See Them Die полностью

A woman came out of the tenement doorway to the left of La Gallina. She was carrying a baby in one arm and a bird cage in the other. A blue parakeet fluttered wildly about the cage. The woman came off the stoop, glancing over her shoulder to the windows above La Gallina. She seemed to sense that she was a star performer stepping into the spotlight and that an impatient audience was waiting for the one line she had to deliver, a line which would suddenly solve and resolve doubts and uncertainties which would have been mounting ever since the curtain rose. She stopped in the middle of the street, faced the crowd that milled restlessly beyond the squad cars and, in her loudest voice, shouted, "Ees Pepe! Ees Pepe Miranda up there!" and then she extended the bird cage, pointing with it to the first-floor windows while the bird fluttered and screamed against the brass bars.

"Come on, lady," a patrolman said, "before you stop a bullet."

The woman rushed into the crowd where the whisper had already gone up, a confirming whisper passed from mouth to mouth, accompanied by a knowledgeable shaking and nodding of heads, "Pepe Miranda, Pepe Miranda, Pepe Miranda."

"Is that what this is?" Hernandez asked Byrnes.

"It looks that way, Frankie," Byrnes said.

"Who called in the tip?"

"Don't know," Carella said. "He gave the info and then hung up."

"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."