emb.seethemdie-第18部分

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their　minds；　there　was　a　very　thin　line　between　fame　and　infamy。　Miranda；　whatever　he　had　done；　was　a　celebrity。　And　he　was　a　celebrity　whom　most　of　his　audience　knew　on　a　first…name　basis。
　For　the　others　who　watched；　there　was　only　curiosity。　A　man　was　trapped　in　an　apartment。　The　other　men　wanted　to　get　him　out　of　that　apartment。　This　was　a　baseball　game。　There　were　no　good　guys　or　bad　guys；　only　two　teams　which　were　trying　to　win。
　At　the　moment；　Miranda's　team　seemed　to　have　scored　the　first　run。　The　cry　of　〃Lieutenant！　Lieutenant！〃　which　had　e　from　the　hallway　of　the　tenement　was　followed　almost　immediately　by　the　sight　of　the　man　who'd　shouted　the　words。　He　was　a　police　sergeant；　and　he　had　a　patrolman's　arm　draped　over　his　shoulder　as　he　dragged　him　into　the　street。　The　patrolman　had　been　shot。　The　blood　on　his　blue　shirt　was　plainly　visible　even　to　the　people　who　crowded　the　edges　of　the　rooftops。　The　sergeant　carried　the　man　out　and　put　him　on　the　ground　beside　the　radio　motor　patrol　car。　The　cop　inside　the　car　immediately　picked　up　the　hand　microphone　and　requested　an　ambulance。　The　crowd　watched　all　this　with　the　eyes　of　prophets　who　are　noting　an　interesting　development；　but　who　are　aware　that　the　final　oute　will　have　little　or　nothing　to　do　with　this　minor　incident。　Miranda　had　shot　one　of　the　cops。　That　was　interesting。　But　the　fireworks　were　yet　to　e。　Patiently；　they　awaited　the　fireworks。　It　is　a　rare　year　that　has　two　Independence　Day　celebrations。
　Standing　alongside　the　wounded　patrolman；　sweating　profusely；　Lieutenant　Byrnes　asked；　〃How　bad　is　it；　Sergeant？〃
　〃His　shoulder；　sir；〃　the　sergeant　said。　He　paused；　catching　his　breath。　He　was　a　big　beefy　man　with　graying　hair。　His　uniform　was　a　little　too　tight　for　him；　but　he　didn't　want　to　buy　a　new　one　because　he　expected　to　retire　next　year。　When　a　man　pays　for　his　own　working　clothes；　he's　apt　to　consider　replacements　carefully。　〃Sir；　you　shoulda　heard　Miranda；〃　he　said；　wedging　the　words　in　between　his　gasps　for　breath。　〃We　was　just　making　sure　all　the　tenants　was　out　of　the　building；　sir。　He　began　cursing　in　Spanish　and　shooting　through　his　door。　He　must　have　fired　about　six　shots。　Two　of　them　clipped　Cassidy。〃
　Byrnes　stared　at　the　man　lying　in　the　street。　〃Well；　we're　getting　an　ambulance；　Sergeant。　Stay　with　him；　will　you？　Do　whatever　you　can　to　make　him　fortable。〃
　〃Excuse　me；〃　a　man　on　the　other　side　of　the　barricade　said。　He　was　a　tall；　thin　man　with　penetrating　blue　eyes。　He　wore　a　tan　tropical　suit　and　a　blue　straw　Panama。　〃Did　I　understand　the　sergeant　to　say。。。？〃
　〃Who　the　hell　are　you？〃　Byrnes　asked。
　〃I'm　a　reporter。　I　work　for　the　city's　largest　afternoon　tabloid。　I　couldn't　help　overhearing。。。〃
　〃I　know　your　paper；〃　Byrnes　said　flatly。
　〃Did　I　understand　the　sergeant　to　say。。。〃
　〃I'm　busy；　mister；〃　Byrnes　replied；　and　he　went　around　to　the　other　side　of　the　squad　car　and　picked　up　the　hand　mike。
　〃Nice　guy；　your　landsman〃　Parker　said　to　Hernandez。　〃Couple　of　inches　lower；　and　Cassidy'd　be　dead。〃
　〃I　didn't　do　the　shooting；〃　Hernandez　said。　〃Miranda　did。〃
　〃So　who's　blaming　you？　Listen；　every　race　has　its　crumbs；　ain't　that　so？〃
　〃Knock　it　off；　Parker。〃
　〃Ain't　nobody　blaming　all　the　Puerto　Ricans　for　a　foul　ball　like　Miranda。　Look　at　yourself；　for　God's　sake。　Didn't　you　e　from　this　neighborhood？　So　look　at　you　now。　A　detective　third　grade。　It　took　guts　to　do　what　you　did。　Hell；　think　of　all　your　own　people　you　had　to　arrest。〃
　〃I　do　my　job；　Parker。〃
　〃No　question　about　it。　You're　a　good　cop；　Hernandez。　And　it　sure　don't　hurt　to　talk　Spanish　in　a　precinct　like　this　one；　does　it？〃　He　began　chuckling。　〃Listen；　who　cares　if　you're　taking　unfair　advantage　of　the　rest　of　us　poor　slobs？　You　keep　on　the　way　you're　going；　and　some　day　you'll　be　missioner。　Then　your　father　can　hang　another　picture　in　his　candy　store。〃
　〃Why　do　you　needle　me；　Parker？〃
　〃Who？　Me？　I　needle　you？〃
　〃Why？〃
　〃I　don't　needle　nobody；〃　Parker　said　innocently。　〃I'm　just　like　you；　pal。　I　do　my　job。〃
　〃And　what's　your　job？〃
