BRIAN BRUSHED HIS FINGERTIPS along the side of the review stands which had been erected outside the Loew's Paradise for the Memorial Day parade to be held the next day. The sky was black and the stars looked exactly like the fake stars in the ceiling of the movie house: bright, piercing little lights which seemed to flash on and off as he stared at them. He stopped at the newsstand on the corner of 184th Street and the Grand Concourse, as he did every night, and picked up his copy of the Daily News.

"Ah, that's Brian O'Malley, yes?" The blind newsman, Mr. Samuels, pocketed the two pennies.

"How's things, Mr. Samuels?"

A shrug, smile, noncommittal. "How could it be? A nice night, Brian. Tomorrow should be a good day for the parade."

Brian yawned, leaned his head back. Christ, he was tired. It had been a long day; late show. He turned down 182nd Street and went to Ryer Avenue. As he approached the police station at the corner of 181st Street, he noticed Mr. Gallegher, the tall, thin clerical man he'd known all his life. Gallegher had broken in with his father.

"Hey, Brian, see you a minute?"

"Oh, hi, Mr. Gallegher. Yeah, sure. Nice night, huh?"

Instead of making some small talk, Gallegher came down the five steps and it suddenly occurred to him: Gallegher had been standing there, in front of the precinct house, waiting for him. Gallegher's face was sad and weary, as though he'd spent a lifetime telling people things they'd rather not hear. Light from the green lanterns and from the yellow streetlamp bounced off his bald head and his mouth turned down at the corners. He pulled at his loosened navy-blue tie and rocked back on his heels.

"What's wrong, Mr. Gallegher?" Nameless panic twisted deep inside his stomach.

"Well, Bri, see, we've got your cousin John O'Malley in the house," he said and jerked a thumb toward the police station to make sure Brian understood.

"You've got John inside?" Brian asked, bewildered.

"You know Danny Dunne?"

Everyone in the neighborhood knew Danny Dunne. He was one of the toughest detectives in the precinct and he prided himself on the fact that when he told the neighborhood kids to move their ball game away from the precinct house, he punctuated his requests with a couple of well-aimed kicks in the backside. Brian had been the recipient of a few of Danny Dunne's quick forays when he was a younger boy.

"What about him?"

"Well, Danny spotted poor Johnnie in there with a carton of flags he'd taken from Kruger's candy store. The thing is, I doubt very much that the whole thing was John's idea, Brian."

Brian lit a cigarette, turned away from Mr. Gallegher for a moment, then turned back and asked tersely, "My brother Kevin around?"

Gallegher spread his palms and shrugged. "You know John. The two lads are always together. Dunne said there were two boys on the scene and one ran off."

Brian rubbed the back of his neck roughly. "And left John?"

"He's a good lad, Bri. Wouldn't open his mouth. And I think Danny gave him a bit of a bad time. I kept my eyes on him, but all in all, it might be just as well for Johnnie. Got scared enough I think to stay out of trouble. It could have been bad, though, Brian, if they'd been in another precinct, if you understand me."

Brian nodded. He felt the sweat on his forehead and down his back.

"Well, come on inside a moment. Dunne wants to have a word with you. Don't let him throw you, Bri. Just take it nice and easy, all right? And then you take your Johnnie off home." He held Brian's arm for a moment. "And I'd have a word with Kevin, if I were you."

Brian nodded. "I'll have a word with Kevin, all right."

John O'Malley sat, elbows resting on the long gray table in front of the bench, a resigned if worried expression on his face. He had finished the comic books Mr. Gallegher had given him and when he looked up and saw Brian he grinned widely.

"Hey, Brian. Boy, I'm glad you're here. Can I go home now, Mr. Gallegher?"

"Just sit there until I come back for you," Brian said.

"Oh. Okay, Brian. I will."

Danny Dunne was a tightly built, compact man, with high cheekbones, a fair complexion and beads of glare for eyes. He hardly opened his mouth when he spoke; he forced the words from him grudgingly. "That's a cute cousin you got in there," Dunne said. There was an edge of laughter in his voice, mocking and cruel. "Oh, he's a real beaut."

