He paused and studied his glass.
“Maybe there’s something to this ‘compulsive behavior’ idea, after all. Maybe all these kids are just sick.”
“Sick, sick, sick,” Karin said.
“It’d be funny,” he said solemnly, “if it weren’t so goddamn serious.”
“I didn’t mean to...”
“Karin, if those three boys hadn’t gone into Spanish Harlem to kill Morrez that night, I’m sure that three Puerto Rican boys, sooner or later, would have strolled into Italian Harlem and killed one of the Thunderbirds. I’ve heard them talking about their enemies. This isn’t kid cops-and-robbers stuff, Karin. When they say they’d like to kill someone, they mean they’d like to kill him. You can see it in their eyes.”
“You can’t excuse murderers on the grounds that they one day might be victims.”
“No, of course not. I was only thinking of what Mrs. Morrez said to me this evening. The mother of the dead boy.”
“Yes?”
“She said they were animals, the ones who killed her son. Are they animals, Karin?”
“I don’t know, Hank.”
“And if they are, who the hell put them into the forest they roam?”
“The same could be said of any murderer, Hank. All human beings are a product of their society. But we nonetheless have laws to protect...”
“If we send these three boys to the electric chair, will we stop three other boys from killing?”
“We might.”
“Yes, we might. But we might not. In which case we’d be adding the senseless murder of Di Pace, Aposto and Reardon to the senseless murder of Morrez. The only difference being that our murder will have had the sanction of society.”
“Wow!” Karin said. “You’d better go easy, my friend.”
“Where the hell is justice?” Hank asked. “What the hell is justice?”
The telephone rang. Karin went to it, lifted the receiver and said, “Hello?” She paused. “Oh, hello, Alice, how are you? Fine, thanks, everyone’s fine.” She paused again, listening. “Oh?” she said. “Oh, I see. Yes, well, that’s understandable. No, I wouldn’t expect you to leave him. Yes, I understand completely. I hope he feels better soon. Thank you for calling, Alice.” She replaced the receiver, a puzzled look on her face.
“Alice Benton?” Hank asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter?”
“She can’t make it this Saturday.” She hesitated, nibbling her lip. “I invited some of the neighbors for dinner, Hank. To meet Abe Samalson.”
“Oh. Something wrong at the Bentons’?”
“Frank has a fever. Alice doesn’t think she should leave him alone.”
The telephone rang again. Karin turned to it and then looked at Hank. Slowly, she crossed the room to answer it.
“Hello? Yes, this is Karin. Hello, Marcia, how are you? No, you’re not interrupting dinner. Hank just got home a little while a — What?” She listened. “Oh. That’s too bad. We were looking forward to— Yes, mistakes can happen, especially when two separate calendars are kept. Yes, I understand. Certainly, Marcia. I’m glad you called.” She hung up and then stood by the phone.
“Marcia Di Carlo?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t make it this Saturday?”
“Can’t make it this Saturday,” Karin said, nodding.
“Reason?”
“Joe had made a previous engagement. Put it down on his calendar. When I called, she didn’t realize they had this other date. She begged off. Said they’d see us soon.” Karin paused. “That makes three cancellations so far, Hank.”
“Mmmmm. Do I detect the fine hand of McNalley and Pierce at work here?”
“I don’t know. Would our neighbors...?”
“Would our neighbors assume we were threatening their way of life by trying to find justice for a dead Puerto Rican? Karin, I don’t know. I gave our neighbors credit for a lot more intelligence and tolerance.”
The telephone rang again. “I’ll get it,” Hank said. He put down his drink and went to the phone. “Hello?”
“Hank?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“George Talbot. How goes it, boy?”
“So-so. What’s up, George?”
“Ran into a slight snag, Hank boy. Afraid Dee and I will have to pass up the festivities this Saturday.”
“What kind of a snag, George?”
“The brain trust at my sweatshop decided they ought to send me to Syracuse for the weekend. To talk to a prospective sucker about his breakfast cereal. So what can I do? I’m a slave to the hidden persuaders, only this time they’re not so hidden.”
“I’d say they’re not hidden at all,” Hank said.
“Sure. So what’s more important, lad, a drink in the fist or bread and butter on the table?”
“Sure,” Hank said. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. That is, I think tomorrow. Be gone until Monday. Unless the big brass change their mind. In any case, I wouldn’t count on the Talbots.”
“Seen McNalley or Pierce lately?” Hank asked.
“Huh?”
“John and Fred,” Hank said. “Our good neighbors. Seen them recently?”
“Well, I always see them around. You know how it is.”
“I know exactly how it is, George. Thanks for calling. I’m sorry you can’t make it this Saturday. But then, a lot of other people in the neighborhood seem to have come down with the sniffles, or grandmothers dying out in Peoria. Maybe you can all get together and have a little party of your own.”
“What do you mean, Hank?”
“A sort of do-it-yourself party. You can make all kinds of interesting things.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Hank.”
“You can make a lovely wooden cross and then come set fire to it on my lawn.”
“Hank?”
“What is it, George?”
“I really do have to go to Syracuse. This has nothing to do with the junk McNalley and Pierce are spreading.”
“Okay.”
“Do you believe me?”
“What’s not to believe?”
“I just wanted you to know. I don’t ask your advice on how to write copy that sells cigarettes. And I don’t intend to tell you how to do your job.” Talbot paused. “Guilt by association is a sin, too, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, George. But this telephone has been going like crazy.”
“I just wanted you to know I haven’t joined the barbarian hordes. My reason for not coming is legit. As a matter of fact, I was looking forward to meeting Samalson.”