Still perusing, he picked the phone up with his free hand.
“Hello?”
“Hello.”
It was Looby Loo. He grinned warmly, into the phone. “Hi, Hon—” he said, lovingly.
“How’s everything?” She said, in her loving way.
“Oh—O.K.—” He informed her—“Considering things.” “Ummm, I know. Have a nice lunch?”
“Uh huh.”
“Janie’s just gone back—I took her.”
“Not a bad idea, bun.”
“What about tonight, honey?”
There was a knock at the door.
“There’s Practice, hon.”
“Alrighty, See you around the usual time?”
“Maybe earlier. Might cut it short.”
“I’ll have something nice for you.”
“You always do.”
“Uh huh—”
He chuckled warmly. He adored her.
Kathy Burns walked into the office. He gave her a little wave.
“You’re the best—” He murmured, into the phone.
“See you—”
"Si si—” She said, transmitting a warm little kiss.
He hung up, grinning warmly, still.
“Hello, Mr. McDrew—” Kathy Bums, in her usual sweet way, that cutest of ways, greeted him.. . .
Surcher took his decision. He took it while still in a state of gross indecision, and a creeping frustration, to boot. He took it while in the middle of his two-hundredth question at least to Jim Green, after lunch, after having welcomed him back from Tiger’s office, unescorted, he had noted, and after having had a talk with Tiger, over the phone, about him. He took it in spite of what Mr. McDrew had said, to wit, that as far as he was concerned, the boy couldn’t possibly have done it, and he had, from said boy, furthermore, elicited nothing. Not that he hadn’t taken due note of what Sawyersville’s Head Coach, among other things, had told him. He had the highest respect for him. But—he was frustrated. And not at all sure yet about the boy. And he had his duty, and his golden clue, which of course pointed straight at the boy. And so, in all conscience, he couldn’t, at this point at any rate, having weighed all the factors, let the boy walk away from him. He just couldn’t. And wouldn’t. He had decided, at the two-hundred mark. He would see what developed down at Headquarters. He said to the boy, after that one, in his usual mild and unhostile way, “Jim, I’m going to ask you to come down to Headquarters.”
The boy stared, definitely shaken at that “What for?” He asked.
“See what we can discover.”
“Well I want a lawyer.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll have a lawyer.”
“You’re sure screwing me up, man,” the boy said, "for nothing too.”
Thus, shortly after, walking between Grady and Folio, but not handcuffed, and following the Captain, Jim Green walked out of the high school toward a waiting State Police car. Before reaching it, however, the party encountered quite the little number of local citizenry, including of
course the sturdy Seimo contingent, and a sprinkling of media men, photographers as well. They were well controlled by a cordon of Troopers, not to mention Chief John Poldaski, of course, who strutted back and forth before them like a minor Polish-American Duce, no poke.
“Didn’t I tell ya, John?” Joe Grotto, one of Selmo’s called out to him, as the party passed by him. “The Fuckers!”
“You dirty Jig!” Abe Muvitz, another stalwart of course, called out, loud and clear.
“Take them all, the black bastards!” Someone else, Jake Dalton perhaps, shouted out. Other utterances were made, here and there.
The boy looked them over, and Surcher looked them over, and Poldaski mumbled something to them. They fell silent, miraculously. Meanwhile, the reporters were trying to get near the Captain, and in fact two or three of them were practically tripping him up.
“No comment.”