“Do I want to be an actor?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m in homicide,” Raymond said. “I don’t have to make up anything; it’s usually dramatic enough the way it is.”

“Wow, is that revealing.” She stared with a look that said she knew something he didn’t. “You’re almost in contact with your center. You catch a glimpse of it and the transference is immediate. I have to be this way because of my job-”

“I don’t like to look at my center,” Raymond said, straight-faced.

“A smart-ass attitude is another defense,” the girl said. “I think it’s fairly obvious the basic impediment is all this machismo bullshit cops are so hung up on-carrying the big gun, that trip. But I don’t want to get into male ego or penis symbols if we can help it.”

“No, let’s keep it clean.”

The girl studied him sadly. “I could comment on that, too, the immediate reference to sexuality as something dirty. It’s not a question, lieutenant, of keeping it clean, but I guess we should try to keep it simple. Just the facts, ma’m, if you know what I mean.”

He wondered if it was safe to speak. Then took a chance. “I’ll tell you what influenced me most, once I joined the force. The detective sergeants, the old pros. You had to be in at least twenty years to make detective sergeant. Now, we don’t have the rank anymore. You don’t wait your turn, you take a test and if you pass you move up.”

“Like you did,” the girl from the News said. “A lieutenant with only fifteen years seniority. Because you went to college?”

“Partly,” Raymond said. “If I was black I might even be an inspector by now.”

The girl from the News perked up. “Do I hear resentment, a little bias, perhaps?”

“No, you don’t. I’m telling you how it is. The old pros are still around; but they’ve been passed up along the way by some who aren’t pros yet.”