In the Heat of the Night

car in front of the platform, he got out and picked up Virgil’s suitcase. Tibbs understood and let him do it.
    Gillespie led the way onto the train side of the platform and put the case down before the single bench that offered limited comfort to those who had to wait.
    “Virgil, I’d like to stay with you, but frankly I’m dead for sleep,” Gillespie said. “Do you mind if I go on?”
    “Of course not, Chief Gillespie.”Tibbs waited a moment before he spoke again. “Do you think it would be all right if I sat out here? It’s a very nice night.”
    Gillespie knew without looking that the bench was marked white. However, it was past midnight and the station was deserted.
    “I don’t think it would make any difference,” he answered. “If anybody says anything, tell ’em I told you to.”
    “All right,” Tibbs said.
    Gillespie took two steps away, then he turned. “Thanks, Virgil,” he said.
    “It was a pleasure, Chief Gillespie.”
    Gillespie wanted to say something else, tried, but couldn’t. The man before him was black and the moonlight accentuated the contrasting whites of his eyes.
    “Well, good night,” he substituted.
    “Good night, sir.”
    The chief thought of shaking hands with him, but decided not to. He had done it once and that had made the point. To do it again now might be just the wrong action to take. He walked back to his car.