The deputy on the early night shift was a big blond guy with meaty shoulders and a friendly grin. He was middleaged and had long since outlived both pity and anger. He wanted to put in eight easy hours and he looked as if almost anything would he easy down his street. He unlocked my door. "Company for you. Guy from the D.A.'s office. No sleep, huh?" "It's a little early for me. What time is it?" "Ten-fourteen." He stood in the doorway and looked over the cell. One blanket was spread on the lower bunk, one was folded for a pillow. There were a couple of used paper towels in the trash bucket and a small wad of toilet paper on the edge of the washbasin. He nodded approval. "Anything personal in here?" "Just me." He left the cell door open. We walked along a quiet corridor to the elevator and rode down to the booking desk. A fat man in a gray suit stood by the desk smoking a corncob. His fingernails were dirty and he smelled. "I'm Spranklin from the D.A.'s office," he told me in a tough voice. "Mr. Grenz wants you upstairs." He reached behind his hip and came up with a pair of bracelets. "Let's try these for size." The jail deputy and the booking derk grinned at him with deep enjoyment. "What's the matter, Sprank? Afraid he'll mug you in the elevator?" "I don't want no trouble," he growled. "Had a guy break from me once. They ate my ass off. Let's go, boy." The booking clerk pushed a form at him and he signed it with a flourish. "I never take no unnecessary chances," he said. "Man never knows what he's up against in this town." A prowl car cop brought in a drunk with a bloody ear went towards the elevator. "You're in trouble, boy," Spranklin told me in the elevator Heap bad trouble It seemed to give him a vague satisfaction A guy can get hisself in a lot of trouble in this town." The elevator man turned his head and winked at me. I grinned. "Don't try no thing, boy," Spranklin told me severely. "I shot a man once. Tried to berak. They ate my ass off." "You get it coming and going, don't you?" He thought it over. "Yeah," he said. "Either way they eat your ass off. It's a tough town. No respect." We got out and went in through the double doors of the D.A.'s office. The switchboard was dead, with lines plugged in for the night. There was nobody in the waiting chairs. Lights were on in a couple of offices. Spranklin opened the door of a small lighted room which contained a desk, a filing case, a hard chair or two, and a thick-set man with a hard chin and stupid eyes. His face was red and he was just pushing something into the drawer of his desk. "You could knock," he barked at Spranklin. "Sorry, Mr. Grenz," Spranklin bumbled. "I was thinkin' about the prisoner." He pushed me into-the office. "Should I take the cuffs off, Mr. Grenz?" "I don't know what the hell you put them on for," Grenz said sourly. He watched Spranklin unlock the cuffs on my wrist. He had the key on a bunch the size of a grapefruit and it troubled him to find it. "Okay, scram," Grenz said. "Wait outside to take him back." "I'm kind of off duty, Mr. Grenz." "You're off duty when I say you're off duty." Spranklin flushed and edged his fat bottom out through the door. Grenz looked after him savagely, then when the door closed he moved the same look to me. I pulled a chair over and sat down. "I didn't tell you to sit down," Grenz barked. I got a loose cigarette out of my pocket and stuck it in my mouth. "And I didn't say you could smoke," Grenz roared. "I'm allowed to smoke in the cell block. Why not here?" "Because this is my office. I make the rules here." A raw smell of whiskey floated across the desk. "Take another quick one," I said. "It'll calm you down. You got kind of interrupted when we came in." His back hit the back of the chair hard. His face went dark red. I struck a match and lit my cigarette. After a long minute Grenz said softly. "Okay, tough boy. Quite a man, aren't you? You know something? They're all sizes and shapes when they come in here, but they all go out the same size —small. And the same shape—bent." "What did you want to see me about, Mr. Grenz? And don't mind me if you feel like hitting that bottle. I'm a fellow that will take a snort myself, if I'm tired and nervous and overworked." "You don't seem much impressed by the jam you're in." "I don't figure I'm in any jam." "We'll see about that. Meantime I want a very full statement from you." He flicked a finger at a recording set on a stand beside his desk. "We'll take it now and have it transcribed tomorrow. If the Chief Deputy is satisfied with your statement, he may release you on your own undertaking not to leave town. Let's go." He switched on the recorder. His voice was cold, decisive, and as nasty as he knew how to make it. But his right hand kept edging towards the desk drawer. He was too young to have veins in his nose, but he had them, and the whites of his eyes were a bad color. "I get so tired of it," I said. "Tired of what?" he snapped. "Hard little men in hard little offices talking hard little words that don't mean a goddam thing. I've had fifty-six hours in the felony block. Nobody pushed me around, nobody tried to prove he was tough. They didn't have to. They had it on ice for when they needed it. And why was I in there? I was booked on suspicion. What the hell kind of legal system lets a man be shoved in a felony tank because some cop didn't get an answer to some questions? What evidence did he have? A telephone number on a pad. And what was he trying to prove by locking me up? Not a damn thing except that he had the power to do it. Now you're on the same pitch—trying to make me feel what a lot of power you generate in this cigar box you call your office. You send this scared baby sitter over late at night to bring me in here. You think maybe sitting alone with my thoughts for fifty-six hours has made gruel out of my brains? You think I'm going to cry in your lap and ask youstroke my head because I'm so awful goddam lonely in the great big jail? Come off it, Grenz. Take your drink and get human: I'm willing to assume you are just doing your job. But take the brass knuckles off before you start. If you're big enough you don't need them, and if you need them you're not big enough to push me around." He sat there and listened and looked at me. Then he grinned sourly. "Nice speech," he said. "Now you've got the crap out of your system, let's get that statement. You want to answer specific questions or just tell it your own way?" "I was talking to the birds," I said. "Just to hear the breeze blow. I'm not making any statement. You're a lawyer and you know I don't have to." "That's right," he said coolly. "I know the law. I know police work. I'm offering you a chance to dear yourself. If you doift want it, that's jake with me too. I can arraign you tomorrow morning at ten A.M and have you set for a preliminary hearing. You may get bail, although I'll fight it, but if you do, it will be stiff. It'll cost you plenty. That's one way we can do it." He looked down at a paper on his desk, read it, and turned it face down. "On what charge?" I asked him. "Section thirty-two. Accessory after the fact. A felony. It rates up to a five-spot in Quentin." "Better catch Lennox first," I said carefully. Grenz had something and I sensed it in his manner. I didn't know how much, but he had something all right. He leaned back in his chair and picked up a pen and twirled it slowly between his palms. Then he smiled. He was enjoying himself. &quo............