The cop wiggled his chin affirmatively. "The number of good, practical ideas buried in Headquarters runs to thousands." Captain Black came in. "No dice." Then Dave Berne arrived. His eyes were the same faithful blue, but unnaturally vivid. He patted my back and shook hands with Black, whom he knew. He stood in the room a moment, peeling off a light-weight jacket and looking at the yellow roses. Then he went over and leaned out the window. "Hi, Paul!" "Et tu?" Paul called back. Dave chuckled. "You've got quite a crowd down there. Had trouble pushing through!" He pulled his head back and said to us, "What gives?" We told him such plans as existed. Dave listened and smelled the flowers and moved his eyes to whoever was talking. Finally we'd finished and he grinned. "Well," he said, sighing a little, "let's go and get the damned fool in." He went and I went after him and the others stayed, peering into the fading light. Dave whispered to me to hang back a little and I did and he moved on along the parapet till he came to a point just out of range. Paul was watching him with a wary, scornful expression. Dave leaned over the parapet and looked down--and Paul took a look, too. "Funny," Dave said. "All those yokels. I suppose most of 'em will go along home pretty soon. Suppertime. And soon be too dark to see the fun, anyhow. But some of 'em would hang around all night--even though the street is a God-damned stove-top. Waiting. Waiting and hoping. Hoping. Imagine it! Hoping to see a human being come sixteen stories in slow somersaults. Hoping to see him hit and spatter. Hoping his feet will burst and his shoes will fly off--the way they do, sometimes. Hoping they'll be a Christ-to-be-Jesus big puddle of blood to tell the family about--and blood spattered up to the second story. And a dent in the sidewalk. What the hell is wrong with a bunch of yahoos that'll stand around for hours on account of a hope like that?" "Very graphic," Paul said. Dave took a long look, then, at the surrounding roofs--the vertical rows of windows, some now electrically lighted, and some flared with the last copper rays of a sun that was going down in Jersey behind the Orange Mountains where I used to make field maps when I was a Boy Scout. He took still another look at the blue-powder sky, drew one deep breath, and hopped lightly up astride the parapet. Paul was startled. So was I. And so were the cops. They yelled, "Hey!" Dave made a "cease-fire" gesture behind his back. He inched along the parapet toward Paul, a ways. "You're going inside in a bit, son," he said quietly. "I haven't decided. And don't rush me." "But you will. Look, Paul. You know me--pretty well. And you know a good deal about me. From Phil. So listen. I'm a no-account yid bastard who never got--and will never get--a fair shot at using the ability he thinks he has. All I can do is outsmart other corporation lawyers--and get paid big dough for it."