"Give me a hand." "They'll kill him," Haggerty said, wrapping his arms about Grave Digger and trying to pull him away. "You grab the other one," he said to the cops. "To hell with that," the cop said, swinging his black-jack across Coffin Ed's head, knocking him unconscious. The other cop drew his pistol and took aim at the corpse. "One move out of you and I'll shoot," he said. "He won't move; he's dead," Grave Digger said to Haggerty. "Well, Hell," Haggerty said indignantly, releasing him. "You asked me to help. How in hell do I know what's going on?" Grave Digger shook himself and looked at the third cop. "You didn't have to slug him," he said. "I wasn't taking no chances," the cop said. "Shut up and watch the Arab," Haggerty said. The cop moved over and looked at the Arab. "He's dead, too." "Holy Mary, the plague," Haggerty said. "Look after that woman then." Four more cops came running. At Haggerty's order, two turned toward the woman who'd been shot. She was lying in the street, deserted. "She's alive, just unconscious," the cop said. "Leave her for the ambulance," Haggerty said. "Who're you ordering about?" the cop said. "We know our business." "To hell with you," Haggerty said. Grave Digger bent over Coffin Ed, lifted his head and put an open bottle of ammonia to his nose. Coffin Ed groaned. A red-faced uniformed sergeant built like a General Sherman tank loomed above him. "What happened here?" he asked. Grave Digger looked up. "A rumpus broke and we lost our prisoner." "Who shot your partner?" "He's not shot, he's just knocked out." "That's all right then. What's your prisoner look like?" "Black man, about five eleven, twenty-five to thirty years, one-seventy to one-eighty pounds, narrow face sloping down to chin, wearing light gray hat, dark gray hickorystriped suit, white tab collar, red striped tie, beige chukker boots. He's handcuffed." The sergeant's small china-blue eyes went from the big white corpse to the bearded Arab corpse. "Which one did he kill?" he asked.