The cabbie shrugged eloquently. "Who knows?" he said. "You ask questions, you might get answers you don't like. I don't ask questions, I live longer." "But--" The cops, meanwhile, had advanced toward the car. One of them looked in. "Who's the passenger?" he said. The cabbie swore again. "You want me to take loyalty oaths from people?" he said. "You want to ruin my business? I got a passenger, how do I know who he is? Maybe he's the Lone Ranger." "Don't get funny," the cop said. His partner had gone around to the back of the car. "What's this, the trunk again?" the cabbie said. "You think maybe I'm smuggling in showgirls from the edge of town?" "Ha, ha," the cop said distinctly. "One more joke and it's thirty days, buster. Just keep cool and nothing will happen." "Nothing, he calls it," the cabbie said dismally. But he stayed silent until the second cop came back to rejoin his partner. "Clean," he said. "Here, too, I guess," the first cop said, and looked in again. "You," he said to Malone. "You a tourist?" "That's right," Malone said. "Kenneth J. Malone, at the Great Universal. Arrived this afternoon. What's happening here, officer?" "I'm asking questions," the cop said. "You're answering them. Outside of that, you don't have to know a thing." He looked very tough and official. Malone didn't say anything else. After a few more seconds they went back to their positions and the cabbie started the car again. Ten yards past the roadblock he turned around and looked at Malone. "It's the sheriff's office every time," he said. "Now, you take a State cop, he's O.K. because what does he care? He's got other things to worry about, he don't have to bear down on hard-working cabbies." "Sure," Malone said helpfully. "And the city police--they're right here in the city, they're O.K. I know them, they know me, nothing goes wrong. Get what I mean?" "The sheriff's office is the worst, though?" Malone said. "The worst is nothing compared to those boys," the cabbie said. "Believe me, every time they can make life tough for a cabbie, they do it. It's hatred, that's what it is. They hate cabbies. That's the sheriff's office for you." "Tough," Malone said. "But the roadblock--what _was_ it for, anyhow?" The cabbie looked back at the road, avoided an oncoming car with a casual sweep of the wheel, and sighed gustily. "Mister," he said, "you don't ask questions, I don't give out answers. Fair?" There was, after all, nothing else to say. "Fair," Malone told him, and rode the rest of the way in total silence. * * * * *