The Last Supper: And Other Stories by Howard Fast

where there were always some kids playing association football, past the Staysweet doll factory, past three blocks of rickety wooden tenements—and then he would see Alice and in the moment alone with her as he kissed her, before the kids were on top of him, say, “What do you know, a couple of F.B.I. guys took a walk with me,” and then, if she became disturbed, he would say, “The hell with them—the hell with the bastards!” just like that, as he was saying it now to himself, “The hell with them—”
    One said, “This is just a little, talk. We know you like to walk home, Marty. We thought we’d walk home with you.”
    The other said, “No more than that, Marty. We just thought we’d like to walk home with you and talk to you a little.”
    One said, “Because, when you come down to it, we felt you’re a good American, Marty. A damn good patriotic American. As a matter of fact, we know all about you. We know about your war record. We know about the Silver Star and all about that incident at Anzio. You’d be surprised how much we know, because it’s our business to know things, Marty. That’s how we know you’re a good American, with a fine wife and two clean-cut kids.”
    The other said, “But we got to make sure that when we know something, it fits, Marty. Otherwise, you just have ill-assorted facts. We know about Johnson, Levy and Curtis, who you’ve been making buddies out of at the plant. We know all about them, too. We know they’re redder than the rose, Marty, redder than the rose. They’re dyed in the wool. That’s why we were puzzled to figure out your angle with them. We don’t think you’re redder than the rose, Marty. As we said before, we think you’re a damn good patriotic American.”
    â€œThat’s what we think,” one said. “That’s why we feel you want to cooperate with us. We feel you’re a patriotic American who’d want to cooperate with us. We know a lot, but we don’t know everything. There’s a lot more than Johnson, Levy and Curtis in that plant who are redder than the rose. There’s a lot more in the Union. By now, Marty, you could probably tag every one of them. And we felt you love this fine country of ours enough to want to cooperate with your legally elected government against elements like that, elements who are plotting to overthrow everything we hold dear by force and violence.”
    The other said, “You’d be surprised, Marty, how many people choose to cooperate with us. A fine class of people, too. The best people, as a matter of fact. You’d be surprised how many people come to us and say frankly, I want to cooperate with you. And we welcome them. They have nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all. We welcome them and guarantee their safety and security. They come as patriotic Americans and we welcome them as such.”
    â€œThe main thing is that they have nothing to be afraid of. Most people hesitate about the F.B.I. They hear all kinds of stories, and they believe all kinds of nonsense. But the truth is that the F.B.I, is your institution, set up to serve you. That’s what we want to get across.”
    Daylight was fading gently and sweetly, with colors that turned the softest violet as they walked past the tax-payers, Holts’s Five, Ten and Twenty-five Cent Store, Mantini’s Shoe Repair Parlor, the First, Original Trueline Barbers, Henterman’s Habadashery and the Clover Celtic Bar and Grill, and just as Anderson had expected, in the open lot on the next block, the kids were playing association football, yelling to each other to throw the ball high, so they could see it against the subdued light left in the sky.
    â€œSo there it is,” the other said, “and that’s the way we’re putting it to you, Marty. Are you going to cooperate? We want you to cooperate with us. And we think