bud davis had worked late, and was walking home to his lonely room through the dark streets of the great city.
suddenly a man jumped out of an alley and brandished a pistol at him.
the man looked vaguely familiar to bud, but he could not place him, even though the man was not wearing a mask or a handkerchief over his face. maybe, bud thought, he looks like somebody on tv.
the man was, however, wearing a black chicago white sox baseball cap pulled down somewhat low over his eyes.
what do you want from me? bud asked. i do not carry any money. i have a credit card, but it has been canceled.
who said anything about money or credit cards, the man with the black white sox replied. i have other business with you.
and what might that business be? bud asked.
i don’t like your looks.
what is wrong with my looks?
your nose is not round enough.
please don’t shoot me because my nose isn’t round enough.
all right, i will shoot because you are fat.
please don’t shoot me because i am fat. i’m trying. i lost twenty pounds in the last two months.
all right, i will shoot you because your mother wore army boots.
but my mother was never in the army.
maybe she found them thrown out in the street, on a rainy day in seacausus, new jersey.
all right then, i see that you are bound and determined to shoot me no matter what i say.
now you begin to understand.
can i ask you one question before you shoot me?
go for it.
why does a team calling itself the white sox have a black baseball cap?
what kind of idiot are you, and what kind of a question is that, to ask when you stand on the brink of eternity?
just then officer o’hara came along, twirling his nightstick.
sure now, by all the saints in heaven, what’s all this bejabber? officer o’hara asked. and you, aren’t you little mikey o’donnell, who used to steal bananas from mister morelli’s grocery store?
i never stole bananas, the mugger replied with a frown, only apples.
why don’t you put that pistol away, mikey, before you hurt somebody with it?
i was just showing it to my friend.
oh, you were just showing it to your friend? why don’t you give it to me, and i will show it to my friend down at the station.
oh, all right.
officer o'hara took possession of the pistol and went on his way, twirling his nightstick.
i wonder how much he will sell it for, mikey said.
hard to say, bud replied.
mikey muttered something under his breath.
what did you say? bud asked.
nothing.
in that case i bid you good night.
