The Cellar

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Jenson grabbed the radio mike. His thumb froze on the speak button. He looked again at the upstairs window of the old, Victorian house across the street, and saw only the sheen of the moon on the glass pane. He lowered the mike to his lap.

Then a beam of light again flashed inside the dark house.

He raised the mike to his mouth. He forced his thumb down on the button. “Jenson to headquarters.”

“Headquarters, go ahead.”

“We’ve got a prowler in Beast House.”

“Ten-nine, Dan. What’s the matter with you? Speak up.”

“I said we’ve got a prowler in Beast House!”

“Jeezus! You’d better go in.”

“Send me a backup.”

“Sweeny’s ten-seven.”

“So phone him, for Christsake! He never eats anyplace but the Welcome Inn. Phone him.”

“Just go in, Jenson.”

“I’m not going inside that fucking place alone. You get Sweeny out here, or we can forget the whole thing.”

“I’ll try to raise Sweeny. You stay put, and keep an eye on the place if you’re too yellow to go in. And watch your language on the airways, buddy.”

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