You're clever, Brainard--I hand you that; and all
the classy crooks trust you. That's why I had picked you out for what
I wanted long before you left stir. Brainard, you're wise enough to
know that some of our best pinches come from tips handed us from the
inside. Brainard"--the slow voice had now become incisive, mandatory--
"you're not going to go straight. You're going to string along with
Barney and Old Jimmie and the rest of the bunch--we'll protect you--
and you're going to slip us tips when something big is about to be
pulled off."
Larry, experienced with police methods though he was, could hardly
believe this thing which was being proposed to him, Larry Brainard.
But he controlled himself.
"If I get you, Chief, you are suggesting that I become a police
stool?"
"Exactly. We'll never tip your hand. And any little thing you pull off
on your own we'll not bother you about. And, besides, we'll slip you a
little dough regular on the quiet."
"And all you want me to do in exchange," Larry asked quietly, "is to
hand up my pals?"
"That's all."
Larry found it required his all of strength to control himself; but he
did.
"There are only three small objections to your proposition, Chief."
"Yes?"
"The first is, I shall not be a stool."
"What's that?"
"And the second is, I wouldn't squeal on a pal to you even if I were a
crook.
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