Free Big Silence by Stuart M. Kaminsky

was looking him in the eyes.
    “You’re making a mistake,” Mike said with a laugh.
    “No, he’s not” came a voice behind him, the voice of the person who had gotten out of the car that blocked Mike’s van.
    Mike turned toward the voice and saw a man as big as he was with a pink Irish face. Definitely a cop.
    “I think you’d better let me get back into my van and call my lawyer,” Mike said indignantly.
    “Detective Lieberman just told you you’re under arrest,” said Hanrahan. “He’ll tell you your rights and we go to the station. You make it easy or you make it hard. I think I’d prefer hard. I’ve had a bad few days.”
    “Put it that way, so have I,” said Lieberman. “So, try to get away, Mike. I’ll just put my gun away and watch Detective Hanrahan subdue you. He doesn’t subdue gently.”
    Mike’s angry indignation slipped and his shoulders sagged, then he made one more try.
    “You’re making a mistake,” he said. “I’m an honest businessman. This is false arrest.”
    “You’ve been scaring old people into giving you money for months,” said Lieberman. “Turn around and put your hands together.”
    “You’re gonna cuff me?” asked Mike.
    “Unless you can think of something else effective I could do with your hands behind your back,” said Lieberman.
    Mike turned around. He was facing Hanrahan now.
    “Last chance,” Hanrahan said softly. “Just get by me, get in your van, and run us over. We’ll shoot, but you might get lucky and live.”
    Mike looked up at the sky. There was a loud clap of thunder. Lieberman clasped on the cuffs.
    “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Mike insisted as the two detectives ushered him toward Hanrahan’s car. Lieberman’s was parked in the garage. The owner of the house, a man named Jankitis who would be celebrating his eighty-fifth birthday in a few days, was inside watching a Wheel of Fortune rerun.
    “There’s nothing wrong with this driveway,” said Lieberman. “We had a contractor check it.”
    “My professional opinion against his,” Mike said as they moved to the passenger side of Hanrahan’s car.
    “You are not a professional,” said Lieberman. “At least not a professional contractor. You are a professional con man who takes deposits from people who need their money. Then you disappear. Now, do me the courtesy of being quiet while I tell you your rights. If you listen, really listen, you may find them useful and interesting.”
    “Can’t we work something out here?” Mike pleaded, looking from one policeman to the other. “I’ve got a wife, two little kids. I’m just a guy trying to make a living.”
    “You think our friend Mike is suggesting a bribe?” asked Lieberman.
    “It’s a distinct possibility,” said Hanrahan.
    “My roof needs fixing,” said Lieberman.
    “My son Michael could use money to send my grandson to a Catholic school,” said Hanrahan. “I’d say five million dollars would do it.”
    “Five mil —” Mike began.
    “You’re safe,” said Lieberman, guiding the big man in overalls toward Hanrahan’s car. “Maybe you didn’t offer a bribe. Maybe you’ve got no conscience. It happens a lot. Maybe my partner and I like to look in the mirror in the morning and see a face we can live with. I got a feeling you don’t understand what I mean. I suggest you not say another word till you talk to a lawyer.”
    Mike shut up as he was shoved into the backseat of Hanrahan’s car.
    “My van,” Mike cried.
    “We’ll have it towed in,” said Hanrahan.
    “You okay, Father Murphy?” Lieberman asked as he closed the door on Mike.
    “Could be better, Rabbi. Could be a lot better.”
    “We’ll talk,” said Lieberman.
    Hanrahan moved around to the driver’s side of his car and opened the door. Before he got in, he said, “That is one hell of an ugly sweater.”
    “Guy who owns the house was going to give it to Goodwill,” said Lieberman. “I bought it from him. Comfortable. A little large, but