take care of itself?"

"Justice is only a word unless you GIVE it meaning." "But that's what the police are for!"

"I've got news for you."

"What good will it do!

Darling, this simply can't end right for anyone!"

"I'm the only one who CAN make it end right."

"All right, you find the killer and he hangs. Does that bring little Joe back to life?"

Christ, I don't want the guy punished! I just want him to know that he IS a murderer! He doesn't think he is! He thinks he did a good and sanitary thing. So do a hell of a lot of other people, including you.

"You're going to change society?"

"I'm going to try to change it in one tiny, little way. Someone has to. If someone had before, this wouldn't have happened."

"But why YOU!"

Dave got up, ground his cigarette out and began walking around the kitchen: "It has to be me and I'll tell you why. I'll tell you why I'm the guy, THE guy. The reasons might sound silly to you but they're good enough for me. They're good enough that I haven't any choice. For one thing, the job I've worked so hard on all these years and my name and my reputation have been smeared all over the landscape. Through no fault of my own. Through no fault of my own. You don't take that philosophically. You fight back so it won't happen again to you or anyone else. But that's only part of it."

He took a deep breath and faced her: Once, way back, I got tired of all these friends he brought home. It was like a depot and I told him so. And he said he looked up at me and said, 'You could stop all my cruising in a minute if you'd just LIKE me a little. Not sex because if you liked me I'd not need that.' That should mean something to you, Ann. It didn't to me until last Sunday then it hit me like a club. It's hard for me to show people my feelings but if I'd tried just a little, he'd be alive today. What he said is a great thing to remember and live with. I keep hearing his words like a record caught between grooves. In a way, it makes me his murderer."

He banged a cigarette on the sink and lighted it: "That's why you throw me. The same thing's happening all over again and it's too soon. And whatever happens to us or inside you, will be my fault. Every time I hurt you, your eyes get a little harder and you lose a bit of all your goodness. My fault, MY fault: he's dead because of me!"

Then he was leaning on the table, speaking directly to her: "You can argue away those reasons but here's one that sticks. The biggest, Something everybody missed. I walked in here that day with a cluster of neighbors staring across the street and the young couple next door gawking from their porch. The radio was making that high scream and the fish were flopping on the floor. I didn't see him at first. Then I noticed one of his feet. It was all cut and bleeding on the sole. I went over and saw something no one else saw. There were tears still wet on his dead cheeks. Ann, you don't cry when you're afraid. A child, a girl, maybe, but not Joe.

"Then add those tears to the little smudges of blood all around the house. He wasn't running from the guy. A killer doesn't stop in the middle of a chase to hack big scratches across the piano and reach way up the wall for a mask and sweep dishes from the top shelf. Joe wasn't running: he was following the guy and he wasn't crying because the big fists smashed into his face. He didn't get up each time and limp after that big guy to save himself. He could have run away. The wrecked house proved that. He followed his murderer all around the place trying to stop him from hurting all the things I liked. Trotted after him on broken glass like a little fury and asked to be killed because he kept getting in the way and at last those big hands had to shut him up. Then they threw him in the corner like a broken doll. The blood says that, Ann! It says he cried for ME!"

His two fists came down on the table. The ketchup fell over. He stared at

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