their minds； there was a very thin line between fame and infamy。 Miranda； whatever he had done； was a celebrity。 And he was a celebrity whom most of his audience knew on a first…name basis。
For the others who watched； there was only curiosity。 A man was trapped in an apartment。 The other men wanted to get him out of that apartment。 This was a baseball game。 There were no good guys or bad guys； only two teams which were trying to win。
At the moment； Miranda's team seemed to have scored the first run。 The cry of 〃Lieutenant！ Lieutenant！〃 which had e from the hallway of the tenement was followed almost immediately by the sight of the man who'd shouted the words。 He was a police sergeant； and he had a patrolman's arm draped over his shoulder as he dragged him into the street。 The patrolman had been shot。 The blood on his blue shirt was plainly visible even to the people who crowded the edges of the rooftops。 The sergeant carried the man out and put him on the ground beside the radio motor patrol car。 The cop inside the car immediately picked up the hand microphone and requested an ambulance。 The crowd watched all this with the eyes of prophets who are noting an interesting development； but who are aware that the final oute will have little or nothing to do with this minor incident。 Miranda had shot one of the cops。 That was interesting。 But the fireworks were yet to e。 Patiently； they awaited the fireworks。 It is a rare year that has two Independence Day celebrations。
Standing alongside the wounded patrolman； sweating profusely； Lieutenant Byrnes asked； 〃How bad is it； Sergeant？〃
〃His shoulder； sir；〃 the sergeant said。 He paused； catching his breath。 He was a big beefy man with graying hair。 His uniform was a little too tight for him； but he didn't want to buy a new one because he expected to retire next year。 When a man pays for his own working clothes； he's apt to consider replacements carefully。 〃Sir； you shoulda heard Miranda；〃 he said； wedging the words in between his gasps for breath。 〃We was just making sure all the tenants was out of the building； sir。 He began cursing in Spanish and shooting through his door。 He must have fired about six shots。 Two of them clipped Cassidy。〃
Byrnes stared at the man lying in the street。 〃Well； we're getting an ambulance； Sergeant。 Stay with him； will you？ Do whatever you can to make him fortable。〃
〃Excuse me；〃 a man on the other side of the barricade said。 He was a tall； thin man with penetrating blue eyes。 He wore a tan tropical suit and a blue straw Panama。 〃Did I understand the sergeant to say。。。？〃
〃Who the hell are you？〃 Byrnes asked。
〃I'm a reporter。 I work for the city's largest afternoon tabloid。 I couldn't help overhearing。。。〃
〃I know your paper；〃 Byrnes said flatly。
〃Did I understand the sergeant to say。。。〃
〃I'm busy； mister；〃 Byrnes replied； and he went around to the other side of the squad car and picked up the hand mike。
〃Nice guy； your landsman〃 Parker said to Hernandez。 〃Couple of inches lower； and Cassidy'd be dead。〃
〃I didn't do the shooting；〃 Hernandez said。 〃Miranda did。〃
〃So who's blaming you？ Listen； every race has its crumbs； ain't that so？〃
〃Knock it off； Parker。〃
〃Ain't nobody blaming all the Puerto Ricans for a foul ball like Miranda。 Look at yourself； for God's sake。 Didn't you e from this neighborhood？ So look at you now。 A detective third grade。 It took guts to do what you did。 Hell； think of all your own people you had to arrest。〃
〃I do my job； Parker。〃
〃No question about it。 You're a good cop； Hernandez。 And it sure don't hurt to talk Spanish in a precinct like this one； does it？〃 He began chuckling。 〃Listen； who cares if you're taking unfair advantage of the rest of us poor slobs？ You keep on the way you're going； and some day you'll be missioner。 Then your father can hang another picture in his candy store。〃
〃Why do you needle me； Parker？〃
〃Who？ Me？ I needle you？〃
〃Why？〃
〃I don't needle nobody；〃 Parker said innocently。 〃I'm just like you； pal。 I do my job。〃
〃And what's your job？〃
〃My job is keeping the streets clean。 I'm a street cleaner with a gun。 That's a cop's job； ain't it？〃
〃That's not all of a cop's job。〃
〃No？ Maybe you think I should go around holding junkies' hands； huh？ I used to be that way； Hernandez。 I used to be the kind of cop who felt sorry for people。 Used to break my heart to tag a car even。〃
〃I'll bet it did。〃
〃You don't have to believe me。 Ask any of the old…timers at the station。 But I learned my lesson； all right。 I learned my lesson。〃
〃How？〃 Hernandez asked。
〃Never mind；〃 Parker answered； and he turned away。
He had been turning away for a long time now； for fourteen years； to be exact。 He had been turning away from his duty as a cop； and from his duty as a man； but he excused his negligence by telling himself that he had once been the kind of cop who'd felt sorry for people； and that he'd learned his lesson since。 There was a slight inaccuracy to his rationale。 Andy Parker was not the kind of man who had ever felt sorry for anybody in his life。 It was simply not in his make…up to exude sympathy for his fellow humans。 What he probably meant was that one time he felt a closer identification with the people of the precinct than he did now。
And； to give the devil his due； Parker had once approached this somewhat elusive task of law and order with a distinctly different viewpoint。 When he was a patrolman … though it never broke his heart to tag a car … he was inclined to be lenient with petty offenders； letting them off with a whack of his billet and a warning。 There was； he had concluded； enough real crime going on in this precinct without persecuting decent people for minor infractions。 He learned in those days that the law was open to interpretation long before it reached the law courts。 He learned that the lowest arbitrator in the city's judicial system was a man who wore no legal robes at all； he was the patrolman on the beat。 And so he handed down a dozen decisions each day； and his decisions definitely leaned toward giving the petty offender a break。 At the same time； he felt he was tough and unpromising with the out…and…out thief。 He considered himself a good cop。
One day； the good cop who was Andy Parker was walking his beat when the proprietor of a dry goods store called him over。 The man was holding the wrist of a young kid who had allegedly stolen a bolt of silk from the sidewalk stand。 Parker questioned the owner； and Parker questioned the kid； and then he donned his judicial robes and said； 〃Well； we don't want to cause this kid any trouble； do we？ Now； can't we just forget about all this？〃 The proprietor of the store was loath to forget about all this because the kid had allegedly passed the bolt of silk to an acplice who had made his escape with the merchandise。 But Parker kept administering his sidewalk practice； and finally everyone seemed satisfied to let the entire matter drop。
That evening； after he had changed to his street clothes； Parker went for a beer in a neighborhood bar。 He had the beer； and he had a shot； and then he had another beer and another shot； and he was feeling like a pretty nice guy by the time he left the bar； and that was the last time in his life he ever felt like a pretty nice guy。
He was ambushed on his way to the subway by three men who didn't allow him the opportunity to draw his revolver。 He was ambushed and beaten within an inch of his life。 He lay on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood； and when he regained consciousness he wondered why he'd been beaten or who had done the beating； and he drew what seemed to be the only logical conclusion。 He figured that he had been beaten by friends of the shopowner because he'd let the kid get away with the theft of the silk。
He never did find out who had administered the beating on that lonely autumn night。
Perhaps it had been friends of the shopowner。 Actually； it could have been any one of a hundred people who disliked Parker even in those days of amiability。 Actually； it didn't matter who'd beat him up。
He learned several things。
The first thing he learned was that it wasn't nice to receive a beating。 In the movies； a beating is usually a ba