get old, but itâs even worse if you donât.â He lifted his eyebrows and his head in a shrug of resignation. âThat lousy bastard doctor. If it was up to him, Iâd be in a wheelchair. Pills for this, pills for that. He donât even want me smoking cigars. Who the hell wants to be so healthy anyway?â Sal waved his hand through the air. âOne of these days I oughta have that doctor hit in the head,â he laughed. âBut what brings you around anyway, Sandro? I ainât seen you since six, seven years. You got trouble?â Sal studied Sandro carefully.
âNo, no trouble, Sal,â Sandro assured him. âIâve got a heavy case over on the East Side, over by Stanton Street, Iâm defending a fellow accused of killing a cop.â
âGood for him. Thatâs one less rat.â Sal shifted his cigar. âBut what can I do for you? You know, anything, anything you want, you name it.â
âI really just wanted to know if you know anybody whoâs still over in Stanton Street, somebody who might have a finger in things there.â
âNaw, that neighborhoodâs all changed now, crummy. Used to be Jews, but now itâs all full of crazy spics. It stinks there now. Most of my friends arenât over there any more.â
âI thought maybe somebody taking bets or numbers. I want to get a friendly introduction to the neighborhood, see if I can find anyone who knows anything about this case.â
âIâll send somebody to look around. Maybe I can find somebody over there for you. I doubt it, but ⦠Can I buy you a drink?â
âI just finished one, thanks. Shall I call you in a couple of days?â
âBetter you come around,â Sal said. âYou never know some bastard is tapping on the phone. Especially with youâ Buon Anima Jimmy would come down to hit me in the head if I let you get in trouble.â He slapped Sandro on the back.
âOh, by the way,â said Sandro as he rose to leave, âit was somebody who used to live around here who assigned me to this caseâJudge Porta.â
âNo kidding? Tommy Porta! How is he?â Sal thought for a moment. His head began to nod slightly. âI ainât seen him neither since maybe thirty years. Not since he became a big-shot politician. He hangs around with me, heâs in trouble,â Sal laughed.
âOkay, Sal, and thanks,â Sandro said, laughing also. âIâll drop back to see you next week or so.â
Sandro walked toward the door. As he passed the front table, the men looked up, nodded, a hint of a smile coloring their lips.
CHAPTER VII
It was now mid-August. The dog days, held down by humidity, hung around the cityâs neck like a steamed towel. The huge doors were swung open to allow Sandro into the Tombs. He sat beneath the misery of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
âAlvarado?â the guard asked, holding a slip of paper.
âHere,â said Sandro, rising. He found Alvarado sitting at the far end of the bench with other prisoners. He smiled, rose, and shuffled toward Sandro in floppy slippers.
âSay, Mr. Luca,â said Alvarado, sitting, âwhen you come here next time can you bring me a bar of soap?â
âSoap?â
âYeah. The stuff they got here makes me itch. They only got one soap here. If you could bring me some Dial, I be okay.â
âAll right, if I remember it, Iâll bring it. Itâs as hot as blazes in this place.â Sandro looked for a window to open. There were none. âYou have air conditioning upstairs?â
Alvarado snorted. âAir conditioning? You kidding? You see that little hole up at the top of this windows?â He turned and pointed toward the window, thick translucent glass barred from the sill to the top of the frame. At the top were two small louvered openings through which air passed. During the winter these openings were covered