See Them Die

14

Well, you can't blame people for accidents. People have accidents all the time, and cops are only people, and if a gun misfires, it misfires, and that's that. And if a tear-gas pellet which is supposed to go zooming up through the air suddenly plops onto the asphalt and explodes there, those are just the breaks. Maybe Parker shouldn't have been standing so close to the patrolman firing the pellet. But accidents will happen, and Parker was standing close to the gun when it misfired, and close to the pellet when it exploded, so that he got the first mushrooming whiff of tear gas before the pellet went dizzily skipping into the crowd. Tear gas ain't Chanel Number 5. Especially when it goes off practically in your face. His eyes began to burn instantly. Blindly, he reached for his handkerchief, cursing the patrolman, and compounding the felony by rubbing the chemical deeper into his smarting eyes.

Bawling like a baby, he staggered toward the luncheonette, the handkerchief to his face. Behind him he could hear the shrieking of the crowd as the pellet traced a crazy path among them. People began coughing and shouting. Byrnes was yelling orders at patrolmen. All Parker knew was that his face and his eyes were burning.

"Luis!" he shouted. "Luis!"

He groped his way to the counter, the handkerchief to his face.

"Luis, where are you?"

There was no answer. Parker took the handkerchief away from his face. He tried to see past the tears in his eyes, but he saw only blurred shapes, dazzling, shimmering tears of streaked light.

"Luis!" he shouted. "Get me some water! I can't see." He was beginning to panic. Why didn't Luis answer him? Why wouldn't Luis help him? "Luis! Where are you? Help me! Get me some water! Luis! Luis!"

Luis came running from the back of the shop, his eyes wide with concern. "Que pasa?" he said. "Que pasa?"

And Parker shouted. "Where are you, you stupid spic!"

The words stopped Luis as effectively as bullets. They slammed into his ears and ricocheted in his mind and then paralyzed him. He stood with his arms at his sides, staring at Parker.

"Luis?"

"Si."

"For Christ's sake, get me some water. Please get me some water."

"Si," Luis said. "Si." Dazed, he moved away from the counter.

"Hurry!"

In the street outside, the firing had stopped. Great billows of gas poured from the shattered windows of the apartment, hovered on the windless air. People were covering their faces with handkerchiefs and cursing at the police for unleashing this blight. Luis brought a bowl of water to the counter. Parker groped for it blindly, touched the rim with his hand, and then dipped into it. Luis watched him silently. Parker washed his eyes and his skin, sighing, repeating the motion over and over again. And finally he dried himself with the handkerchief and lifted his face. Luis was still staring at him.

"Que pasa, maricon?" Parker asked, grinning, using a Spanish obscenity.

"Nothing," Luis said. He shook his head wearily. "Nothing."

"What's the matter, huh?" Parker asked, still grinning. "What's the matter, eh, cabron?" Another obscenity, but there was no answering smile from Luis.

"De nada," Luis said. "Nothing."

"You sore at me? 'Cause I was yelling at you? Is that it? Man, I felt like my eyes were on fire. You sure were a lifesaver."

"St, I was a lifesaver," Luis said blankly.

Parker felt suddenly uneasy. "Hey, come on," he said. "You going to let a little yelling come between friends?"

After a long while, Luis said, "No, Andy, I would not let a little yelling come between friends."

Outside, Lieutenant Byrnes lifted the megaphone to his lips. "Miranda? Can you hear me?"

"What do you want, you son of a bitch?" Miranda shouted, coughing.

"This is it, Miranda. Are you ready to come out? Or do we shoot our way in?"

There was a long silence. Parker moved quickly out of the luncheonette. Luis was still staring at him as he left.

"What the hell is he doing?" Parker asked Carella. "Why don't we move in right now? I'll bet he can hardly see in there."

"Pete doesn't want any more shooting unless it's absolutely necessary," Carella answered.

"Why give that punk a break? We can go in there and mop him up in two seconds."

"Suppose he starts shooting into the street again?"

"So what?"

"You want these people to get hurt?"

"All I want is Miranda."

"And after Miranda, then what?" Carella asked.

"What do you mean?"

"When does your private crusade stop?"

"What the hell are you…?"

"When are you going to forget that beating you took, Parker?"

"What beating? What…?"

