Even now, the radiators of the civil courts building hissed...

Even now, the radiators of the civil courts building hissed endlessly as they always had since the winter of 1930.

“Do you hear that noise? That whistling?” he whispered. “That, my friend, is the sound,” he paused, gazed briefly over his right shoulder, listening, staring into the middle space where specks of dust glitter in the sunlight. He turned to me, eyes narrowed, then leaned in. His face was so close to mine I could feel the breath from his mouth. “That sound,” he reached out and grabbed the stiff lapels of my overcoat, pulling me even closer, his stubble now rubbing against my ear, “it is the sound… of justice.”

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