"Well, you don't die from being bored around here," Luis said, grinning.
"It's a hell of a lot different from the island, ain't it?"
"Oh, yes, yes."
"I was down there for a week once, had to bring back this punk who skipped the city after holding up a jewelry store on South Fourth. That's the life, all right. Lay in the sun all day long, suck sugar cane, go fishing. And at night…" He winked at Luis. "There's no holding down the Puerto Rican men at night, eh, Luis?"
"Andy, for a man who's a man… the nights are the same any place, no?"
"Oh, brother, watch out for this guy!" Parker said, laughing. "He's got three kids already, and I think he's gunning for number four."
"At my age?" Luis said, laughing with him. "No, no, it would take a miracle."
"Or a boarder," Parker said. "Keep your eye on the boarder, Luis." He put his hand on Jeffs shoulder. "There are more boarders in this neighborhood than you can shake a stick at. We got areas called 'hot bed' areas, where guys rent out apartments on an eight-hour basis, three sleeping shifts, would you believe it?"
"We don't have any boarders," Luis said, still laughing. "Teresa is safe."
Parker sighed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face with it and then said, "Well, back to crime prevention, huh? Sailor, I'd forget that sick grandmother if I was you. Get out of here. This neighborhood ain't for clean-cut kids."
"Who's clean-cut?"
"You're liable to be, if you don't take my advice. From ear to ear, you're liable to be."
"I'll chance it."
"Sure, chance it. Famous last words. I hope you're wearing your dog tags. We'll want to know where to send the body."
"Send it to his grandma," Zip said, grinning. "She's expecting him."
"Kid, you're lucky I'm in a good mood today," Parker said.
He turned back to Luis. "Hey,
"If you hear anything about Miranda, don't forget me, huh?"
"I won't," Luis answered.
"Good.
He walked away from the luncheonette, blinking his eyes against the sunshine. He wondered why it was that he could have such a good relationship with Luis Amandez and such a bad one with Frankie Hernandez. Weren't both men Puerto Ricans? Of course they were. But Luis was different. Luis was willing to accept certain things about his own people, whereas Frankie was a son of a bitch who was just deaf and dumb on the subject. How could you hope to discuss anything intelligently with a guy who had a chip on his shoulder? Where was the give and take in a relationship like that? There just wasn't any. Now with Luis, Parker enjoyed a give and take. That's why it was so good. Why couldn't Hernandez be that way, too?
Parker sighed heavily.
It takes all kinds, he told himself. It takes all kinds.
Zip continued grinning until Parker had turned the corner and walked off up the avenue. Then the grin dropped from his mouth.
"You'd stool on Pepe for that rotten cop?" he asked Luis.
"Pepe Miranda is no brother of mine," Luis answered.
"A stoolie is a stoolie," Zip said. He swung around and walked to the jukebox. He studied the selections for a moment, inserted his coin, chose one, and then stepped behind the box and turned up the volume so that a mambo fairly blasted into the luncheonette.
"Lower that, lower that," Luis said.
"Shhh, man," Zip said, grinning. "I can't hear the music."
"I said lower that," Luis shouted, and he came around the counter, walked to the juke, and was reaching around to the back when Zip stepped into his way, laughing. The music screeched into the shop, trumpets bellowing, bongo drums pounding their steady beat. At the counter, Jeffs headache responded to the assault wave of sound. He turned toward the juke. The old man was still trying to reach the volume control. Zip, laughing, danced before him, blocking his path, stepping out of it, teasing the old man closer, blocking him again. The grin did not leave his face, but there seemed to be no humor in his laughing defense of the volume control. The old man lunged, and Zip stepped aside finally and danced into the street like a boxer moving away from the ropes. Luis located the volume control and turned it all the way down.
From the street, Zip said, "Not too low, you old bastard. That's still my loot in there."
Luis stamped angrily to the cash register He rang up no sale, took a dime from the cash drawer and threw it on the counter. "Here!" he shouted. "Take your money and go!"
Zip threw back his head and laughed, a loud mocking laugh which - like his earlier smile - was totally devoid of humor. "Keep it, dad," he said. "It probably took you all week to make."
"Puncture my eardrums!" Luis muttered. "On a Sunday morning! No decency, no decency!"
