Free Control by William Goldman

jungles at home. ’ Plenty of jungles at home—I couldn ’ t get that phrase to leave me. So I went in and talked to some police in Philadelphia—groundbreaking questions, that kind of thing. And it seemed logical. Not in Philly, I ’ m a local, I want to work here. ”
    “ You do well in school? ”
    “ Well, I ought to, I put in the hours. ”
    “ A ’ s? ”
    “ Sure, but my dad expects it, my mom too, Karen does good work, no reason for me not to. ”
    “ Eric—I really like you—I don ’ t know you well, but you seem very open, honest, and full of potential—so go to med school. ”
    “ Like a good boy, you mean? And spend the rest of my life listening to loonies? Sorry—I know it ’ s old hat to you, but I can ’ t think of much more exciting than bringing in a criminal, a guy who ’ s caused pain, that ’ s something. ”
    “ You do n’t bring them in! —and if you do, their lawyers get them out—mostly you collar acidheads, dropouts, dammit ! ” and he stopped suddenly, rolled down his window.
    Gunfire from across the street, from inside Earl ’ s.
    Haggerty sat there.
    Now screams.
    “ Shit, ” Haggerty said as he got his gun out, whirled on Eric. “ You listen to me —you lock this door when I ’ m out and you sit here. You don ’ t move, got that? You sit right here until I ’ m back. Don ’ t do a fucking thing but sit/ 99
    Eric swallowed, made a nod.
    Haggerty threw the car door open and took off across the street.
    Eric reached over, slammed the door shut, locked it.
    Haggerty moved to the sidewalk, slowed, then made a quick move inside.
    Gone.
    Alone and white in Harlem, in the middle of an angry summer steamer, Eric was crushed to find—no question, no lying about it —panic building.
    Ridiculous.
    Now stop it!
    In the first place, the car was locked. He was safe inside. Point two: Mr. Haggerty was just across the street. True he was out of sight and true again, perhaps even now he was engaged in a gunfight, but there was no disputing the fact that he was. around, he was in the area, and he was not about to let anything happen to Eric.
    And of course and most of all, Eric could take care of himself.
    He was six one, almost two, and he weighed a solid one ninety-five. He was athletic. And he could box. His right was lethal and his left was well formed and the gym coach at Swarthmore had told him to try out for the Golden Gloves, that he had a real shot, if he put in the hours, at being champion.
    So how could a locked-in potential Golden Glover with an armed protector feel anything but calm.
    Ridiculous indeed.
    Eric stared across the street toward Earl ’ s, where the screams were building. A growing crowd filled the sidewalk sprawling into the street itself.
    Tick tick tick—
    —Eric whirled.
     
    The transvestite stood outside the window tapping his long nail against the glass. Tick tick tick.
    Eric ignored him.
    Tick tick tick.
    Eric turned his back to the window and concentrated on Earl ’ s across the street.
    One more tick tick tick and then silence.
    Eric kept his attention on Earl ’ s until it was safe. Then he kept it there a while longer. When he finally turned and faced front the two Spanish kids had moved in closer to the newsman with the cane. And the transvestite was sitting on the hood looking in at him through the windshield.
    “ Get off, ” Eric said.
    The transvestite cupped his hand over one ear and shook his head.
    “ Off, ” Eric repeated, louder.
    The black man still kept his hand by his ear. Now he pointed to the window and gestured for Eric to roll it down.
    Eric hesitated, then rolled it down. Two inches. No more.
    “ Let ’ s you and me boogie, ” the transvestite said, getting off the car, leaning by the window.
    “ I ’ m not really much in the mood for boogieing, sir, ” Eric said.
    “ Sir! ” the transvestite exploded. “ What you mean ‘ sir ? ’
    “ Ma ’ am, I meant ma ’ am, I ’ m sorry, ” Eric said quickly.
    The