A Matter of Conviction

“And well they might have.” He paused. “This Tower Reardon is shaping up as a real prize package, if I can believe his enemies.” He paused again. “Karin, I don’t think you’d believe the situation in Harlem unless you actually saw it. It’s almost too goddamn illogical. These kids are like armies massed to attack, with war counselors and armories — and the same blind enemy hatred. Their uniforms are their jackets and their cause is as meaningless as the causes that motivate most wars. They don’t even have an over-all theme to hold over their heads as a banner, no ‘Make the world safe for democracy,’ or ‘Asia for the Asiatics’ or any of the tried-and-true slogans used to inflame good patriots into anger. Their wars are just a way of life. It’s the only way they know. I mean, Harlem was a rotten place when I was a kid, but it’s more rotten now because something’s been added to the rottenness that comes with slums and poverty. It’s as if these kids, forced to live in a prison, have further subdivided their big prison into a lot of little prisons, creating arbitrary boundary lines, this is my turf, this is yours, you walk here and I’ll kill you, I walk there and I’m dead. It’s as if it wasn’t quite hard enough for them to begin with, they’ve had to make it harder by imposing a gridwork of minute ghettos upon the larger ghetto they were forced into. Do you know something, Karin? I think I could question them until I’m blue in the face, trying to find out why they fight. And I think they would tell me it’s because they have to protect their turf, or their girls, or their pride, or their national honor, or whatever the hell. And I think they really won’t know the answer themselves.”

He paused and studied his glass.

“Maybe there’s something to this ‘compulsive behavior’ idea, after all. Maybe all these kids are just sick.”

“Sick, sick, sick,” Karin said.

“It’d be funny,” he said solemnly, “if it weren’t so goddamn serious.”

“I didn’t mean to...”

“Karin, if those three boys hadn’t gone into Spanish Harlem to kill Morrez that night, I’m sure that three Puerto Rican boys, sooner or later, would have strolled into Italian Harlem and killed one of the Thunderbirds. I’ve heard them talking about their enemies. This isn’t kid cops-and-robbers stuff, Karin. When they say they’d like to kill someone, they mean they’d like to kill him. You can see it in their eyes.”

“You can’t excuse murderers on the grounds that they one day might be victims.”

“No, of course not. I was only thinking of what Mrs. Morrez said to me this evening. The mother of the dead boy.”

“Yes?”

“She said they were animals, the ones who killed her son. Are they animals, Karin?”

“I don’t know, Hank.”

“And if they are, who the hell put them into the forest they roam?”

“The same could be said of any murderer, Hank. All human beings are a product of their society. But we nonetheless have laws to protect...”

“If we send these three boys to the electric chair, will we stop three other boys from killing?”

“We might.”

“Yes, we might. But we might not. In which case we’d be adding the senseless murder of Di Pace, Aposto and Reardon to the senseless murder of Morrez. The only difference being that our murder will have had the sanction of society.”

“Wow!” Karin said. “You’d better go easy, my friend.”

“Where the hell is justice?” Hank asked. “What the hell is justice?”

The telephone rang. Karin went to it, lifted the receiver and said, “Hello?” She paused. “Oh, hello, Alice, how are you? Fine, thanks, everyone’s fine.” She paused again, listening. “Oh?” she said. “Oh, I see. Yes, well, that’s understandable. No, I wouldn’t expect you to leave him. Yes, I understand completely. I hope he feels better soon. Thank you for calling, Alice.” She replaced the receiver, a puzzled look on her face.

“Alice Benton?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the matter?”

“She can’t make it this Saturday.” She hesitated, nibbling her lip. “I invited some of the neighbors for dinner, Hank. To meet Abe Samalson.”

“Oh. Something wrong at the Bentons’?”

“Frank has a fever. Alice doesn’t think she should leave him alone.”

The telephone rang again. Karin turned to it and then looked at Hank. Slowly, she crossed the room to answer it.

“Hello? Yes, this is Karin. Hello, Marcia, how are you? No, you’re not interrupting dinner. Hank just got home a little while a — What?” She listened. “Oh. That’s too bad. We were looking forward to— Yes, mistakes can happen, especially when two separate calendars are kept. Yes, I understand. Certainly, Marcia. I’m glad you called.” She hung up and then stood by the phone.

“Marcia Di Carlo?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t make it this Saturday?”

“Can’t make it this Saturday,” Karin said, nodding.

“Reason?”

“Joe had made a previous engagement. Put it down on his calendar. When I called, she didn’t realize they had this other date. She begged off. Said they’d see us soon.” Karin paused. “That makes three cancellations so far, Hank.”

“Mmmmm. Do I detect the fine hand of McNalley and Pierce at work here?”