"You know what I'm talking about!"

"All right. I'm never going to forget it," Parker shouted. "Okay? Never. It taught me a lesson, buddy, and only a sap would…"

"What lesson, Parker?"

"It taught me you can't trust anybody in this lousy precinct, that's what it…"

"And it also taught you to be afraid," Carella said.

"What?"

"You heard me. Afraid."

"Look, mister, you'd just better stop right now, while you're winning. I still ain't forgotten the time you…"

"When are you going to make a real arrest, Parker? When are you going to stop pulling in junkies and drunks? When are you going to tackle the real troublemakers?"

"I do my job!" Parker shouted. "I keep the streets clean!"

"By picking up the wrong garbage!"

"It's all garbage here!"

"And you're afraid of it! You're afraid to take another beating!"

"You son of a bitch, I warned you to…"

"I'm waiting, Miranda!" Byrnes shouted, and both men turned their attention to the lieutenant. Carella's fists were bunched. Parker glowered at him, and then walked to where Byrnes was standing.

"How about it, Miranda? Give it up! You haven't got a chance."

"What chance do I have if I come out? That old lady died, didn't she?"

"What old lady?"

"The one I mugged," Miranda said. He went into a fit of coughing which lasted for several moments. Then his voice came from the apartment again. "Tell the truth, cop."

"That woman's still alive, Miranda."

"I shouldn't have hit her," Miranda said. His voice faded. "I needed money. I had to…" He paused for a long time. "She's dead, ain't she?"

"She's alive, I told you."

"You're lying to me. You'll never get me out of here, cop. You think I'm coming out to face a murder rap?"

"The woman's alive. If you force us to come in after you, you haven't got a chance."

"I got news for you, cop. I never did have one."

"Okay, so make it easy on yourself now."

"For what? In payment for all the crap I've taken from cops since I was old enough to walk?"

"You dished out a bit yourself, Miranda. Let's cut the talking. Yes or no? Do you come out with your hands up, or do we blast you out?"

"You want me, come and earn your salary."

"Okay, you're calling it. There's just no talking to you, is there? Okay, we're coming in."

"Hey… hey, cop!"

"What is it?"

"Listen, I… I want a priest."

"A what?"

"A priest. I… I wanna talk to a priest."

"Will you come out if we get you one?"

"Send him up here. I gotta talk to him."

"Why? Are you hit?"

"No, I ain't hit. Goddamnit, do I need a federal warrant to get a priest? Can't I get anything in this friggin' city without having to beg for it?"

"Just a minute, Miranda." Byrnes put down the megaphone. "What do you think, Steve?"

"It's a trick," Carella said.

"Sure," Parker said. "He don't want no priest. All he wants is a shield."

"I know," Byrnes said.

Carella stared at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Pete?"

"Yes," Byrnes said. He put the speaker to his mouth. "Miranda?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm getting a priest for you."

There was something in Zip's eyes which had not been there before. Sixto studied his face and tried to figure out what it was. Zip looked as if he might begin crying at any moment. His. face was red, and his lips were tight, and his eyes seemed to blink too often, as if he were struggling to hold back tears. But at the same time, there was a strength to the rigid thrust of his back, an impatience to the way he clenched and unclenched his fists.

The boys were standing on the avenue opposite Alfredo's building. None of them wore the purple jackets now. Without the jackets, they seemed like four high-school kids discussing girls or baseball or swimming. But, of course, they were discussing murder.

"What do you think, Cooch? Is he up there or not?"

"I don't know," Cooch said, looking across at the building. "One thing for sure, he didn't go to church."

"Why we deetch dee jackets, hey?" Papa asked. "I lak dee purple jacket."

"The jackets are hot," Zip said impatiently. "Can't you keep your mind on what we're doing here?"

"But I lak dee jacket. I don't see why…"

"You think this is the right time, Zip?" Cooch interrupted. "The streets are crawling with bulls."

"It's exactly the right time. Every cop m the city's got his hands full with Pepe. We can move in on Alfie and get him before they even know what happened."

"What's dee sense havin' a jacket if you cann wear it, huh?" Papa persisted.

Zip whirled on him angrily. For a moment, it seemed as if he would strike him. "You want to end up on Bailey's Island?" he shouted.

"Where's dat?"

