They were going to walk and he was the only one who could stop them. He could do it. The people on that block hated cops, but they hated Jews more, so they’d talk and he’d get a sane description of the fourth man. If he didn’t, he’d do to the tribe what he’d planned for the kids, he’d find the weak link and push. Dworkin . . . little Dworkin with his soft brown eyes was his man. He’d pull him in at midnight and at six in the morning, at all hours, until the old bastard had his days and nights all mixed up. He’d pull him in on Friday nights and on Saturday morning, and there’d be nothing for him to eat but ham sandwiches. Hawkins grinned. He’d make sure the others knew what was happening and they’d push Dworkin, too, so he’d be getting it from both sides. In a week, a month at the most, the old fart’d break and deal. Jews were good at deals, Hawkins thought nastily, and he’d have his fourth man. The big one in the poncho, the key, and once Hawkins had him, he’d have the rest of them.

It’d be a big case, bigger than Son of Sam. Vigilante Jews Kill Five Spanish Kids. Big news, big time. The case would make Hawkins’s name and, best of all, the whole bunch of lying Holy Rollers would spend the rest of their lives in the can. Levy too. Especially Levy.

The prison barber would shave his beard and cut his hair. He’d wear blue work clothes like Meyer Garfield and he’d live like the rest of the killers. But for how long? How long could a skinny old man with skin like white paper last at Ossining? A year, Hawkins thought, maybe two. He’d die alone in his bunk with the toilet next to him in his cell. Or in that bare yard under the basketball hoop with a circle of murderers, rapists, and thieves for company. . . .

Hawkins bent double like a man with a cramp because he suddenly remembered that when Levy left the barber they’d take him to the showers. They’d strip him like they’d stripped the prisoners in the camps. Then they’d lead him, shivering and frightened, to the stone shower room. They’d give him soap like the SS had given the condemned and he’d stand alone on the cold floor under the shower head like all those other people had done, waiting for water or gas to come out of the holes in the rusting metal. Hawkins groaned again and someone touched his shoulder.

“You okay, man?”