DIABLO: What’s your name, kid?
DANNY: Danny Di Pace. What’s yours?
DIABLO: I’ll ask the questions.
DANNY: Yeah? Ask some to your crumby friend on the sidewalk. I got better things to do than stand around with you. (He starts off down the street.)
DIABLO: Hey! Hey, Danny!
DANNY (stopping, turning): Yeah?
DIABLO (grinning): My name’s Diablo Degenero. (He pauses.) Why don’t you come have a hot chocolate?
DANNY (pausing, then returning the smile): Okay, I think I will.
“Why’d you let him get away with it?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know,” Diablo said. “Maybe ’cause Bud’s got a hot head, and the kid wasn’t really looking for no trouble. Ain’t that right, Bud?”
Sitting in the booth alongside Diablo, Bud nodded and said, “Yeah, I got a hot head. Danny’s all right. We got no bad blood between us.”
“But he beat you up,” Hank said.
“So? I tried to con him out of his butts, didn’t I? He had a right to get sore. I’da done the same thing.”
“Did he come in here for the hot chocolate?”
“Sure,” Diablo said. “We had a long talk. He told us all about where he was from.”
“Then what?”
“Then he went home. And that night we waited for him, and we beat the crap outa him. Just to let him know where he stood.”
“But I thought—”
“Oh, sure,” Diablo said, “we didn’t give it to him that afternoon. But this was a different thing. I mean, what’s right is right. Bud stepped out of line, and Danny had the right to clobber him. We only beat him up that night so he wouldn’t get the idea he could go around slamming a Thunderbird whenever he wanted to.”
“What did he do?”
“When? When we nailed him?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing. What could he do? He fought like a bastard, but we were twelve guys. We nailed him good. We almost busted his arms for him.”
“And then what?”
“Then the next day I went around to see him. I asked him to join the club. He said he didn’t want to join no club that was full of japs. I told him we were only trying to show him what was what in the neighborhood. I told him we realized he was a good man with his fists, and we’d like him on the club now.”
“What did he say?”
“He said we should shove the club. He also said that if ever we jumped him again, we’d better kill him. Because if we didn’t, if we only for example sent him to the hospital, he’d come around as soon as he could and kill the first Thunderbird he met on the street. You know something?”
“What?”
“I believed it. I told Dominick — that’s our president. Dominick said he sounded all right. He said we shouldn’t bother him again. So we never did. And, like I said, lots of times Danny’s come along with us when we go gang-busting. He’s all right.”
“Then, in effect, it’s true that he’s not a member of the Thunderbirds.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I suppose.”
“Then what was he doing with two of you on the night of July tenth?”
“You better ask him that, Mr. Bell,” Diablo said. “I guess he’s the only one who’d know.”
“I see. Thank you.” Hank rose and started to go.
“Ain’t you gonna wait for your coffee?” Diablo asked. “I ordered coffee, Mr. Bell.”
“No, thank you. I want to get back to the office.”
“A real game kid, Danny,” Diablo said. “Twelve of us beat the crap outa him. Twelve of us. And we were using bottles and everything. You know many guys who could take a beating from twelve other guys with bottles?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Think about it, Mr. Bell. It’s enough to give you the shivers. Twelve guys with bottles. Just think of it.”
“I will.”
“And you might start thinking about how innocent them three kids are. You might start thinking about that, too.”
“Might I?”
“Yeah.” Diablo paused, smiling. “It’s a shame you can’t stay for your coffee. I enjoyed the chat. It reminds me of the chat I had with Danny that afternoon — when I bought him the hot chocolate. You remember me telling you about that, don’t you, Mr. Bell? About buying him hot chocolate? And then about the twelve of us beating him up that very same night?” Diablo’s smile widened. “Boy,” he said, “it’s enough to give you the shivers.”
Their eyes met. Hank said nothing. Without haste, he walked out of the candy store.
Behind him, still smiling, Diablo said, “We’ll be seeing you, Mr. Bell.”
Six
Holmes came into the office the moment Hank returned.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Fine,” Hank said.
“Got a few items of interest for you. Want to hear them?”
“Sure. Have you had lunch yet?”
“No. Are you going out, or shall we send for something?”
“I’d just as soon have a sandwich in the office. There’s a menu in one of the drawers there.”
Holmes found the menu while Hank took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.
“I’ll just take a ham sandwich and a chocolate malted,” Hank said.
Holmes nodded and began dialing. “I understand you’ve had some cops assigned to your house. How come?”
“I got a threatening letter the other day. I’m not looking for reprisals against my family.”
“Mmm,” Holmes said, and he gave the lunch order into the phone. When he hung up, he asked, “Still think we’ve got a good case?”
“Yes.”
“Heard anything further from the boy’s mother?”
“No. But I found out one of the things she’d told me was true. Di Pace wasn’t actually a member of the gang.”
“That won’t help him much.”
“No, I don’t see how it will. Besides, he was closely enough allied with the gang so that he can really be considered a member. His nonmember status is more a mental trick than a fact.”
“How do you mean?”
“For reasons of his own, Danny Di Pace preferred to think of himself as a loner even though he engaged in gang activities and was, for all practical intents and purposes, a member of the gang.”
“I see. What do you suppose the line of defense will be?”
“For Reardon and Di Pace, they’ll attempt to justify the homicide. For the Aposto boy, mental incompetency.”
“You ready to fight them?”
“As for the self-defense, we still haven’t turned up the knife Morrez was supposed to have pulled. And his blindness would seem to eliminate any foolish theories about his being the attacker. As for the Aposto boy, I’d like him examined by Bellevue. Would you arrange for his remand, Ephraim?”
“Be happy to. What’s your next move?”
“I’m going up to Spanish Harlem tomorrow. I want to track down this knife thing. If they’re going to use it, I want to be prepared. What’d you have to tell me, Ephraim?”
“First of all, Judge Samalson is going to try the case.”
“What?”
“I thought you’d be surprised. Defense counsel raised a hell of a stink. Claimed he was a friend of yours, claimed you studied under him at N.Y.U., claimed he was prejudiced in your favor.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Of course. But it didn’t stop them from asking for a change of venue.”
“That must have sat very well with Abe.”
“Abe Samalson is the fairest judge we’ve got on the bench. In words of one syllable, he denied the motion by telling the defense to go straight to hell.”
“Good for Abe!”
“This didn’t stop them. They insisted on a change of venue. Claimed the local press had made prejudicial and inflammatory statements about the case. Abe still told them to go to hell. He recognized their motion for just what it was. Another dilatory tactic. This makes the third. First they made a motion to examine the grand-jury minutes on the grounds that the indictment was handed down without proper legal evidence. The motion was denied. Next they asked for a bill of particulars identifying the witnesses, the place, the weapons — but this only gained them a week. The trial is still set for next month, and Samalson will still be hearing it. Are you pleased?”