“Not by us. Captain,” Coogan said, firmly and righteously. “We got on the radio and gave a description of the car, and a Thirty-fifth district car spotted it, and they chased them. We only come over here after they wrecked the car.”
“So what have you got?” Pekach asked, a tired, disgusted tone in his voice.
Without waiting for a reply, he walked over to one of the Thirty-fifth District patrol cars, and looked through the partially opened rear seat window. There were four white kids crowded in the back, two boys and two girls, all four of them looking scared.
“Anybody hurt?” Pekach asked.
Four heads shook no, but nobody said anything.
“Whose car?” Pekach asked.
There was no reply immediately, but finally one of the boys, mustering what bravado he could, said, “Mine.”
“Yours? Or your father’s?” Pekach asked.
“My father’s,” the boy said.
“He’s going to love you for this,” Pekach said, and walked back to the Narcotics Division officers.
“Well, what have you got on them?” he asked Officer Coogan.
“About an ounce and a half,” Coogan replied, uncomfortably.
“An ounce and a half!.” Pekach said in sarcastic wonderment.
“Failure to heed a flashing light, speeding, reckless driving,” Coogan went on, visibly a little uncomfortable.
“You like traffic work, do you, Coogan? Keeping the streets free of reckless drivers? Maybe rolling on a naked lady?”
Officer Coogan did not reply.
There was the growl of a siren, and Pekach looked over his shoulder and saw a Thirty-fifth District wagon pulling up. The two policemen in it got out, spoke to one of the patrol car cops, and then one of them went to the van and opened the rear door while the other went to the patrol car with the patrol car cop. The patrol car cop opened the door and motioned the kids out.
“Wait a minute,” Pekach called. He walked over to them.
One of the girls, an attractive little thing with long brown hair parted in the middle and large dark eyes, looked as if she was about to cry.
“You got any money?” Pekach asked.
“Who are you?” the van cop asked.
“I’m Captain Pekach,” he said. “Narcotics.”
The girl shook her head.
Pekach pointed at one of the boys, the one who had told him it was his father’s car. “You got any money, Casanova?”
There was a just perceptible pause before the boy replied, “I got some money.”
“You got twenty bucks?” Pekach asked.
The boy dug his wallet out of his hip pocket.
“Give it to her,” Pekach ordered. Then he turned to the patrol car cop. “You have the names and addresses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put the girls in a cab,” Pekach said.