"I'm going to see what the hell's happening with those other cars," Byrnes said. He walked around to the other side of the squad car, sat with his legs out on the street, and picked up the hand mike. "This is Lieutenant Byrnes," he said. "We're about ready to roll here. Are those other cars in position yet?"
"So we finally cornered your landsman" Parker said, grinning. "And we're gonna kill him. I'm personally gonna see to that."
"He's no landsman of mine," Hernandez said.
"Of course not," Parker answered. "That's just a way of speaking. All I meant was you're both Puerto Ricans."
"Sure."
"Hell, you know me better than that. I don't care if a guy's Puerto Rican or even Chinese."
"Sure."
Parker looked around suddenly. "Boy, look at these kids, will ya? They think Miranda's a god."
"He's only a god to the ones who don't know any better," Carella said, looking at the kids who had joined the crowd around the squad cars. The kids ranged in age from toddlers to adolescents. Some of them tried to climb onto the squad cars, but the patrolmen swiped at them with their night sticks. None of the kids seemed certain as to what sort of behavior was expected of them. Some laughed, and some stood solemnly staring at the first-floor windows of the building. Some seemed on the verge of tears. It was curious to watch their faces and to study their fidgeting. Each of them knew that this was an occurrence of unusual interest, and each of them was quite naturally excited by it. But they had seen many things, these children, and their reactions to all of these things had always been mixed. They had seen sudden blood, and every fiber in their bodies had urged them to scream at the sight of a man leaking his life onto the pavement, but fear had coalesced in their throats and erupted into the laughter of bravado. For these children, the emotions had become confused, with vague boundary lines separating one from the other. Fear was a twin to courage; tears and laughter were interchangeable.
"He's gonna be a dead god soon, that's for sure," Parker said. "He's gonna pay for every damn heartache he ever gave this city."
Carella, watching the children, said simply, "The city gave him a few too, Andy."
"Sure," Parker agreed. "It's the neighborhood. A kid grows up here, what the hell do you expect? Miranda was cutting up people before he knew how to walk."
"Maybe nobody ever took the trouble to teach him to walk," Hernandez said.
"Hey, you ain't getting sore at me, are you?" Parker asked, his eyes opening wide. "I thought he was no landsman of yours."
"He isn't. He's a punk. He's going to die. That doesn't make it all his fault."
"I can understand how you feel," Parker said. "There's a blood tie that..."
"There's no blood tie between me and..."
"I didn't mean a real blood tie, for God's sake. I know he's not your relative or anything. But, you know, you're both Spanish. That sort of makes you brothers, you know what I mean?"
"No. What the hell do you mean, Parker?"
"Aw, forget it. If you're gonna get sore, there's no sense talking. You're the touchiest guy I know, Frankie. I mean it. You oughta get over that. It don't help you none, believe me." He smiled at Hernandez and put his arm around his shoulder. "All I was saying, in a manner of speaking, is that I'm gonna kill your brother up there. I'm gonna put a dozen bullets in his goddamn skull and watch him bleed all over the sidewalk."
Hernandez shook the arm free. "You know something, Parker?"
"What?"
"He's more your brother than he is mine."
A half-dozen patrolmen had begun erecting barricades across the street. The people crowded the barricades. The kids began sitting on them, spilling over onto the side where the policemen and the squad cars waited for the word from the next street. Byrnes came out of the squad car and yelled, "All right, everybody back! Step back! Back of the barricade! Let's go!" He walked rapidly to Hernandez, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiping at his sweating face. "Frankie, do me a favor, will you?" he said. "Make with some Spanish. These people are gonna get shot up if they don't respect that barricade. Get them to move back, will you?"
"Sure," Hernandez said. He moved up to the wooden horses with their supporting crossbars, the stenciled police department letters shrieking against the white paint. "Bueno!" he shouted. "Todos retroceder, Detrds de la barricada! Todos retroceder!"
The crowd began moving back from the barricade. On the edge of the crowd, Zip grabbed Cooch's arm and said, "You hear that? You hear what that bull said? There's gonna be shooting!"
"With Miranda up there, there's gotta be shooting," Cooch said, his eyes wide.
"Who's Miranda?" Papa asked.
"Don't you know nothing, you dumb tiger?" Cooch said, shoving at him. "Miranda's the greatest thing ever happened to this neighborhood." He turned to Zip. "How you like this jerk? Don't know Miranda."
Zip shook his head, his eyes searching the first-floor windows for a sign of life. He could see nothing.
"When he lived around here," Cooch said to Papa, "this neighborhood really jumped, I kid you not."
"Even in my old neighborhood we knew about him," Zip said, his eyes never leaving the first-floor windows. "He was down there once, you know. I seen him. He was driving a big yellow Caddy."
"No crap?" Cooch said.
"Sure, I seen it. And he had this blonde with him. Man, you could see she was gassed completely out of her skull, just being with him. This was before things got so hot for him. Man, he was swinging then, swinging."
"A Caddy, huh?" Cooch said. "That's for me. Give me the wheel, man. I'll know just what to do with it."
"You should see the way this guy walks, Cooch," Zip said. He stepped away from the barricade and did a quick imitation. "This real cool glide, you know? Like he owns the world. That's the way to walk. Pepe walks with his head up. He ain't afraid of nothing or nobody!"
"Look at the way he got out of that Riverhead apartment!" Cooch said. "A dozen cops, and they couldn't touch him."
"Nobody can touch him," Zip said.
"Man, when he lived here, Zip, you shoulda been here, I mean it. A nice guy, you know? I mean, you think him being a big shot an' all, like he'd think us kids was dirt. But he was always nice to us, I swear. Used to hand out nickels, like that, you know? And stories? Man, the stories he used to tell us. You know, real straight-from-the-shoulder stuff. Not like the crap you get from your people."
"Man, I read you," Zip said, "If my old man gives me his pitch about the island one more time, I'm gonna lose control. Who gives a damn about customs on the island, huh? Who cares about the hospitality there, or the sunshine there, or the way the people close the doors when a stiff goes by, huh? This is here, man! This is where people are living!"
"You can bet Pepe knows how to live."
"Ohhh, brother, does he? This cat knows the story, dad! Hey, hey, look at that!"
"What?" Cooch said.
"Over there."
Two patrolmen were entering the tenement. They moved cautiously and with their revolvers drawn.
"It's about to start," Zip said, straining to see over the heads of the people in front of him. "We gotta get something to stand on, Cooch. We won't be able to see nothing this way."
"What about our other business?" Cooch asked.
Zip glanced cursorily over his shoulder, looking into the luncheonette where Jeff sat at the counter. "The sailor? Forget him. We scared him half to death."
"I mean Alfie," Cooch whispered.
For a moment, Zip seemed to have forgotten something that had kept him awake most of the night, something that had accompanied him as he'd got out of bed this morning, roaring in his mind as he dressed. For a moment, Zip seemed to make no association with the name "Alfie" and puzzlement showed plainly on his face. And then, as if being called away from something which was extremely pleasant and entertaining to take care of some simple task which was at best boring, he said, "Well, what about him?"