the other one sat with the door open and his feet on the running board. "Stop the wagon," the blonde cop said. "We're gonna have to take it apart to get them out." Harry stood with his back to the gully and listened to them work the radio. With the palm of his hand he stroked the ache along his temple. He was faintly relieved because they weren't asking him any more questions right away, and he wondered about that, tried to put his finger on it . . . and then he knew what it was: he was going to have to talk about it, about them in the car ; he was going to have to talk about them sometime but he didn't want to think about it now and so he kept pushing it behind the wheels inside his brain. A man from one of the other cars came up to the patrolman and asked, "Want me to take this one in?" He was thin, hawkfaced. When the cop nodded, the man's hand beckoned lazily and Harry followed him to the last car. When they drove away he looked back once; only the tires were still burning and the frame looked bare and black in the night. They rode in silence toward the city while streetlights gathered sweeping past, and finally the man spoke, "I guess I oughta take you to the dispensary so's they can look you over. You feel O.K.?" "Yes." "Well . . . there's some stuff where we're going you can put on those scratches." The man's right hand came across and flipped open the glove compartment. "There's a little in there if you want it." Harry took the bottle, and after he had put it back they sat again in silence as they approached the downtown section where the lights threw a glow on the mist. Harry wondered where they were going but didn't say anything because he did not want to start the man talking and asking questions; he didn't want to think about that yet . He closed his eyes, tried to sink farther into the seat, and then he felt the car slow up and stop. They got out where a pair of pale round lamps on posts stood patiently by a flight of concrete steps. Harry followed the man inside and sat in a thin little chair in a thin little room humiliated by many girls on calendars. When the man took off his coat Harry saw the badge, read the word "Sheriff." The sheriff shuffled forms at a desk, picked up a pencil, licked it, asked questions. He got Harry's name and then he asked about the others. When they got into that the sheriff stopped; he dropped his pencil on the desk and stared at Harry. Harry licked his lips and tried to smile. He repeated, "They were the doc, and the kid from the merchant marines, and Doris- 路 that was the woman." "But "But we never got any farther with names than that." Harry
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