A Matter of Conviction

“That’s a reasonable hope,” Hank answered, sipping at the Martini. He felt rather good. He’d felt this way ever since his talk with Mary. He was hoping these two rather forlorn-looking neighbors of his would go home for dinner so that he could go kiss his wife.

Out of a clear blue sky, Pierce said, “How would you like your daughter marrying one of those Puerto Ricans?”

Hank blinked. “What? What did you say?”

“Now, just a minute, Fred,” McNalley said. “I thought we agreed that I would do the—”

“I’m sorry, John. Only, we were talking about the neighbor—”

“I know what we were talking about. Boy, you’re about as subtle as a locomotive!”

“Well, I’m sorry if I—”

“Oh, just keep quiet and let me explain this to Hank. You’re going to give him the wrong idea, for God’s sake.”

“The wrong idea about what, John?” Hank asked.

“About the neighborhood. And the city.”

“Why, I think this is a nice neighborhood,” Hank said. “And a nice city.”

“Sure you do,” McNalley said.

“See, I told you he’d agree with us,” Pierce said.

“About what?” Hank asked.

“About keeping the neighborhood good. And the city.”

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” Hank said.

“Well, then let’s discuss it a little, Hank,” McNalley said. “Now you know that Fred and I and all the rest of our neighbors are not prejudiced people. We’re—”

“Of course not,” Hank said.

“Of course not. We’re normal American citizens who happen to believe that all men are created equal and that everyone’s entitled to his place in the sun. Am I right, Fred?”

“Absolutely,” Pierce said.

“Sure,” McNalley agreed. “And we don’t happen to believe there’s any such thing as a second-class citizen. But we do feel that certain elements in this city would be better suited to a rural rather than an urban culture. You can’t expect to take people who are used to cutting sugar cane and fishing, you can’t just take these people and throw them into the middle of the biggest city in the world and hope they’ll make an amicable adjustment to civilization. These elements—”

“Which elements?” Hank said.

“Well, Hank, I don’t have to bandy words with you, because I’m sure we see eye to eye and I know you won’t mistake me for a man with prejudices. I’m talking about the Puerto Ricans.”

“I see,” Hank said.

“Who are a fine people, that’s for sure. I understand there’s a very low crime rate on the island of Puerto Rico itself, and that it’s as safe to walk around down there as it would be in a hospital nursery. But down there isn’t up here. And it isn’t safe to walk around in Spanish Harlem, and there is a very high crime rate in Spanish sections, and those sections are spreading all over the city. And pretty soon it won’t be safe to walk anywhere without being afraid of getting knifed. And that goes for Inwood, too.”

“I see,” Hank said.

“Now obviously, we can’t tell these damn people where they should live. They’re American citizens — just like you and me, Hank, just like you and me — and they’re free men who are entitled to their place in the sun, and I wouldn’t deny it to them. But it seems, to me they should be taught that they can’t simply come into a civilized city and turn it into a jungle suitable only for jungle animals. I’m thinking of my wife and kids, Hank, and I guess you ought to be thinking of that lovely little daughter of yours because I sure as hell wouldn’t want her getting raped by some farmer from Puerto Rico some night.”

“I see,” Hank said.

“Which brings us to why we’re here. Now, none of us on this street condones murder, that’s for damn sure, and I hope you realize we’re all law-abiding citizens who are anxious to see justice done. But nobody goes into the jungle — and I know that particular word is overused these days — but nonetheless nobody goes into the jungle and hangs a hunter for having killed a dangerous tiger. Nobody would ever think of doing a thing like that, Hank.”

“I see,” Hank said.

“Okay, so we have these three young white boys who happen to be strolling in Spanish Harlem — which you’ll agree is a part of the jungle — and this jungle animal comes at them with a knife and...”

“Just hold it a minute, John,” Hank said.

“...it only seems reasonable to— Huh?”

“I hope I’m misunderstanding you so far. I hope I’m not getting the impression that you came in here in an attempt to tell me how to try the Rafael Morrez case.”

“We wouldn’t do a thing like that, Hank, and you know it.”

“Then why did you come in here?”

“To ask you whether you’re seriously going to try to inflict the death penalty on these three white boys who — in self-defense — would not allow this Puerto Rican—”

“This Puerto Rican was as white as you are, John.”

“All right, have your little joke,” McNalley said, “but we happen to think this is serious. And we’re your neighbors.”

“Admittedly. So?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to prosecute for first-degree murder as charged in the indictment handed down by the grand jury.”

“You’re going to try to hang these boys?”

“I’m going to try to convict them.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe they’re guilty.”