by Ed McBain
"You ever see anything like this, Elena?" Zip asked excitedly. "He shot one of them."
"Who shot one of them?" Elena asked.
"Pepe Miranda!" Papa said.
"Who?"
"Pepe Miranda," Zip said. "He's got a whole arsenal in that apartment with him. The cops can't figure how to get him out. Man you shoulda seen him. He come right up to the window and spit at the bastards!"
"Who's this?" Juana asked, turning her attention to Zip.
Papa, as if repeating a lesson he had learned, a lesson he had indeed learned earlier from Cooch, said, "He the grays thin' ever happen this neighborhood."
"Yeah?" Juana said aloofly. "I never heard of him."
"So that's what this is all about," Elena said. "We were walking over on the next block and everybody was heading here like somebody hit the numbers for a million dollars."
"There ain't no numbers on Sunday," Juana said distantly. She was not a very pretty girl, but she had learned somewhere that her eyes were very attractive and had further learned how to use make-up on them. Her eyes were the focal point of her face, as green as jade and, combined with her jet-black hair, they created an instant impression of desirability which overshadowed the true facts of her plainness.
"You came through the next block?" Zip asked Elena.
"Sure. Why not?"
"No reason." He paused. "That's Royal Guardian territory."
"So what?"
"Nothing. Nothing."
"Royal Guardians or not," Elena said, "this is a free country."
"We walk where we want to," Juana added.
"That's because you're a chick. It ain't so easy when you're a guy," Zip said.
"Why not?" Juana asked.
"Because it ain't, that's all. You can't go messing in another club's territory."
"That's nuts. Haven't you got anything better to do than play war? That's kid stuff."
"There's nothing kid stuff about it," Zip said. "You just don't know."
"I know plenty," Juana said. "You haven't got anything better to do, that's all. That's why you've got these territories and these street bops and..."
"I got plenty to do," Zip said. "We always got plenty to do, ain't we, Sixto?"
"Sure, he's got plenty to do," Elena said. "He's got China to chase after."
"Hey, listen," Zip said, grinning. "How about a hug, Elena?"
"If you had things to do," Juana persisted, "you wouldn't get involved in this childish nonsense. What you are is an acting-out neurotic."
"A what?" Zip said.
"An acting-out neurotic," Juana said professorially.
"How come you're so smart, huh? Where'd you get your medical degree, huh?"
"I read an article in the newspapers," Juana said smugly.
"Dig the big reader!" Zip said, and he burst out laughing. Dismissing her, he turned to Elena, "Hey, come on, no hug for me?"
"Go hug China," Elena said coldly.
"Come on, come on," Zip said, still grinning. But his grin seemed to have no effect on Elena. Deliberately she turned to Sixto.
"Who's your cute friend?" she asked archly.
"Huh?" Zip said.
"What're you?" she asked Sixto. "The strong silent type?"
"Me?" Sixto asked, bewildered by her sudden attention.
"What's your name?" she asked, moving closer to him, smiling the way she had once seen Jane Russell smile in a movie.
"Sixto," he answered.
"The article said you're insecure," Juana said to Zip.
"Don't give me any bull you read in the newspapers," he said, turning on her angrily, miffed by Elena's behavior. "I don't believe nothing I read."
"You probably don't even know how to read," Juana said.
The thing that was happening on the packing crate was rather odd. Because despite Juana's protests that Zip was a terrifying creep, an acting-out neurotic, and insecure to boot, her conversational efforts had all been directed at him. And even though her approach took the form of an attack, it was clear that she was bidding for Zip's attention and no one else's. Elena, meanwhile, was doing exactly the same thing, even though she seemed to be addressing Sixto. A none-too-subtle tug of war was taking place on that crate. Whatever Zip's flaws, he was obviously recognized by the girls as the most desirable of the three boys. And, thanks to either his indifference or his stupidity, he hadn't the faintest idea of what was happening.
"So how come you're so quiet?" Elena said to Sixto. "Aren't you excited about your friend Pepe Miranda?"
