"The white man," Grave Digger said. "That's all right, we'll get him," he said. Raising his voice, he called, "Professor!" The corporal who'd stopped to light a cigarette said, "Yeah." "Rope off this whole goddamned area," the sergeant said. "Don't let anybody out. We want a Harlem-dressed Zulu. Killed a white man. Can't have gotten far 'cause he's handcuffed." "We'll get 'im," the corporal said. "Pick up all suspicious persons," the sergeant said. "Right," the corporal said, hurrying off towards the cops that were just arriving. "Who shot the Arab?" the sergeant asked. "Ed shot him," Grave Digger said. "That's all right then," the sergeant said. "We'll get your prisoner. I'm sending for the lieutenant and the medical examiner. Save the rest for them." He turned and followed the corporal. Coffin Ed stood up shakily. "You should have let me killed that son of a bitch, Digger," he said. "Look at him," Grave Digger said, nodding toward the Arab's corpse. Coffin Ed stared. "I didn't even know I hit him," he said as though coming out of a daze. After a moment he added, "I can't feel sorry for him. I tell you, Digger, death is on any son of a bitch who tries to throw acid into my eyes again." "Smell yourself, man," Grave Digger said. Coffin Ed bent his head. The front of his dark wrinkled suit reeked with the scent of dime-store perfume. "That's what he threw. Just perfume," Grave Digger said. "I tried to warn you." "I must not have heard you." Grave Digger took a deep breath. "God damn it, man, you got to control yourself." "Well, Digger, a burnt child fears fire. Anybody who tries to throw anything at me when they're under arrest is apt to get shot." Grave Digger said nothing. "What happened to our prisoner?" Coffin Ed asked. "He got away," Grave Digger said. They turned in unison and surveyed the scene. Patrol cars were arriving by the minute, erupting cops as though for an invasion. Others had formed blockades across Lenox Avenue at 128th and 126th Streets, and had blocked off 127th Street on both sides.