“Were,” Schrank corrected her.

“Please, you wanted to ask me questions,” Maria said to distract Schrank.

“Not ask.” Schrank followed her down the tenement stairs and crinkled his nose at the foreign odors. “I’m telling you. There was an argument over a boy.”

“Another from my country,” she said without hesitation.

“What’s his name?”

She looked up at Schrank. “Jose.”

A block from the drugstore Anita combed her hair and wiped her face with a damp handkerchief, which she threw away. Without using a mirror she renewed her lipstick, then smoothed the skirt of her dress, for she was in America where the Americans mourned quietly, as if ashamed of showing sorrow, and she was as capable as any of them.

Only after she entered the drugstore did she hesitate, for the doors of both phone booths folded back and A-Rab and Diesel stared at her in tight-lipped silence.

“I’d like to see Doc,” she said slowly.

A-Rab looked at Diesel before shaking his head. “He ain’t here.”

“Where is he?” she asked as her eyes darted toward the door behind the prescription counter.

“He’s gone to the bank.” A-Rab picked at his teeth. “There was an error in his favor.”

“Very funny,” she said. “Especially since banks are closed at night. Now where is he?”

“At the bank,” Diesel said. “You know how skinny Doc is. He slipped in through the night deposit slot.”

“And got stuck in halfways assways,” A-Rab agreed, as he left the phone booth. “Which indicates there’s no telling when he’ll get back.”

He opened the front door, bowed, and pointed to the street. “Buenas noches, señorita. Maybe you can earn a coupla bucks on the way home.” He slammed the door and ran after Anita and grabbed her just as she reached the counter. “Where you think you’re goin’?”

“Back there.” She struggled to free herself. “I want to see Doc.”

“If you’re knocked up come back tomorrow,” Diesel said as he moved behind the counter to block the door. “You deaf?” he asked. “We told you he ain’t here.”

“I hear as well as you,” she insisted and felt the heat of color darken her cheeks. These boys were dangerous, and she didn’t like the way their eyes concentrated on her breasts, which she now wished were smaller and restrained by an ordinary brassiere. “I want to see for myself.”

“Say please.” Diesel’s suggestion was a warning.

“Please. Now will you let me pass, please?”

A-Rab stood on his toes, the better to look down her dress. “You’re too dark to pass. Hey, that’s some bra you’re not wearing.”

“You’re dirty,” she said.

“You’re stacked like—what do they build them out of in Puerto Rico?” A-Rab laughed.

Anita trembled and gripped her purse to use it as a weapon. “Don’t,” she warned them, her voice low.

“Please don’t,” Diesel corrected her and winked at A-Rab to continue his harassment, because A-Rab could be awfully funny once he got started. “Please don’t.”

“Por favor,” A-Rab mocked her. “You non comprende, spic?” He laughed and stood on his toes again. “Spic, you no spick English? Too bad. So first I’ll teach you all the dirty words.”