"He's no' my frien'," Sixto said. "Pepe's no damn good!"
The girl caught the accent. She looked at Sixto for a moment and then said, "Hey, what are you? A tiger or something?"
"I no tiger."
"You sound like one. Can't you speak English?"
Papa had been thinking over Sixto's comment, and had finally fathomed the meaning of it. "What you minn, he's no good?" he asked now. "Hey, Zeep! Sixto, he say Pepe's no good."
Zip turned from Juana. "What? Did you say that?"
"I dinn say nothin'," Sixto said.
And now Elena, anxious to recapture Zip's attention, quickly leaped in. "That's what he said, Zip. That's what the Marine Tiger said, all right."
"I no tiger. I speak English good!"
"He speaks a well English," Zip said, chuckling.
"He said Pepe's no good," Elena repeated.
"Is that what you said?" Zip asked, and he shoved out at Sixto. "Is that what you said, huh?" and he shoved again. "Huh?" and again he shoved, pushing Sixto closer to the edge of the crate. "Is that what you said, Sixto?" and he pushed hard this time, sending Sixto over the edge of the crate, reeling backward into the gutter. Zip burst out laughing. Papa and Elena joined him. Juana seemed undecided for a moment, as if her natural instinct was to climb down and help Sixto to his feet. The indecision passed. She tittered nervously, and then burst into laughter with the rest of them. Zip put his arm around Elena.
"What's wrong with you, anyway?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"So how come the big freeze?"
"What's with you and China?"
"That?"
"That."
"Nothing." He shrugged.
"The word says you're after Alfie."
"Well, like he's got it coming, you know?"
"Why? Because of something with China?"
"What're you worried about China for, huh?"
"Is there going to be trouble?"
"With Alfie?"
"Yes," Elena said.
"Naw, no trouble," Zip answered. "Don't worry, huh?"
"Have you got a thing on with China?"
"Me?" Zip began laughing again. "Hey, you're jealous, ain't you? I'll be damned."
"She's old enough to be your mother," Elena said sullenly. "She must be nineteen, maybe even twenty."
"That don't make her old, only experienced. What's the matter, honey, huh?" he said sweetly. "You jealous, baby, huh?"
"No."
"You worried about poor little Alfie?"
"I don't care what you do to Alfie. Just answer me one question."
"Sure, what's that?"
"You got eyes for China or not?"
"Like, you know, doll, your interest gasses me, but don't start strong-arming me. I'll bust you right in the mouth, you know?"
Juana turned to him suddenly. "It takes a big man, don't it, to hit a girl?"
"Oh, get lost, zombie," he said to her. He wrapped his arms around Elena. "Come on, where's my hug?"
"Zip, cut it out," she said. "There's people watching."
"So let them, who cares?" He took one arm from Elena and pointed into the crowd. "Hey! Hey you! Fat boy!"
Frederick Block, who had shoved his way up to the barricade, looked up at Zip.
"You watching us, Fat Boy?"
Block turned away with a look of extreme disgust on his face. Zip burst out laughing.
"See, honey?" he said. "Nobody watching us." He pulled her closer to
him. "Mmmm, you are the softest girl."
"I shouldn't let you," Elena said. "Not after this China thing."
"Somebody's got to protect little China, no?" His hands roamed her body. He touched her breast, and she pulled away from him quickly, embarrassed, but he drew her close again, and she stood unprotesting in the circle of his arms. Zip stroked her back gently.
"You going to hurt Alfie Gomez?" Juana asked.
"Drop dead," Zip told her.
"Big man," Juana said. "Everybody in this neighborhood's a big man. It's just you're insecure, that's all."
"Man, she sprouts that crap like as if she grows it in her mouth," Zip said. "I got news for you, zombie. I am a big man, now how about that? The Latin Purples ain't afraid of nothing or nobody!"
"Whoever heard of the Latin Purples outside of you and your mother?" Juana asked. "If one of those Royal Guardians came down the street right now, you'd pass out cold."
