“What for?” Pepe asked.

“For nothing,” Anita replied flatly. “Maybe you don’t know it yet, but all of us girls have learned something tonight.”

“Meaning what?” Bernardo asked her.

Anita placed the heels of both palms over Maria’s ears. “That because we girls came here—to America—with our hearts open, you nothings think we also came with our legs open!”

“Didn’t you?” Pepe asked her.

“Pig!” Anita managed to slap him across the side of the face. “You’ll be sent back to Puerto Rico. Soon, I hope, and wearing handcuffs.”

Pepe laughed, as he flicked at Anita’s nose with his forefinger, and dodged her flailing hands. Bernardo moved Maria to one side, as the Sharks and their girls formed around Pepe and Anita, who was screaming at Pepe in Spanish.

Suddenly, the roof door opened, and Bernardo heard his name called. It was his father.

“Bernardo?” his father called again, as he tightened the belt of his bathrobe. “Maria? You were asleep.”

“Didn’t you hear me come in, father?” Bernardo said as he signaled for Anita and Pepe to cut it. “We were having some fun up here and I thought Maria would like to see Chino again.”

“Yes, Mr. Nunez,” Chino continued, “I asked Bernardo to invite Maria here. I hope you do not mind. We were just listening to the radio and talking.”

“Listening and talking,” Maria repeated. “Were we making too much noise, father?”

“Enough to wake me up.” Mr. Nunez yawned. “But it is a nice night. Cooler. How much longer are you going to be up here, Bernardo?”

“We’re leaving right now,” Bernardo said. “Chino will see Maria to our door. We will take our ladies home and then all the boys will meet me at the Coffee Pot. Want to come along, father?”

“It is too late, but thank you,” Mr. Nunez yawned again. “Good night.” He turned to his daughter. “Maria, the door will be open.”

“I will lock it, father.” she said.

Again she turned to look at her brother, but his back was toward her, as he stared again into the darkness over the city.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Coffee Pot was a small luncheonette with a single window, filled with bright light that gave much more illumination than was needed. But the light enabled the patroling prowl cars to see the interior, because the proprietor of the Coffee Pot was fed up with being a training establishment for cheap stick-up artists.

The menu cards on the white enameled walls were stained with a thick accumulation of grease, that obscured the identity of some of the Mexican, Puerto Rican and American dishes.

The long counter was fronted by a row of worn leathertop stools, through which some of the dirty cotton filling was visible. A tired counterman washed coffee mugs with the movements of a sleepwalker, and a sharply dressed Negro and his girl sat at the counter listening to the loud, blaring juke. When Riff turned the handle and kicked the door open, the counterman and his two customers looked up quickly. With an easy movement, the Negro slid some change across the counter, took his girl by the arm, and guided her into the street and away from trouble.