　〃My　job　is　keeping　the　streets　clean。　I'm　a　street　cleaner　with　a　gun。　That's　a　cop's　job；　ain't　it？〃
　〃That's　not　all　of　a　cop's　job。〃
　〃No？　Maybe　you　think　I　should　go　around　holding　junkies'　hands；　huh？　I　used　to　be　that　way；　Hernandez。　I　used　to　be　the　kind　of　cop　who　felt　sorry　for　people。　Used　to　break　my　heart　to　tag　a　car　even。〃
　〃I'll　bet　it　did。〃
　〃You　don't　have　to　believe　me。　Ask　any　of　the　old…timers　at　the　station。　But　I　learned　my　lesson；　all　right。　I　learned　my　lesson。〃
　〃How？〃　Hernandez　asked。
　〃Never　mind；〃　Parker　answered；　and　he　turned　away。
　He　had　been　turning　away　for　a　long　time　now；　for　fourteen　years；　to　be　exact。　He　had　been　turning　away　from　his　duty　as　a　cop；　and　from　his　duty　as　a　man；　but　he　excused　his　negligence　by　telling　himself　that　he　had　once　been　the　kind　of　cop　who'd　felt　sorry　for　people；　and　that　he'd　learned　his　lesson　since。　There　was　a　slight　inaccuracy　to　his　rationale。　Andy　Parker　was　not　the　kind　of　man　who　had　ever　felt　sorry　for　anybody　in　his　life。　It　was　simply　not　in　his　make…up　to　exude　sympathy　for　his　fellow　humans。　What　he　probably　meant　was　that　one　time　he　felt　a　closer　identification　with　the　people　of　the　precinct　than　he　did　now。
　And；　to　give　the　devil　his　due；　Parker　had　once　approached　this　somewhat　elusive　task　of　law　and　order　with　a　distinctly　different　viewpoint。　When　he　was　a　patrolman　…　though　it　never　broke　his　heart　to　tag　a　car　…　he　was　inclined　to　be　lenient　with　petty　offenders；　letting　them　off　with　a　whack　of　his　billet　and　a　warning。　There　was；　he　had　concluded；　enough　real　crime　going　on　in　this　precinct　without　persecuting　decent　people　for　minor　infractions。　He　learned　in　those　days　that　the　law　was　open　to　interpretation　long　before　it　reached　the　law　courts。　He　learned　that　the　lowest　arbitrator　in　the　city's　judicial　system　was　a　man　who　wore　no　legal　robes　at　all；　he　was　the　patrolman　on　the　beat。　And　so　he　handed　down　a　dozen　decisions　each　day；　and　his　decisions　definitely　leaned　toward　giving　the　petty　offender　a　break。　At　the　same　time；　he　felt　he　was　tough　and　unpromising　with　the　out…and…out　thief。　He　considered　himself　a　good　cop。
　One　day；　the　good　cop　who　was　Andy　Parker　was　walking　his　beat　when　the　proprietor　of　a　dry　goods　store　called　him　over。　The　man　was　holding　the　wrist　of　a　young　kid　who　had　allegedly　stolen　a　bolt　of　silk　from　the　sidewalk　stand。　Parker　questioned　the　owner；　and　Parker　questioned　the　kid；　and　then　he　donned　his　judicial　robes　and　said；　〃Well；　we　don't　want　to　cause　this　kid　any　trouble；　do　we？　Now；　can't　we　just　forget　about　all　this？〃　The　proprietor　of　the　store　was　loath　to　forget　about　all　this　because　the　kid　had　allegedly　passed　the　bolt　of　silk　to　an　acplice　who　had　made　his　escape　with　the　merchandise。　But　Parker　kept　administering　his　sidewalk　practice；　and　finally　everyone　seemed　satisfied　to　let　the　entire　matter　drop。
　That　evening；　after　he　had　changed　to　his　street　clothes；　Parker　went　for　a　beer　in　a　neighborhood　bar。　He　had　the　beer；　and　he　had　a　shot；　and　then　he　had　another　beer　and　another　shot；　and　he　was　feeling　like　a　pretty　nice　guy　by　the　time　he　left　the　bar；　and　that　was　the　last　time　in　his　life　he　ever　felt　like　a　pretty　nice　guy。
　He　was　ambushed　on　his　way　to　the　subway　by　three　men　who　didn't　allow　him　the　opportunity　to　draw　his　revolver。　He　was　ambushed　and　beaten　within　an　inch　of　his　life。　He　lay　on　the　sidewalk　in　a　pool　of　his　own　blood；　and　when　he　regained　consciousness　he　wondered　why　he'd　been　beaten　or　who　had　done　the　beating；　and　he　drew　what　seemed　to　be　the　only　logical　conclusion。　He　figured　that　he　had　been　beaten　by　friends　of　the　shopowner　because　he'd　let　the　kid　get　away　with　the　theft　of　the　silk。
　He　never　did　find　out　who　had　administered　the　beating　on　that　lonely　autumn　night。
　Perhaps　it　had　been　friends　of　the　shopowner。　Actually；　it　could　have　been　any　one　of　a　hundred　people　who　disliked　Parker　even　in　those　days　of　amiability。　Actually；　it　didn't　matter　who'd　beat　him　up。
　He　learned　several　things。
　The　first　thing　he　learned　was　that　it　wasn't　nice　to　receive　a　beating。　In　the　movies；　a　beating　is　usually　a　ba