"I ain't afraid of no Royal Guardians," Zip said angrily. "I ain't afraid of nobody!" He searched in his mind for a clincher to his argument, and then blurted, "Why, one of my boys is out right now, rounding up a couple of pieces!"
"If one of them goes off accidentally, you'll run a mile."
"You better tell your pal to shut up, Elena," Zip warned.
"Juana, stop picking on..."
"A gun is a psychological symbol," Juana said. "You only want one because you're afraid."
"I ain't afraid to rap you right in the mouth," Zip said.
"Big man," Juana repeated, but she shut up.
Zip looked out over the crowd. "They're coming back," he said. "The bulls are coming back."
11
The plan was a simple one, but Lieutenant Byrnes had discovered in his years of police work that most feasible and practical plans were simple.
The plan was one of deception, a plan which would utilize every man's innate susceptibility to the expected, and then knock him flat by suddenly producing the unexpected. The plan, of course, undertook to presume what Miranda would consider "expected". But it seemed a reasonable guess to suppose that Miranda expected the cops to get him out of that apartment, and that one certain way to accomplish this was to bust into the joint. If a rush were made across the street, a rush which carried all the earmarks of a frontal attack, Miranda would brace himself for an assault on his front door. Actually, the assault would come from elsewhere. Such was the unoriginal and simple nature of the deception. Broken down into simple terms, the police plan could have been stated thusly: Hit him where he ain't.
"Have you got it straight?" Byrnes asked his men.
"I want the fire escape," Parker said.
"We'll see about that."
"I want to be the one who gets him," Parker said. "I want to blow his head off."
"Sometimes, Parker, you turn my goddamn stomach," Byrnes said.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Well, what do you want to say something like that for?"
"Skip it," Byrnes said. "Do you understand the plan?"
"I understand it," Parker said sullenly.
"Frankie?"
"I've got it."
"Steve?"
"Run through it once more, would you, Pete?"
"Okay, this is it in a nutshell. I'm going to tell Miranda we're coming in after him. A pile of us'll rush the stoop when the shooting starts. Miranda I hope will think we're going to force the apartment door from the hallway. But one of us will break away from the rest and flatten himself against the side of the building."
"Me," Parker said.
"Whoever it is, he'll pull down the ladder of the fire escape and climb up to the first floor. He may be able to get Miranda from the window. Otherwise, he'll have to enter the apartment and have it out there. It's tricky, but I'd rather risk one man than a dozen."
"Let's get started," Parker said.
"In a minute. I need a volunteer for that fire escape job."
"You've already got your volunteer, Lieutenant," Parker said.
"You've got two" Hernandez said.
"Keep out of this, Frankie. This is my baby."
"Why should it be?"
"Because I want it."
"I'll decide who..." Byrnes started.
"Lieutenant, you'd be crazy to send up a guy who's..." Parker cut himself short.
"Who's what?" Hemandez asked.
"Okay! Who's got a personal stake in this, okay?"
"Personal? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You grew up with Miranda!"
"What difference does that make? We want him out of that apartment, don't we?"
"We want him dead," Parker said. "He's a punk. He should have been killed a long time ago. He's the biggest stink in these streets."
"What the hell do you know about the stink here, Parker? Did you..."
"I seen plenty of it. I been in this precinct for..."
"Did you grow up with the stink in your nostrils, day and night? Did you live with it every day of your life?"
"You're telling me about this precinct? I know it like my own mother. There's nothing you can tell me about..."
"No, nothing! To you, this precinct is one big violation, one big crime being committed every hour on the hour. And you're scared of the place! You're scared out of your wits!"
"Scared? Who the hell..."
"Well to me it's people! And they deserve a goddamn break! They want to get that son of a bitch as much as you do!"
"They want him to hold off the whole damn city!" Parker shouted. "You know that! You know it's true!"
"They only want a Puerto Rican to win for a change. Okay, if I go up there, a Puerto Rican wins."
"If I go up..."
