PART 35 Read Free Page A

center of his mouth.
    â€œHi, Sam.”
    â€œSandro,” Sam responded, removing the cigar, still smiling, nodding his head in tight, muscular movements. Sandro shook Sam’s large hand.
    â€œWaiting long?” Sandro asked, as they turned to enter the vestibule.
    â€œNot more than two or three minutes. You certainly look prosperous.”
    â€œWell, I’m keeping busy, not doing too badly.”
    â€œThat’s fine—fine.”
    Ahead was a huge door made of a grid of steel bars over thick glass with a frame of brass-faced steel. In the top part of the door a hinged glass panel, called a Judas eye, opened, and a wizened face appeared.
    â€œMorning, Counselor,” said the front-door guard.
    â€œMorning, Joe,” said Sam. Joe turned a large key in one of the door’s locks, and the huge door swung open. Sam and Sandro entered the reception area. There were offices to the right and left. Those on the right were enclosed within five-foot-high half-glass panels. In them, men in the blue uniform of the Department of Correction were sifting through files, answering phones, writing. On the left were the executive offices. Straight ahead was an entire wall of bars with a gate in the center. On the other side of that was a lawyers’ waiting area, and twenty feet beyond that was still another wall, with its own steel and glass door. The lawyers’ waiting area gave the appearance of a cage. Inside it, a uniformed Negro sat at a desk. There were also a few chairs and oil paintings on the walls.
    â€œWant to sign the book, Counselors?” said Joe, directing them to a desk to the left of the entrance. Sam wrote the name of the prisoner Alvarado, his own name, and Sandro’s name. Sam also filled out a slip of paper with the prisoner’s name on it.
    â€œYou know what floor he’s on, Counselor?” asked Joe, taking the slip.
    â€œNo. This is the first time with this fellow, Joe,” said Sam.
    â€œI’ll get it for you,” said Joe, handing the slip over to one of the uniformed men, who fingered through a file of orange cards, wrote something on the slip of paper, and handed it back to Joe.
    â€œHe’s on the seventh floor, Counselor.” Joe handed the slip of paper through the bars to the guard at the desk inside the waiting area. He stood, selected a key from a ring of large keys, and opened the barred gate.
    Sandro and Sam stepped into the cage and sat while the guard crossed the room to the door in the far wall. He handed Sam’s slip of paper through the Judas eye to an unseen guard within.
    Sandro got up to inspect the paintings. They were the work of men awaiting trial. One depicted the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse against a gray background. The horses were elongated; the artist was probably a better burglar than painter. There was another of President Kennedy, one of Pope John XXIII, a clipper ship at sea, flowers. A few were quite well done. Perhaps some painters got arrested, too.
    â€œDid you have a chance to get any of those newspapers I suggested?” Sam asked.
    â€œYes, they’re in my bag. I read them.”
    â€œWell, what’s the story?”
    â€œFrom the newspaper accounts, these two were burglarizing an apartment in the Delancey area, on Stanton Street. Someone called the cops. Two cops arrived. One of them ran to the roof, became involved in a struggle, and was shot in the back with his own gun. By the time the other cop got up to the roof, the killer was gone. They picked up one of these guys at the scene. He lived a few doors away. He confessed and named the fellow we represent, who was picked up at his home several hours later, about one A.M. , and subsequently confessed.”
    â€œBoth Puerto Rican? Both junkies?”
    â€œYes. You were right. Alvarado is Negro, too. Very dark. Now there’s a question for you. Is he Negro or Puerto Rican or both?”
    â€œNegro, Puerto Rican, junky, a police