"Life is cheap, Lieutenant," the reporter said.
"Is it? Then peg your story on your asshole! And leave me alone!" Angrily, Byrnes strode off toward the squad car.
"Boy," the reporter said, raising his eyebrows. "He's sure got a low boiling point, hasn't he?"
"He's been working in this precinct for a long time now," Parker said. "This ain't exactly the garden spot of the universe."
"I'm only trying to get some ideas about Miranda, that's all," the reporter said. "What the hell, nobody's job is easy."
"You want some ideas on Miranda?" Parker asked. "Then look around you. Miranda's only the end product. You don't have to be in that apartment with him to know what he's like. Just look around you, pal. You'll see Miranda in every stage of his development." Parker nodded sagely. "Just take a look," and then he followed Byrnes to the patrol car.
Tommy and Li'1 Killer saw Cooch the moment he came around the corner.
"Hey, Tommy," Phil said. "There's one of them."
"One of who?"
"The Latin Purples. Man, if the cops spot that jacket…"
"Call him over," Tommy said.
"What for?"
"To tip him off. You want the cops to get him?"
"Who cares they get him or not? He's a jerk."
"Jerk or no, I don't like the cops to score. Call him over."
Phil shrugged. "Hey! Hey, kid! Hey, you!"
Cooch, who had been searching the crowd for Zip and the boys, stopped dead in his tracks, recognizing the gold jackets at once, hesitating.
"Come here," Phil said.
Cooch approached the crate warily. "You talking to me?"
"Yeah, Hey, what's your name again?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, who do you think? I forget your name. What is it again."
"Cooch."
"Sure. Cooch. That's right." Phil nodded. "Cooch, this is Tommy Ordiz, he's war counselor for the Royal Guardians. He's maybe got a tip for you."
"What kind of tip?" Cooch asked suspiciously.
"On the fourth at Hialeah," Phil said, and he burst out laughing.
"Don't clown around," Tommy warned. "You want this tip, Cooch?"
"Who's clowning?" Phil said. "Rrrrrrracing fans…"
"Knock it off!"
"I was just…"
Phil fell silent. He put his hands in his pockets and glowered at Tommy.
"You want the tip, Cooch?" Tommy asked again.
"Depends on what kind."
"A good tip. I'm being nice to you." He paused. "Get rid of that purple jacket."
Cooch was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Who says?"
"I'm giving you good advice. Ditch the jacket."
"Why?" Cooch said narrowly. "So you can say you busted a Latin Purple?"
"Huh?"
"You heard me."
"Oh, man, don't be a worse meatball than you are," Tommy said. "I got better things to do than…"
"Screw him," Phil said. "Let him find out for himself."
"You don't get no trophy from me, pal," Cooch said.
"Look," Tommy started, patiently trying to explain, "if you keep wearing that jacket…"
"The jacket stays on! No goddamn Royal Guardian tells me what to wear."
"See?" Phil said. "What'd I tell you? Let the creep find out for…"
"No, wait a minute, Phil," Tommy said.' Something hard and cold had crept into his voice and into his eyes. He studied Cooch minutely, and then said, "You ought to watch your mouth, boy, you know?"
"I don't have to watch nothing," Cooch said. He did not know whether or not he was afraid. Actually, he did not feel afraid. Not with four guns rucked into the waistband of his trousers. But at the same time, he knew that something was pushing him into sounding two members of the toughest gang in the neighborhood. He could only assume the force propelling him was fear. And yet, he did not feel afraid.
Tommy climbed down off the packing crate. "You got a
"You take care of your own mouth," Cooch said.
"You're really looking for it, ain't you, boy? Your day ain't gonna be complete until we break your arm, is it?"
"You finished making big noises?" Cooch asked. "I'm in a hurry."
Tommy stepped into his path. "Stay put, boy."
"Tommy," Phil warned, "there's a million bulls all over the…"
"Shut up!" Tommy said tightly, without turning his attention from Cooch. "I give you a chance to take off that jacket nice and polite, now didn't I, Cooch? For your own good, I asked you. Okay. Now you're gonna take it off because I'm
"How about it?" Cooch answered.
"You take it off, or I cut if off your back!"
"Sure. Try it."
"You're the kind I like," Tommy said, taking a step forward, his hand reaching into his pocket. "You're the kind of spunky little bastard I…"
"Hold it!" Cooch whispered. "Hold it right there, man! I got four pieces under this jacket, and I swear to God I'll use every friggin' one of them!"
Tommy stopped suddenly, eyeing Cooch, wondering if this were just a bluff. It did not seem to be. Cooch's eyes were steady, his mouth tight.
"So come on, hero," he said confidently.
"Let it go, Tommy," Phil said worriedly, his eyes flicking to the cops swarming over the street.