"If you go up, you purge yourself. You think killing him is gonna help you, Parker? You think that's the answer?"
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"If you go up there, you accomplish nothing. Not for yourself, and not for the city. You'll be making Miranda a hero. I'm telling you that right now. You kill him, and this neighborhood has a martyr. The kids'll be playing Pepe Miranda and the Cops for the next six weeks."
"The hell with the kids. You think I'm interested in... ?"
"Who's gonna show them, Parker? You want a hundred more Mirandas ten years from now?"
"You gonna show them?" Parker asked sarcastically.
"If I kill him," Hernandez said flatly, "the neighborhood gets nothing but a dead punk."
"You've got him, Frankie," Byrnes said.
"Thank you."
"Get to the car, Parker. Radio the men on the next block to open up. I want to draw his fire away from these windows."
"You're sending Hernandez up there?"
"Yes. Any complaints?"
"Damn right I've got a"
"Take it to the mayor!" Byrnes snapped, and he turned his back and walked toward the patrolman who was holding the megaphone. Parker stared after him, spat viciously into the gutter, and then walked around to the other side of the squad car.
A reporter behind the barricade caught at Hernandez's sleeve. "Hey, are you in charge here?" he asked.
"No."
"Well, who is? Can't we get some men in there for pictures?"
"The police department'll send out pictures," Hernandez said. He pushed past the reporter and walked to the luncheonette. "Look at these kids," he said to Luis. "Sucking violence from the same tits Miranda used." He shook his head. "He's waiting up there to die, Luis, you know that? He's waiting up there for us to kill him."
Luis nodded.
"And you know something? I think he wants to die. I think he wants to end it, once and for all."
The two girls who came around the avenue and stopped at the mouth of the street were apparently more interested in beginning something than in ending it. They were both tall brunettes. One was wearing a tight, bright-red silk dress. The other wore the identical dress in yellow. The dresses were designed to exhibit and reveal; they were i
ncapable of keeping a secret. Every nuance of flesh beneath the skintight silk, every subtle hint of muscle or bone, every flowing curve, every dimple, every pucker, insistently shrieked its existence to the most casual observer. The girls were not the bashful type. They moved with a fluidity of breast, hip, thigh and leg that aided the dresses in their task of nonconcealment. They were, in fact, so much the Hollywood concept of what a whore should look like that at first glance they seemed to be imitations. If there was one quality which every prostitute in the 87th Precinct shared, it was the ability to look like anything but a street walker. In most instances, the precinct whore was the best-dressed girl on the streets. Her careful grooming, more than any other attribute, was usually the one clue to her occupation.
These two were either new at the trade, or else they'd canceled their subscriptions to Vogue magazine. In any case, they walked directly to the barricade and stopped there. The girl in the red dress touched the arm of the nearest patrolman who turned, ready to start yelling, and then looked as if a movie queen had wandered into his bedroom by mistake.
"Excuse me, officer," she said in a tiny little voice, "but can't we get through here? We work right across the street."
"Where?" the patrolman asked.
"At La Gallina."
"What the hell do you do there?"
The girl in the red dress seemed at a loss for words. She turned to her companion. The other girl smiled at the patrolman sweetly and said, "We're in ... ah ... public relations."
"Well, I'm sorry, girls," the patrolman said. "My orders are to let nobody through this barricade unless he's a cop or a fireman. Now you two girls ain't cops or firemen, are you?" He grinned politely, thinking how clever he was being, and making a note to repeat his comment to the boys in the locker room when he checked in later.
"No, indeed," the one in the red dress said.
They moved away from the barricade.
"What now, Marge?" the one in the yellow dress asked.
Marge shrugged. "Let's hang around. It looks like a lively crowd. There may be something in it for us, Marie."
Marie looked skeptical. Together, walking with a hip-swiveling, crazy-socketing, ball-bearing, thigh-thrusting, leg-strutting motion that turned every head on the block, they began appraising the potential customers watching the siege. Marie raised an eyebrow at Marge, and Marge glanced in the direction she indicated.