"Now wait, Ted. Don't go off half-cocked. It's a break. Don't you see?
You can cover delinquency with the lid off now. You'll be writing as a
parent in the same boat with other parents...."
I could still hear his frantic noises after I'd slammed the door behind
me and run the length of the corridor.
At the police station, I had the distinct feeling they'd been waiting
for me. I knew most of them, especially the big red-headed guy who
beckoned me into a rear office. His name was Thompson--Detective Emanuel
Thompson. He always looked as if he wore a football uniform under his
dark blue suit. My articles had roasted him plenty. He handled juvenile
delinquency cases.
"Well, Mr. Potter," he greeted me, smiling tightly, "we meet under
unfortunate circumstances."
"Can the phony sympathy," I said. "You're not the type. Just let me see
my boy."
He used a red-and-blue handkerchief to wipe the dampness from his beefy
neck. "I think we'd better have a little talk first."
"I got no talking to do. This is a lousy frame-up against me and the
paper. Get my son out here and do it fast!"
* * * * *
He put the handkerchief away, sighed and reached for the phone.
It really got me when Tommy came into the room. He'd been crying; his
face was streaked, and he looked scared and forlorn.
"Son," I said, finding it difficult to keep the rasp out of my voice,
"if you've got a hat, put it on and let's go."
Thompson pulled out his handkerchief again and carefully lowered himself
into the chair behind the desk. "You don't seem to understand, Mr.
Potter. Your boy is in trouble. He's been identified as leading a gang
of kids who spent most of the morning shoplifting in stores all over
town."
"That's bull," I said. "How could my boy do a thing like that? He's only
twelve. Who identified him, anyway?"
"The shopkeepers and the other members of the gang."
* * * * *
For one awful moment, I felt a great cavity of doubt. "Son," I asked,
"what's this all about?"
Tommy's face creased with fear and tears brimmed his eyes. "It was
Ashe," he quavered.
"Ashe?"
"Yes. I told him about the gang."
"Gang?"
"The Red Skulls."
"What the heck are you talking about?"
"Some of the fellows got together and built a hut for a club-house over
on the garbage dump. We call ourselves the Red Skulls. I was made
leader. I'm called the Skull Cap."
"Why haven't I heard about this?"
"You never asked, Dad. I tried to tell you one night, but you were
hurrying to get to that road-house on the turnpike. You said you had a
big lead on juvenile delinquency."
"Well, you certainly didn't try very hard," I said angrily. "What was
this gang's purpose?"
"Oh, different things. One of the fellows has a .22 and we hunt rats.
Then--"
"Go on."
"That's all."
"You started to say something else."