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And a great kid too. Sure naive, sure insanely romantic, but he didn
’
t dream about making it on Wall Street and he didn
’
t dream about boffing everything that moved, no—he dreamed of bringing in the bad guys.

And look what you did, look what you did!

He stomped out the cigarette, looked back down toward the room—nothing. He lit another butt. How was he going to face Doctor Lorber. What could he say? Haggerty sat on the top step and smoked. Ten minutes without moving, maybe twenty, maybe he would have never moved if the hand hadn
’
t rested on his shoulder and there was Doctor Lorber kneeling beside him.

“
It just happened,
”
Haggerty said,
“
I didn
’
t mean for it, I was showing him around, we were parked, it was going okay, and then this gunfight started and I had to do something and I guess he left t)ie car or I don
’
t know, I only do know that my God, I never meant for it to happen.
”
He looked at Eric
’
s father now.

Who was almost smiling.

“
He
’
ll be coming to soon. No damage of a permanent type. The face will heal, the ribs are cracked and broken but that should be the worst thing that ever happens to him.
”

“
I
’
ll make it up to you, Doctor Lorber—I won
’
t rest till I do. You
’
ve got my word on that.
”
He stood then, and they left the. stairwell, moving back into the corridor. Karen was sitting with an older woman now, the mother.

“
You don
’
t understand something, Frank—you did what I asked—young people today don
’
t meet reality soon enough—I guarantee you, when Eric comes to, he
’
ll have some brains.
”
He lowered his voice.
“
It
’
s a terrible thing to say, but the way things turned out—couldn
’
t be better.
”

A nurse came out of Eric
’
s room.
“
Is Karen here? He
’
d like to see Karen.
”

Karen stood, looked at her parents, started hesitantly toward the room. She reached the doorway. The nurse waited outside, gestured for Karen to enter. But it was hard. She and Eric were close, always—eerily close with their minds. They sometimes answered questions the other one hadn
’
t asked. Not asked out loud.

In the room now she told herself she was going to be a doctor, she could look at a wounded patient, but she wasn
’
t prepared. If he
’
d been a stranger she
’
d have recoiled, what with his eyes swollen totally shut and his mouth almost as bad and God knew what the rest of his body looked like beneath the sheet. He had tubes
all over and what skin there was was red and blue with
brushings
and she managed
“
Hey Little,
”
her private name for him since he came fifteen minutes after her arrival, which meant she was the big one of the family.

“
… oh
…
”

“
Easy.
”
She took his hand.

“
.. . oh Kawen …
”
he whispered, his mouth too swollen to make r
’
s.

She was afraid she was going to unravel then, so quickly she told him,
“
You sound like Elmer Fudd.
”

That almost made him laugh but it also caused terrible pain.

“
Oh Christ Pm sorry,
”
Karen said.
“
I am, Little, please believe me, no more jokes, it
’
s all going to be fine, there
’
s no damage, you
’
ll forget everything about this night.
”

“
…no,..
”

“
Believe me, you will.
”

“
…
Kawen
…
?
”

“
What?
”

“
… I wuved it…
”

Karen said nothing.

“
. , . I did an
’
…
an
’
you know what
…
?
”

“
What, Little?
”

“
…
gonn be po-weese-munnn
…
”

There was not widespread joy in the Lorber household when Eric
’
s decision was announced. Ike and Essy berated themselves, which is what parents do best, asking endlessly where they went wrong, how did such a curse come to fall on them and not some neighboring gentile. And they hoped, as Eric left for his senior year at Swarthmore, for a return of sanity.

He did wonderfully that year, no surprise, and they received more letters from him than ever, about his classes and his friends and there was no mention of the law. They were pleased with him and how his year was going, but then they didn
’
t know that several nights a week after his work was done, Eric took a bus into South Philly to study the one subject he felt he had to learn before graduation: night-fighting. Because yes he was quick and sure he could drop you with his right, but not at night, not when there were shadows. The beating in Harlem he tried to consider a blessing: mistakes were what you learned from. (Although he prayed
more than once to have a someday opportunity to meet those two Spaniards again. And if that happened, he knew one thing: he would be ready.)

From the beginning of his life, people always attributed brilliance to Eric but he wasn
’
t buying. What he was willing to do was outwork anybody. Whatever it took to get something done he was more than wilting to give. And now he moved through the South Philly bars, the most dangerous ones he could find, and he nursed beers and fights weren
’
t hard to find and he watched them, learning not much at all, just waiting.

Then one dark night he saw an aging black bartender dispose of three construction workers in less than two minutes, and he knew he had his man. Eric approached the older man when the bar closed and said excuse me sir and then made his pitch.

Jed Randolph, for that was the bartender
’
s name, just stared Eric down.
“
What are you, some Ivy League asshole on a scavenger hunt?
”

Eric assured him that was not the case.

“
And you want me to beat the shit out of you?
And you
’
ll pay me?
”

Eric admitted it wasn
’
t your everyday request.

