passed my examinations and been appointed
to the New York City Police Force as a rookie patrolman, Shield 8805.

Trying to work with these kids is hard enough at best. They don't like
outsiders. But they particularly hate cops, and I had been trying for
some weeks to decide how I could break the news to them.

The door opened. Hawk stood there. He didn't look at me, which was a bad
sign. Hawk was one of the youngest in the Leopards, a skinny, very dark
kid who had been reasonably friendly to me. He stood in the open door,
with snow blowing in past him. "Walt. Out here, man."

It wasn't me he meant--they call me "Champ," I suppose because I beat
them all shooting eight-ball pool. Walt put down the comic he had been
reading and walked out, also without looking at me. They closed the
door.

* * * * *

Time passed. I saw them through the window, talking to each other,
looking at me. It was something, all right. They were scared. That's
bad, because these kids are like wild animals; if you scare them, they
hit first--it's the only way they know to defend themselves. But on the
other hand, a rumble wouldn't scare them--not where they would show it;
and finding out about the shield in my pocket wouldn't scare them,
either. They hated cops, as I say; but cops were a part of their
environment. It was strange, and baffling.

Walt came back in, and Hawk walked rapidly away. Walt went behind the
counter, lit a cigaret, wiped at the marble top, picked up his comic,
put it down again and finally looked at me. He said: "Some punk busted
Fayo and a couple of the boys. It's real trouble."

I didn't say anything.

He took a puff on his cigaret. "They're chilled, Champ. Five of them."

"Chilled? Dead?" It sounded bad; there hadn't been a real rumble in
months, not with a killing.

He shook his head. "Not dead. You're wanting to see, you go down Gomez's
cellar. Yeah, they're all stiff but they're breathing. I be along soon
as the old man comes back in the store."

He looked pretty sick. I left it at that and hurried down the block to
the tenement where the Gomez family lived, and then I found out why.

* * * * *

They were sprawled on the filthy floor of the cellar like winoes in an
alley. Fayo, who ran the gang; Jap; Baker; two others I didn't know as
well. They were breathing, as Walt had said, but you just couldn't wake
them up.

Hawk and his twin brother, Yo