There were three men on the force in addition to Red Sweeney, who sat in police headquarters above the Good Friends and Neighbors Volunteer Fire Company and manned the new two-way radio the boys were crazy about using, or played pinochle with a prisoner, if they had one. Red never left headquarters unless a bona fide crime involving the loss of a large sum of money, a valuable piece of property, or a life had been committed, regardless of whether or not detective investigation was necessary. The last time that happened was the winter before, when Eggshell Oechsle took a shotgun to his father and his uncle. When Red was not at the headquarters he left one of his three teen-age sons in charge.

Shakey the Cop worked the four-to-midnight shift. At least two generations of Andoshen children grew up terrified of him, and countless children gave up a life of malicious mischief and went straight after ringing a doorbell and running away right into the knobby backhand of Shakey the Cop. Whenever a child thought of Shakey the Cop he thought of the billy he was reputed to have broken over Matt Weston’s head for beating his wife and of the thirty-six stitches it took to pinch together the two halves of Matt’s scalp. Later, when “police brutality” became a rallying cry, these same children remembered Shakey as their first example of it, and the memory was oddly one of love for the direct, simple, and almost kindly application of Shakey’s violence. It was never planned, enjoyed, or denied, and thus was not brutality at all.

But even those citizens of Andoshen who had reputations as dumb Polacks called Shakey the Cop a dumb Polack.

One night, just before dusk, Shakey was sitting in his squad car, finishing a take-out coffee from Ella’s Lunch. A few boys were loafing and snapping their fingers in front of the Majestic, and traffic was light, and the air was calm and warm. He made up a little song and sang it softly, “Oh, I’m goin’ to the Lakie, for the Polish Picnic, cookin’ up halupkes …”

A fancy Packard passed beside him and went through the amber light. Shakey was sure that part of the Packard did not make it through the intersection before the light turned red. He started up the Nash and called to headquarters on the new two-way radio.

“Chief Red, Chief Red, this here’s Shakey the Cop, come in, Chief Red.”

“Okay, Shakey, what’s on your mind?” replied Red Sweeney. “Over.”

“Roger. A big Packard from outa town just went through the light. Pennsylvania license, number Edward, Stanley, Two …”

“Okay, okay, Shakey, give ’im the ticket and collect the fine if he’s from outa town and cut the crap.” “Well, can I be puttin’ on the flasher? Over.”

“Jesus, don’t make a three-reeler outa this, will you, Shakey?” Red Sweeney waited for an answer, then said the forgotten “Over.”

“Roger, I be’s pullin’ the bugger over. Roger Wilco, over and out.”

Shakey put the squad car into gear and caught the Packard as it was about to climb Peddler’s Hill out of town. Shakey hit his horn three times and the Packard pulled over to the side.

Shakey picked up his citation book and then threw it back on the seat in disgust. “Woi Yesus, I’m outa tickets!” He considered issuing a ticket on plain note paper, but doubted the legality of this. Besides, he did not have any plain note paper. He would have to let the Packard go, but “Not before I chew him up a little, the sneaky wise guy.”

Shakey strode up to the driver, who was with his wife and two children, and lowered his head to the window to say, “You know, youse went tru a light there on Center.”

“I thought it was on caution, officer,” said the driver. Clearly from out of town. No one in town would call him “officer.” “Well, that’s when you’re suppose’ to use caution.”

“But you can go through,” said the driver. “You only have to stop on the red.” “Say, are you tellin’ me me business?”

“No, sir, I just …”

“Say, where are youse from?” “From Pittsburgh, we’re …”

“Oh, yeah?” said Shakey, indicating he had caught them in a lie, and flashing what locals called his shit-eating grin.