drink and took a long swallow.