The Good Policeman (The Isaac Sidel Novels)

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The Good Policeman (The Isaac Sidel Novels) Page 27

by Jerome Charyn


  The egg sandwich he ate could have been a delicacy prepared by Diana’s own hands. The shylock’s table manners were like a piece of music.

  “Good-bye, piccolino, good-bye.”

  But it depressed Caroll to have his vig erased like that, and not even know who his benefactor was. He couldn’t say why, but he thought of little Rosen. Perhaps it was because Rosen was in the neighborhood. Caroll often had premonitions of doom. That was cop country.

  He’d lost his appetite. And he was bound by some dumb mafioso law not to destroy Fabiano’s ticket. Caroll would have to wear it like a mark of shame.

  He rushed to Stanton Street. Little Rosen’s door wasn’t locked. Caroll had gone back into that fourth dimension. He didn’t have to reach very far. Little Rosen was in his bedroom hanging from a light fixture. He’d knotted different neckties to make his hangman’s tree. Caroll cut him down from the ceiling with a pocketknife. He heard the beginnings of a cough. He called an ambulance. The dead man wasn’t dead.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  copyright © 1990 by Jerome Charyn

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