A Halloween Collar: A Sam Jenkins New York police story
“I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it,” I said, and smacked the kid on the back of his head.
The ghoul mask fell from his hand to the floor.
“Up yours,” he said.
I grabbed his nose and put my face an inch from his ear. “The next time I hit you, you little stinkbug, you’ll lose your teeth.”
His eyes strained to look at me. I removed my fingers from his beak.
“I chased you four blocks,” I said, “and ripped my pants going over that fence. I am not a happy policeman. I’ll ask again. Where did you get those fireworks?”
“I forget.”
I smacked him again, this time a little harder.
His hand went defensively to his head. “I’ll have your badge for that, man.”
“I doubt that. Blowing up a mailbox makes you guilty of a felony. Where did you get the M-80s?”
An arrogant smirk crossed his face. “From my father, the chief inspector.”
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