Free Invitation to Violence by Lionel White

that way, Sammy. Don't dare say those things about your Daddy. He was only doing it for us. Only trying to do things for you and for me. Your Daddy is a good man. A fine…"
        "A good man?" Sammy said through bitter tears. "A good man? He's nothing but a…"
        "Sammy, stop it," his mother cried. "Don't say it, Son. Maybe Jake made a mistake; maybe he did a wrong…"
        "Mama, I read the story in the papers," Sammy said. "It was no mistake. You always said Daddy worked in a restaurant. But it was all a lie. He'd been in jail. He had a record. He was a gambler and bookie. The papers said so and so there's no use kidding ourselves. My old man is a crook and a…"
        "He did it for us, Sammy," Bella said. "Don't talk ill of him now. It was for me and for you…"
        Sammy stood up and shoved the table away. He wasn't crying now and his voice was suddenly deeper and harder.
        "Nuts, Mama," he said. "Uncle Merv has four kids and he takes good care of them without robbing and killing. He's no smarter than Daddy. You've said so plenty of times. A lot of men take care of their wives and kids and aren't crooks. But me… my old man's a cop killer. I'm proud of him, Mama-real proud. He always said I should be good and live a decent life so he could be proud of me. Yeah? Good. And so now I should be proud of him because he's a thief and a cop killer, is that it?"
        He suddenly turned and ran from the room.
        Bella started to get up from the table and then slowly sank back into her chair. She dropped her head into her arms and this time there were no tears. Nothing but dry sobs as her heavy shoulders slowly weaved from side to side.
        
***
        
        Gerald had bought all of the New York newspapers. A quick look through the morning papers turned up nothing, but there were comparatively complete stories in the early editions of the afternoon sheets.
        He had to admit that the police moved fast. They didn't have all of the answers, at least according to what the press had learned, but they did have a lot of them.
        The Tele gave the case the most complete coverage, handling the story without sensationalism, but playing up the pertinent facts. There was a long statement given out" by the Pinkerton man, who had been guarding the jewels and who had been found semiconscious from breathing the gas which had been pumped into the office where he sat.
        The guard had had a lucky break; police admitted that the only thing which had saved his life was the fact he had been dragged from the office by the thieves. He was going to be all right after a day or so in the hospital, but the police sergeant was dead and one of the gangsters had been killed outright. The other cop. Hardy, was not expected to live and already had been given last rites.
        A second mobster, identified as Jake Riddle, ex-convict and known bookie, forty-four years of age and married, and the father of a teen-age son, was also dying. During a moment of consciousness he had been questioned, but had refused to talk. He'd asked to see his wife and child and the request had been refused.
        It was believed that a third and fourth member of the gang had made a clean getaway in a second car. One of the mob cars, a Ford sedan stolen twenty-four hours previously from a parking lot in Garden City, had been abandoned at the scene of the shooting after a stray bullet had disabled it. Hardy, the patrolman who was not expected to live, had been able to tell investigating officers that a second car was driven off at the time of the shooting. The newspaper said that he had made a partial identification of the automobile.
        Hanna, reading this last, paled slightly. A partial identification? He wondered just what the phrase meant. He realized that when Hardy referred to a fourth member of the gang, he must be referring to himself. He could feel his pulse quicken as the thought struck