"In the middle of the River Dix! It's a prison. You wear the jacket, and that's where you'll wind up."

"Wha' did I do, huh?" Papa asked. "Why I cann wear dee jacket? Why they put me in jail if I wear dee jacket?"

"Oh, man, try to explain anything to this moron! Why the hell don't you go back where you came from?" Zip said angrily. "Go to Puerto Rico, will ya? Do me a favor."

"If I b'long dee Latin Purples," Papa said logically, unfazed, "I shoul' wear dee jacket. Den ever'body knows who I am. Thass what you say, Zeep. So now I cann wear dee jacket. Why not?"

"Don't try to figure it out, Papa," Zip said. "Just take my word for it. Right now, we got Alfie to worry about."

"Cann we let it wait, Zip?" Sixto said. "Wha's the hurry? Maybe tomorrow…"

Zip's eyes flashed, and again he looked as if he were about to cry, and yet he seemed strong and determined at the same time. "Now!" he said. "Today! I'm sick of waiting for tomorrow! I'm gonna be somebody today!"

"You don' have to kill Alfie to be somebody," Sixto said.

"What's the sense talking to a tiger? You're like a goddamn foreigner. Look we ain't debating this no more. It's decided already."

"But who decided?" Sixto asked.

"I decided."

"Then why don' you go shoot him?"

The words came out of his mouth before he realized he was going to say them. They produced an instant silence. Zip clenched his fists and then unclenched them.

"What's your story, Sixto?" he said softly.

Sixto took a deep breath. "I don' think we should shoot him."

"You don't, huh?"

"No."

"Well, I think we should. And that's that."

"That's what…"

"That's what?" Zip said, his fists working. "Go ahead, finish it"

"Tha's what Pepe Miranda would do," Sixto blurted. "Tha's not what my fodder would do. My fodder woul'n shoot nobody."

"So what the hell is your father? A big shot? He works in a factory, for Pete's sake!"

"What's wrong wi' workin' in a factory?"

"You want to be a factory worker, go ahead. I don't wanna work in no damn factory!"

"What you wanna do?" Sixto asked, and again there was a silence. He was certain that Zip would begin crying this time. This time the tears seemed on the verge of eruption. "You wanna go aroun' killing people all the time? Is that what you wanna do?" Sixto persisted.

"Look…"

"You tink it's so smart to kill somebody? My people never kill nobody, not here, not on the islan'. So what's so special abou'…"

"You're looking for trouble," Zip said quietly.

"We kill Alfie… wha's the sense? What does that make us?"

"You're looking for trouble," Zip repeated.

"You tink 'cause we beat up somebody, 'cause we…"

"Shut up!"

"… act like tough guys…"

Zip slapped him suddenly and viciously. Sixto's head snapped back. He was shocked for a moment, and the blow had hurt him. But he stared at Zip coldly, and then wiped his hand across his mouth.

"All right?" Zip asked.

Sixto did not answer. Cooch watched his face, a slight smirk beginning on his mouth. Papa seemed confused, as if he did not know whether to smile or frown.

"All right?" Zip asked again. Again, there was no answer. "All right," he said nodding. "Let's map this out."

Cooch grinned. He was glad this nasty disciplinary business was out of the way. He was glad they were moving into action again. "What's the first step, Zip?"

"First, we gotta find out if Alfie's still in the apartment. Papa, you and Sixto'll take care of that. Go up in the hallway and listen outside the door. If he's in there, you'll hear him. Then you come back and report to me."

"How do we get him out, Zip?" Cooch asked.

"All we got to do is get him in the hallway."

"But how?"

"I don't know." He paused, thinking. "Ain't he got no buddies? Like Papa could call him out, makin' believe he was a buddy."

Cooch shook his head. "Alfie's a lone wolf."

"There must be somebody he trusts, somebody he'd come out in the hallway to talk… hey!" He snapped his fingers. His face was suddenly alive. If ever he'd looked about to cry, he did not look that way now. "Sure," he said. "We say we want to be friends, see? That's the story we give. And the go-between believes it, and tells that to Alfie. When Alfie comes out in the hallway, bam!"

"Yeah, but who, Zip? Who's gonna be the go-between? Who we gonna get that Alfie would trust?" Zip grinned from ear to ear. "China," he said.