stadium."
Quindero blinked, confused now. "Sir? I didn't have anything to do with that, we didn't, we didn't rob anybody!"
"But you knew it was going to happen," Calavecci pointed out. "That's why you came to town, because you knew the robbery was going to happen, and the problem is, you didn't inform us about it. You knew a felony was going to be committed, and you didn't inform the authorities, and that's called accessory before the fact. If we want to get technical, you know, just to be a pain in the ass with you."
Quindero didn't know exactly how to respond. He snuck another look in Dwayne's direction, then said to Calavecci, "The reason we came here? Sir, we were just—"
"Now, take it easy, Ralph," Calavecci said. "Be careful you don't say anything to make me think you're trying to be a smart guy."
"No, sir, no, sir, I'm cooperating."
"That's right. So's your pal Woody, by the way. That boy's singing like a miner's canary, on videotape. He's the one told us why you're here."
"Woody?" You could see Quindero trying to figure out where the bullet was coming from, so he could dodge it. Or try.
"Now, Tom Carmody," Calavecci said, "he was the inside man in the robbery, we know all that, Tom told us in the hospital. And Tom was good friends with your sister. Mary, is it?"
"My sister— Yeah, she's Mary. But she doesn't have anything to do with this!"
"Well, she did," Calavecci said. "Tom told Mary what was gonna go down here, and she told you, and so you and your pals thought you'd come on out, see what there might be in it for you. Isn't that right?"
"I, uh, I guess. But Mary isn't part of it!"
"Take it easy, Ralph," Calavecci advised. "The point is, you may have had something naughty in mind, but you didn't do anything yet. Unless, that is, like I said, we want to get technical with this accessory-before-the-fact business. But I don't think that's going to happen," he finished, and grinned at Quindero.
Who grinned back, falteringly, and said, "I'm glad. Thanks."
Calavecci nodded. "After all, we're gonna want you as a witness, because the other two, you know, Woody and Zack, we got them on all kinds of stuff. The handguns, the accessory count, murder one—"
"What?"
"Oh, that's right," Calavecci said, snapping his fingers, "you don't know about that part. Still, your testimony's gonna be very important there."
"Nobody got killed!" Ralph's eyes were actually bulging, his breathing had become audible.
'You're wrong about that, Ralph," Calavecci said. "Somebody got killed, all right. Drowned in a bathtub. Took a long time at it, too, what I hear."
Panicky, Quindero leaned forward, hands gesturing out in front of himself as he said, "We didn't kill anybody! We just drove here, we parked, we didn't—"
"Before you drove here. Now, we could almost pull accessory on you there, too, but I accept it, you didn't know about the murder, so that's—"
"What murder? Nobody was murdered!"
"Oh, come on, Ralph," Calavecci said, grinning in high good humor, "figure it out. You can figure it out."
Quindero could, too, though he didn't want to. Watching the young fool's profile, Dwayne saw him struggle with it, shaking his head, half-saying words, taking them back, finally saying, as though it were all just nothing but a joke in bad taste, "No, come on." And then again, asking for mercy, decency, humanity, something, "No, come on, no."
"You know who it is," Calavecci told him, almost crooning now. "Spit it out, Ralph. Tell me the name."
Quindero's mouth hung open. His big eyes filled with tears. He couldn't seem to move or breathe or blink; certainly he couldn't talk. Calavecci studied him with mock sympathy, and then said, "Ralph? You really don't get it? Come on, boy, you're smarter than that."
Dwayne got to his feet, surprising everybody, breaking the moment. Ignoring the punk, he went over to the desk and nodded at Calavecci. "You're having too good a time," he said. "I'll be going off on my own now. That was the
Quindero blinked, confused now. "Sir? I didn't have anything to do with that, we didn't, we didn't rob anybody!"
"But you knew it was going to happen," Calavecci pointed out. "That's why you came to town, because you knew the robbery was going to happen, and the problem is, you didn't inform us about it. You knew a felony was going to be committed, and you didn't inform the authorities, and that's called accessory before the fact. If we want to get technical, you know, just to be a pain in the ass with you."
Quindero didn't know exactly how to respond. He snuck another look in Dwayne's direction, then said to Calavecci, "The reason we came here? Sir, we were just—"
"Now, take it easy, Ralph," Calavecci said. "Be careful you don't say anything to make me think you're trying to be a smart guy."
"No, sir, no, sir, I'm cooperating."
"That's right. So's your pal Woody, by the way. That boy's singing like a miner's canary, on videotape. He's the one told us why you're here."
"Woody?" You could see Quindero trying to figure out where the bullet was coming from, so he could dodge it. Or try.
"Now, Tom Carmody," Calavecci said, "he was the inside man in the robbery, we know all that, Tom told us in the hospital. And Tom was good friends with your sister. Mary, is it?"
"My sister— Yeah, she's Mary. But she doesn't have anything to do with this!"
"Well, she did," Calavecci said. "Tom told Mary what was gonna go down here, and she told you, and so you and your pals thought you'd come on out, see what there might be in it for you. Isn't that right?"
"I, uh, I guess. But Mary isn't part of it!"
"Take it easy, Ralph," Calavecci advised. "The point is, you may have had something naughty in mind, but you didn't do anything yet. Unless, that is, like I said, we want to get technical with this accessory-before-the-fact business. But I don't think that's going to happen," he finished, and grinned at Quindero.
Who grinned back, falteringly, and said, "I'm glad. Thanks."
Calavecci nodded. "After all, we're gonna want you as a witness, because the other two, you know, Woody and Zack, we got them on all kinds of stuff. The handguns, the accessory count, murder one—"
"What?"
"Oh, that's right," Calavecci said, snapping his fingers, "you don't know about that part. Still, your testimony's gonna be very important there."
"Nobody got killed!" Ralph's eyes were actually bulging, his breathing had become audible.
'You're wrong about that, Ralph," Calavecci said. "Somebody got killed, all right. Drowned in a bathtub. Took a long time at it, too, what I hear."
Panicky, Quindero leaned forward, hands gesturing out in front of himself as he said, "We didn't kill anybody! We just drove here, we parked, we didn't—"
"Before you drove here. Now, we could almost pull accessory on you there, too, but I accept it, you didn't know about the murder, so that's—"
"What murder? Nobody was murdered!"
"Oh, come on, Ralph," Calavecci said, grinning in high good humor, "figure it out. You can figure it out."
Quindero could, too, though he didn't want to. Watching the young fool's profile, Dwayne saw him struggle with it, shaking his head, half-saying words, taking them back, finally saying, as though it were all just nothing but a joke in bad taste, "No, come on." And then again, asking for mercy, decency, humanity, something, "No, come on, no."
"You know who it is," Calavecci told him, almost crooning now. "Spit it out, Ralph. Tell me the name."
Quindero's mouth hung open. His big eyes filled with tears. He couldn't seem to move or breathe or blink; certainly he couldn't talk. Calavecci studied him with mock sympathy, and then said, "Ralph? You really don't get it? Come on, boy, you're smarter than that."
Dwayne got to his feet, surprising everybody, breaking the moment. Ignoring the punk, he went over to the desk and nodded at Calavecci. "You're having too good a time," he said. "I'll be going off on my own now. That was the
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