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。〃 He shook his head。 〃I need more soup out here；〃 he said vaguely and went into the back of the shop。
〃I wouldn't have minded dumping her on her back； huh； sailor？〃 Zip said。
〃Well； she's not exactly my type；〃 Jeff said。 He turned back to the counter。 He did not like talking to this boy； and he did not wish to encourage a friendship which； now that he was sober and now that he had met China； seemed hardly necessary。
〃Not your type； huh？〃 Zip said。 〃What's the matter？ You don't like Spanish girls？〃
〃I didn't say that。〃
Zip lighted a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke。 He considered his next words carefully。 He did not know why； but the sailor was beginning to annoy him immensely。 At one and the same time； he wanted the sailor to desire a Spanish girl； and yet wanted him to have nothing to do with a Spanish girl。 The conflict disturbed him。 He frowned as he began speaking。
〃I've got a few minutes to kill。 You still interested in a girl； I can fix you up with something real nice。〃
〃I'm not interested；〃 Jeff said。
〃No？〃 The frown got deeper。 〃Why not？ You got something against Puerto Rican girls？〃
〃No。 I'm just not interested any more。〃
〃What'd you e up here for？ A girl； right？〃
〃That's right；〃 Jeff said。
His answer angered Zip。 〃So why won't you let me get you one？〃
〃I told you。 I'm not interested any more。〃
〃Then why are you hanging around here？〃
〃That's my business；〃 Jeff said curtly。
〃If you ain't interested any more； why don't you get out of the neighborhood？〃
〃You ask a lot of questions；〃 Jeff said。
〃Yeah； that's right。 What about it？〃
〃Suppose you answer one；〃 Jeff said。
〃I don't have to an…〃
〃Why'd you pass out those guns？〃
Zip's eyes opened wide。 〃What？〃
〃You handed an arsenal to those two kids。 Who do you plan on shooting？〃
They sat side by side on adjacents stools； Jeffs fists bunched on the counter； Zip's eyes narrowing as the sailor's words penetrated。 The other boys； with the exception of Sixto； had moved away from the jukebox； and advanced towards their leader。
〃You got big eyes； Grandma；〃 Zip said； as he suddenly struck Jeff full in the face with his closed fist。 Jeff； surprised by the blow； tried to maintain his balance on the stool； realized intuitively that it would be a mistake to fall； a mistake to be on the ground。 He clutched for the counter top； but the imbalance was plete and his hand slid over the Formica top as he went over and back； his foot hooked into the stool's rung； the asphalt tile floor ing up to meet his back。 He caught the force of the fall with his shoulder blades； snapping his head so that it wouldn't collide with the floor。 He was struggling to get his foot free of the rung when the first kick exploded against the side of his head。
He brought up his hands instinctively； trying to free his foot； squirming to get his foot loose from this ridiculously foolish position； and the second kick caught him in the rib cage； and he felt all the breath in his body escape from his mouth in a grunt； and then another kick caught the side of his neck； and now the kicks were ing with methodical precision and his foot was still hooked into that goddamn rung； a boot connected with his right eye and he felt shocking； stabbing pain and then the warmth of blood and he thought I'm going to be kicked to death on the floor of this goddamn luncheonette and then he heard Luis shouting； 〃What are you doing？ Bastards； what are you doing？〃 And above that； or beyond it； around it； circling it； filling the air； the high penetrating wail of a police siren。
8
Hernandez had seen this apartment before； had been inside it。 Not this one； exactly； but countless others like it in buildings of the precinct This could have been the very apartment he had lived in as a boy。
The front door opened into the kitchen。 There was the usual police lock； the first plate screwed to the door； the second plate embedded in the floor； and the unbending steel bar which； when wedged into its triangular place between the two； made forcible entry impossible。 A window was at the far end of the kitchen。 It opened on the interior shaftway of the tenement。 There was linoleum on the kitchen floor； a spatter pattern。 It had been scrubbed clean but left unwaxed。 It had worn through in patches near the door； the icebox； and the stove。 A white enamel…topped table was on the wall opposite the stove。 A picture of Jesus in supplication was above the table。 The walls were painted a pale green； but the grime of countless meals in preparation had worn itself into the walls so that the green seemed darker； bile…like。 The paint； too； was beginning to flake off in several places on the walls and on the ceiling。 A toaster was on the table。 A plastic shield covered it。 The room seemed shoddy but clean。 It was a room he remembered well。
On winter days； when he was a boy； he would sit on the floor by the stove； playing with his soldiers on the clean worn linoleum。 His mother had miraculously managed to cook her meals with him underfoot。 The smells of arroz con potto would fill the kitchen； and it was cozy by the stove where he endowed each of his metal men with a personality and an identity。 There was warmth in the kitchen of the Hernandez home； warmth from the stove and the smell of cooking food； warmth in the gentle voice of his mother as she went about her work； warmth in the monologues the boy Frankie addressed to the metal men surrounding him。
There was no warmth in the Gomez kitchen on that day in July； no warmth but the suffocating heat of summer。 Outside； they could hear the wail of the siren。 Mrs。 Gomez went to the window and closed it。 The sound withdrew。
〃Always fires；〃 she said。 〃Always the sirens。 Never a day without a fire。〃 She shook her head。 〃And it's worse in the winter。〃
〃Where's the boy？〃 Hernandez asked。
〃In the bedroom。 Frankie； please go easy with him。 This thing he is in； it is great trouble。 But。。。 he is hard to know。〃
〃I'll go easy；〃 Hernandez said。
She led him through the apartment； into the 〃parlor〃 furnished with a three…piece living…room suite； a television set； a floor lamp； the fixture in the ceiling boasting three light bulbs of different colors。 When he was a boy； he had done his homework in the parlor； stretched out on the floor。 There had been no television in those days。 In those days； the 〃William Tell Overture〃 had announced the arrival of the Lone Ranger。 In those days； there was Omar the Mystic； and The Witch's Tale； and Renfrew of the Mounted； and； of course； on Sundays … the Shadow。 He had grown up with the idea that Lament Cranston was the most glorious name in the entire world。 He now laughed whenever anyone mentioned it and yet； despite his sophisticated laughter； the name still touched a core of envy and awe somewhere deep within him。 Lamont Cranston … the Shadow。 Memories of a boy； the howl of a wolf and then the words； 〃Rennnnnnn…frew offfffff the Mounnnnnnn…ted；〃 Dick Tracy every afternoon at … five was it？ … five…fifteen？ … milk on the kitchen table and chocolate…covered graham crackers； the memories of a boy。 And now； the same living…room； called a 〃parlor〃 as it was in Puerto Rico； the same colored