McCarthy said.
"What else were you doing?"
"Talking."
"What about?"
"Everything."
"Philosophy?" Bush asked.
"Yeah," McCarthy said.
"What'd you decide?"
"We decided it ain't wise to sit in parked cars at three in the morning. There's always some cop who's got to fill his pinch book."
Carella tapped a pencil on the desk. "Don't get me mad, McCarthy," he said. "I just come from six hours sleep, and I don't feel like listening to a vaudeville routine. Did you know Mike Reardon?"
"Who?"
"Mike Reardon. A detective attached to this precinct."
McCarthy shrugged. He turned to Kelly. "We know him, Clarence?"
"Yeah," Clarence said. "Reardon. That rings a bell."
"How big a bell?" Foster asked.
"Just a tiny tinkle so far," Kelly said, and he began laugh-ing. The laugh died when he saw the bulls weren't quite appreciating his humor.
"Did you see him last night?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"We didn't run across any bulls last night," Kelly said. "Do you usually?" "Well, sometimes."
"Were you heeled when they pulled you in?" "What?"
"Come on," Foster said. "No."
"We'll check that."
"Yeah, go ahead," McCarthy said. "We didn't even have a water pistol between us."
"What were you doing in the car?"
"I just told you," McCarthy said.
"The story stinks. Try again," Carella answered.
Kelly sighed, McCarthy looked at him.
"Well?" Carella said.
"I was checkin' up on my dame," Kelly said.
"Yeah?" Bush said.
"Truth," Kelly said. "So help me Jesus, may I be struck dead right this goddamn minute."
"What's there to check up on?" Bush asked.
"Well, you know."
"No, I don't know. Tell me."
"I figured she was maybe slippin' around."
"Slipping around with who?" Bush asked.
"Well, that's what I wanted to find out."
"And what were you doing with him, McCarthy?"
"I was helping him check," McCarthy said, smiling.
"Was she?" Bush asked, a bored expression on his face.
"No, I don't think so," Kelly said.
"Don't check again," Bush said. "Next time we're liable to find you with the burglar's tools."
"Burglar's tools!" McCarthy said shocked.
"Gee, Detective Bush," Kelly said, "you know us better than that."
"Get the hell out of here," Bush said. "We can go home?"
"You can go to hell, for my part," Bush informed them.
"Here's the coffee," Foster said.
The released prisoners sauntered out of the Squad Room. The three detectives paid the delivery boy for the coffee and then pulled chairs up to one of the desks.
"I heard a good one last night," Foster said.
"Let's hear it," Carella prompted.
"This guy is a construction worker, you see?"
"Yeah."
"Working up on a girder about sixty floors above the street."
"Yeah?"
"The lunch whistle blows. He knocks off, goes to the end of the girder, sits down, and puts his lunch box on his lap. He opens the box, takes out a sandwich and very carefully unwraps the waxed paper. Then he bites into it. 'Goddamn!' he says, 'peanut butter!' and he throws the sandwich down the sixty floors to the street."
"I don't get it," Bush said, sipping at his coffee.
"I'm not finished yet," Foster said, grinning, hardly able to contain his glee.
"Go ahead," Carella said.
"He reaches into the box," Foster said, "for the next sandwich. He very carefully unwraps the waxed paper. He bites into the sandwich. 'Goddamn!' he says again, 'peanut butter!' and he flings that second sandwich down the sixty floors to the street."
"Yeah," Carella said.
"He opens the third sandwich," Foster said. "This time it's ham. This time he likes it. He eats the sandwich all up."
"This is gonna go on all night," Bush said. "You shoulda stood in bed, Dave."
"No, wait a minute, wait a minute," Foster said. "He opens.the fourth sandwich. He bites into it. 'Goddamn!' he says again, 'peanut butter!' and he flings that sandwich too down the sixty floors to the street. Well, there's another construction worker sitting on a girder just a little bit above this fellow. He looks down and says, 'Say, fellow, I've been watching you