Ed McBain: See Them Die

"Yeah," Cooch said softly.

Zip looked back at the street, and then he sighed heavily. "Well ... what do you want to do the ... the rest of the afternoon, Cooch?"

"I don't know," Cooch said.

"Ain't you ... ain't you got no ideas?"

"We could go to the flicks, I guess."

"Yeah," Zip said emptily.

"Or play some stickball, maybe."

"Yeah."

"Maybe go for a swim at the pool."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe we could do that." He turned his head suddenly and jerkily because he did not want Cooch to see the tears that had sprung into his eyes. Nor did he know why he was crying. It was just that, all at once, in the heart of one of the biggest cities in the world, Zip had felt all alone, utterly alone, and the enormity of the city and the inconsequence of himself had — had suddenly frightened him.

"I guess — I guess we'll find something," he said, and he thrust his hands into his pockets, and the two boys walked up the sun-drenched street, their heads bent.

Andy Parker passed them on his way to the luncheonette. He glanced at them, shrugged, and went in to say hello to his friend Luis.

"You still sore at me, Luis?" he asked, as if this had been troubling him all along, as if it were important for him to know that Luis was not angry.

"No, Andy," Luis said.

"Everybody's sore at me," Parker said blankly. He paused. "Why's everybody sore at me?" He paused again. "I do my job." He looked up at Luis. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Luis."

"It doesn't matter."

"Well, I'm sorry."

He stared at Luis. And because Luis was a human being, and because apologies are never sincere unless they are tested, unless someone hurls into the face of "I'm sorry," the unforgiving reply, "who cares whether you're sorry or not? Go drop dead in a corner!" and gets one or two further responses. Gets, "In any case, I really am sorry," or gets, "Well if that's the way you feel, go to hell!" and knows by these further responses whether the apology was real to begin with, being human, Luis tested the apology.

"You should have thought of that before you spoke," he said, and his eyes narrowed, and he waited for Parker's answer.

Parker nodded. "I should have," Parker agreed. "I'm sorry."

The men stared at each other. There was nothing further to say for now. Perhaps there was nothing further to say ever.

"Well, I ... I better get back to the squad," Parker said.

"Si."

Parker waved, seemed to become embarrassed in the middle of the gesture, and let his hand drop. Slowly, he shuffled off up the street.

A reporter walked into the luncheonette and took a stool. "Well, everything quiet again, huh?" he said. "Let me have a cup of coffee, huh?"

"St', everything quiet," Luis answered.

"Just like the island, huh?" the reporter said.

Instantly, Luis answered, "No, not just like the island," and then he paused, and then he looked at the reporter, and then he said, "But maybe not so bad anyway, eh? Maybe not so bad."

Down the street, the church bells began tolling.