I say to him, "Us kids were playing ball here yesterday, and we saw a strange-looking guy sneak into your cellar. It wasn't a delivery boy."
"Yeah? You sure it wasn't you or one of your juvenile pals trying to swipe a bike? How come you have to play ball right here?"
"I don't swipe bikes. I got one of my own. New. A Raleigh. Better than any junk you got in there."
"What d'you know about what I got in there, wise guy?"
"Aw, forget it." I realize he's just getting suspicious of me.
That's what comes of trying to be a big public-spirited citizen.
I decide my burglar, whoever he is, is a lot nicer than the super, and I hope he got a fat haul.
Next day it looks like maybe he did just that.
The local paper, Town and Village, has a headline: "Gramercy Park Cellar Robbed." I read down the article:
"The superintendent, Fred Snood, checked the cellar storage cages, after a passing youth hinted to him that there had been a robbery. He found one cage open and a suitcase missing. Police theorize that the youth may have been the burglar, or an accomplice