Manhunt. Volume 3, Number 7, July, 1955

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I liked Harry. He was a good guy. It was going to be too bad for the guy who turned him in.

When you’re the head man, you’re supposed to get the rumble first. Then you feed it to the other kids, and you read off the music, and if they don’t like it that’s their hard luck. They can take off with or without busted heads.

So that’s why I was sore when Aiello comes to me and starts making like a kid with an inside wire. He’s standing in a doorway, with his jacket collar up around his nose, and first off I think he’s got some weed on him. Then I see he ain’t fixing to gather a stone, but he’s got this weird light in his eyes anyway.

“What’re you doing, A?” I said.

Aiello looked over his shoulder as if the bulls were after him. He takes my arm and pulls me into the doorway and says, “Danny, I got something hot.”

“What?” I said. “Your head?”

“Come down, man,” he told me.

“Watch the talk,” I warned him.

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