PART 35 by John Nicholas Iannuzzi Read Free Book Online

Mike, you’ve got to talk to these people in Spanish. When you talk to this fellow Soto, make sure you tell him about Alvarado being Puerto Rican, and that if he doesn’t help his own people, the cops and the district attorney sure aren’t going to give Alvarado a break. Not when a cop’s been killed. They’ll throw Alvarado in the chair like so much dirt. That’s probably what they think of him anyway. Understand? Tell him in Spanish as if I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
    â€œOkay, Sandro. I’ll tell him.”
    As they climbed, they saw that there were two apartments on each floor. The front apartments were marked by the floor number and the letter A; the rear apartments had the letter B. They reached the top floor and walked to apartment 5B. Mike knocked on the frosted glass panel that was the top half of the door.
    â€œWho?” The sound came muffled through the door.
    â€œTony!” Mike replied. Everyone knew someone called Tony.
    The door opened. A naked fat-bellied child burst through the doorway, scampering quickly. A tall, thin young Puerto Rican man with a moustache snared and restrained the little boy. He eased the door shut to a small opening; only his eye appeared to search the callers. Within, Sandro could see two other naked children climbing over a soiled couch. A television set was playing loudly.
    â€œSeñor Soto,” Mike inquired.
    â€œMr. Soto,” the man corrected.
    â€œYou speak English, Mr. Soto?” Sandro asked, stepping forward.
    â€œSure. Of course.”
    â€œMy name is Luca. I’m an attorney. I represent Luis Alvarado, the man who is accused of killing a policeman on the roof several weeks ago. I believe he was supposed to have burglarized your apartment too.”
    â€œYes, that’s right.”
    â€œI’d like to talk to you,” said Sandro.
    â€œCan I put some clothes on first?” Soto asked.
    â€œSure. Go ahead. Why don’t you meet us on the roof?” Sandro suggested.
    â€œAll right. I’ll come right up.”
    â€œWe might as well get a look at it, Mike,” Sandro said as he led the way up. At the top of the steps was a door. They stepped out and found themselves at about the middle of the roof, halfway between the street side and the rear-yard side. The roof, with its tarred surface, was long and narrow, drab and unimportant, like thousands of other roofs in New York, except that here a man had been shot to death, protecting the pitiful possessions of people he never even knew. This was no place to make the leap to Eternity, Sandro thought. Nobody would ever pick it for a movie set.
    Sandro and Mike stood looking toward the street side, almost unaware of being drawn to the noises and glow of light coming from there. On their right was the tenement of the same height. The two buildings were separated at the front by a brick wall taller than a man, at the center by a huge airshaft, and at the rear by a smaller wall, perhaps four feet high. On their left was the taller building, rising two stories of unbroken brick into the summer sky.
    Sandro and Mike walked toward the street side of the roof, but could not look over because of the coping, which rose away from them at a forty-five-degree angle to a height of about seven feet. They went back to the rear of the roof. There was a low wall, and they could look down into the rear yards. The fire escape came up to the roof level here.
    While waiting, Sandro drew a diagram for his records. Presently, Soto came up. He was smiling and friendly.
    â€œWhat I’m trying to do, Mr. Soto, is get the facts about this case. If Alvarado is guilty, I want to know about it myself. If he’s not, I don’t want to see an innocent man convicted just because he’s Puerto Rican.”
    â€œNo, that’s not right. Even if he’s not Puerto Rican,” Soto replied.
    â€œThat’s true,” agreed Sandro. “I