"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.
15
In the hallway of the building in which Alfredo Gomez lived, Sixto suddenly knew what had to be done. Perhaps he had known it all along, perhaps he had known ever since he'd gone into the drugstore, known without admitting it to himself. But he knew now that one could not stand committed by refusing to commit oneself. And he knew now that more than the mere presence of police on the street was necessary to prevent the senseless murder of Alfredo Gomez. He recognized that he must choose a side and choose it now, and that once he had made his choice he would have to defend it. He was very young to be finding himself at such a crossroad. Too young, perhaps, to be making a choice which would influence another's life as well as his own. But the crossroad was there, and he faced it, and he made his choice unheroically. He made his choice the way most choices are made, made it through a combination of character and conviction. For Sixto, no other choice would have been possible. The choice was as much a part of him as his hands. "Papa," he whispered.
'Wha's dee matter?" Papa said.
"Sit down. I wann to talk to you."
The boys sat on the steps leading to the first floor. It was dark in the hallway, and quiet. Most of the building's tenants were out in the street watching the siege. But even though he knew he would not be overheard, Sixto whispered. And because whispering is contagious, Papa whispered, too. Side by side in the darkened hallway, the boys talked.
"Wha's dee matter?" Papa asked again.
"Papa ... this ... this is all wrong."
"Wha's all wronn?"
"What we going to do. To Alfie."
"Zeep say..."
"Papa, please. Listen to me. Please."
"I lis'nin', Sixto."
"Iss wrong to kill Alfie, Papa."
"Wronn? But Zeep say..."
"Iss wrong! Papa, look ... look, you like it here? You like this city?"
"Si."
"We come here ... is nice here ... is better. We don' want to be like that Pepe Miranda up there!"
Papa hesitated for a moment, confused. Then he said, "Pepe Miranda's the grays thin' ever happen this neighborhood."
"No, Papa. No. He brings shame to us."
Papa shook his head. Gently, like a father about to explain something to a favored child, he covered Sixto's hand with his own. Then, with little patting motions characteristic of the slow movement which had earned him his nickname, he said, "No, no you wronn, Sixto. He the grays thin' ever happen aroun' here."
"Papa, he kills people!" Sixto said, pulling back his hand.