it; his face was round
without being chubby, and his body was stocky and hard. He wore
black-rimmed glasses, and he was going bald in front. His face was
like a mask; it was held in a gentle, almost eager expression that
Malone would have sworn had nothing to do with the way Kettleman felt
underneath.

Lynch performed the introductions, escorted the two of them to one of
the interrogation rooms at the rear of the station, and left them
there, with, "If either of you guys comes up with anything, let me
know," for a parting shot.

Kettleman blinked slowly behind his glasses. "Mr. Malone," he said, "I
understand that the FBI is interested in one of the--ah--adolescent
social groups with which I work."

"Well, the Silent Spooks," Malone said. "That's right."

"The Spooks," Kettleman said. His voice was rather higher than Malone
would have expected, oddly breathy without much depth to it. "My, yes.
I did want to talk to somebody about it, and I thought you might be
the man."

"I'll be interested in anything you have to say," Malone said
diplomatically. He was beginning to doubt whether he'd get any real
information out of Kettleman. But it was impossible to tell. He sat
back in a hard wooden chair and tried to look fascinated.

"Well," Kettleman said tentatively, "the boys themselves have sort of
a word for it. They'd say that there was something oddball about the
Spooks. Do you understand? Not just the fact that they never drink
liquor, but--"

"Something strange," Malone said. "Is that what you mean?"

"Ah," Kettleman said. "_Strange._ Of course." He acted, Malone
thought, as if he had never heard the word before, and was both
pleased and startled by its sound. "Perhaps I had better explain my
position a little more clearly," he said. "That will give you an idea
of just where I 'fit into' this picture."

"Whatever you think best," Malone said, resigning himself to a very
dull hour. He tried to picture Kettleman in the midst of a gang of
juvenile delinquents. It was very hard to do.

"I'm a social worker," Kettleman said, "working on an individual basis
with these--social groups that the adolescents have formed. It's my
job to make friends with them, become accepted by them, and try to
turn their hostile impulses toward society into more useful, more
acceptable channels."

"I see," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him.
"That's fine."

"Oh, we don't expect praise, we social workers," Kett