Randolph wanted no part of it until Eric suggested a fee of fifteen dollars per session.

Class began the following Saturday.

Randolph had been a fighter and in the merchant marine and he knew many things, how to hurt with your fingertips, how to banish, momentarily, pain, how to make an ally of darkness. And if in the beginning, he pulled his blows somewhat, that didn
’
t mean Eric wasn
’
t badly whipped when he went back to school And after a month, the whippings became less severe and Mr. Randolph was able to swing more freely and he was pleased, because Eric was a quick study, and he intuitively almost picked up when to run and when to fall, when to take pain and how, most especially, to give it

Eric invited Mr. Randolph to his graduation, introduced him to his parents as his phys. ed. teacher where Mr. Randolph spoke warmly of the boy even though he had to admit, he said, there were some who might consider Eric to be
very very
strange.

“
Your kid
’
s in the Academy,
”
Cooney said one autumn day. Cooney, at Gallagher
’
s, had called Eric a
“
co-ed.
”
He was Hag
gerty
’
s partner at the 19th now, hanging on till retirement, and he knew how much the beating in Harlem had taken out of Haggerty.

Haggerty had his own contacts so he knew where Eric was and that he was doing exceptionally well.
“
How
’
s he doing I wonder?
”
he asked.

“
My word is
‘
fair,
’”
Cooney said.

Haggerty went back to reading Dick Young in the
News.
“
Fair
”
was good coming from Cooney, who not only gave away ice in the winter, he also hated Jews
…

“
Your kid
’
s heading for the 28th,
”
Cooney said one morning when they were getting coffee.

“
Harlem, huh; tough beat. Wonder why he picked it?
”

“
Obvious why—he
’
s a kike, he
’
s a pusher, he wants to make a record, get ahead, that
’
s why they own the world, y
’
know, they push harder.
”

“
He only did fair at the Academy.
”

“
—who said that?—
”

“
—you said that—
”

“
—he didn
’
t do fair, he did tops, but he
’
s rich, he had a lot of contacts, his old man knows a lot of people in the Commissioner
’
s office—
”

“
—it was pull got him to the top, that what you
’
re saying?
”

Cooney nodded.
“
How else?
”
he said with total confidence…

“
Your
‘
kid
’
lucked into a drug bust, first fucking week on patrol,
”
Cooney said. He seemed sour. His stomach was off.

“
His father probably set it up for him to score,
”
Haggerty said.

Cooney belched and looked at him.
“
Whaaat?
”

“
His old man
’
s got a lot of contacts,
”
Haggerty said,
“
I heard that someplace…
”

“
He stopped a bloodbath,
”
Cooney said some weeks later.

“
Who?
”
Haggerty said, sharpening a pencil. Eric had called to tell him as soon as he was off duty. They were meeting now irregularly, when their schedules permitted, for coffee and shop-talk. Eric always had a lot of questions.

“
Your
‘
kid
’
—up at Earl
’
s. Big rumble. Half a dozen people involved.
”

“
Did he talk them into being reasonable? Jews are good at talking.
”

“
He cold-cocked a couple, the rest got the message.
”

Haggerty was silent for a moment
“
Couldn
’
t have been his old man, helping him, do you think?
”

“
I
’
m tired hearing about his old man,
”
Cooney said as he stormed off to the water cooler …

“
I don
’
t
be
lieve
this,
”
Cooney said one spring morning.

Haggerty looked casually over from his desk.
“
Hmm?
”

“
He got a
murderer.
Your kid. I never got a fuckin
’
murderer in thirty years.
”

“
Probably lucked into it,
”
Haggerty consoled.

Cooney exploded—
”
It wasn
’
t luck—
it wasn
’
t luck
—he
deduced
it—
”
He looked at Haggerty now bewildered.
“
What
’
s going
on
up there?
”

It was becoming increasingly clear, even to the Cooneys, that a bomb had exploded at the 28th Precinct.

To move on up from patrolman, to get the detective
’
s gold shield, takes time. Sometimes you can fall into it—if you collar Jack the Ripper they
’
ll advance you on the spot—and it helps to have a rabbi in a position of import, a precinct captain or a headquarters man. But usually you advance only with time. Three years is fast.

Interest in Eric began before he was into his second year. But he stayed where he was. He liked the 28th, he explained, he didn
’
t know enough to move on yet. And nothing would change his mind. And nothing did.

Till Cooney retired.

Then it helped to have a rabbi, especially one named Haggerty, and it took some maneuvering, sure, but what doesn
’
t when you
’
re dealing with the police department. Bottom line: he was just short of twenty-seven when he became Haggerty
’
s partner. He achieved the same kind of record at the 19th as he
’
d had in Harlem, remarkable considering the opportunities are less when your precinct house is on East 67th Street than up north. He played things the way Haggerty always did, very low key. But one way or another, Eric
’
s reputation grew. He wasn
’
t famous like Popeye Doyle in fiction or Serpico in fact. But no one denied he was certainly a presence.

And when E. F. Lorber talked, people listened
…