Dunne pushed his hat over his brow, leaned back in his swivel chair and placed his feet on his desk. Carefully, deliberately, he lit his cigar and filled the air in front of him with billows of acrid smoke.

"Here's the facts of the case," he said. "I was cruising and pulled over to the curb at 183rd Street and Webster Avenue at ten-thirty tonight. I seen a coupla figures movin' in the vestibule of Kruger's store. I know Kruger closes early on Wednesday night, see." He tapped his forehead. "Ya gotta keep this kinda information on tap, so's you know when somethin' ain't kosher, ya know?"

Mr. Gallegher interrupted. "Listen, Danny, why don't you just give the lad the facts and not give us instruction in how to become a detective?"

Danny turned a glazed stare on Gallegher and then on Brian. Brian realized that if it was up to Dunne, poor John would be in very big trouble.

"Mr. Dunne," he said carefully, "I would appreciate it if you tell me what happened."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'd appreciate it. All right, then, as I approached, the 'other kid,'" Dunne said slowly, sitting up, staring hard at Brian, as though there was a guilty secret between them, "the anonymous other culprit, ran like the thief he is and left the big boob out there holding the goods. See, Kruger's nephew delivered this box of flags from Jersey. For the parade tomorrow. Kruger left the door to the store open; the nephew put the box inside and I guess forgot to snap the lock. So along comes rube-the-boob in there, and another person unknown, and in they go." He held his index finger up. "Breaking and entering, right? And out they come"-he held a second finger up-"lugging the box of flags with them: larceny-felony."

He sat there and waited; let Brian feel it for the full weight. Finally, he said, "Now lucky for your cousin there that Mike Gallegher persuaded me not to book him. And I don't mind tellin' you right now, kid, given five minutes in the right setting, like downstairs, I'd a' made him tell me who the other kid was. Not that we don't just among us have a pretty good idea."

Brian yanked the unlit cigarette from between his lips and said to Danny Dunne, "My cousin might be a little simple, but he wouldn't have told you balls."

Danny pulled his feet from the desk, but Gallegher moved quickly and pulled Brian toward the door. Dunne's face was pale and he flicked a quick look to Gallegher. "Dumb seems to run in the family, don't it? Get them all the hell outta here. Tell junior here you're supposed to say thanks when somebody's doin' you a favor."

Brian shook himself free of Gallegher's hold. "Thanks, Dunne," he said tightly. "Thanks a lot."

Dunne pointed toward the door. "Now get your ass the fuck outta here before I change my mind."

Gallegher's hand was steady and strong as he led Brian from the room. Dunne called out again. "Hey, O'Malley? Are you aware of the fact that if it was your brother, I mean, if it just happened to have been your brother, and if he'd a' got himself booked for breaking and entering and grand larceny, why"-Dunne made a fist, popped his thumb up, then turned it over-"you'd be kicked off the P.D. list so fast it would make your head spin?"

Brian's lungs seemed too tight and hard to expand for the oxygen he needed. He walked past John with just a quick nod for John to follow him, then turned to shake Gallegher's hand. "God, Mr. Gallegher. Jesus, thanks."

"Okay, son, now you take it easy." He motioned to John O'Malley. "Go down the steps and wait for your cousin, there's a good boy. Now listen, Brian...oh, hell, boys are boys, these things happen."

"If you hadn't been here..."

"Well, it was no more than any of us would've done, lad. Just that Danny Dunne being such a bastard. Your dad did many a favor for many a man in his day, Brian. You go on home now and take it easy."

Brian nodded and took the stairs in two bounds and walked past John, who followed close behind him.

"Hey, Brian, you mad at me? Gee, Brian, I'm real sorry. Don't he mad at me. Gee, Bri, why don't you say something? You're mad at me, I can tell."

Brian's hands curled into fists and he moved down the street with John's worried voice pursuing him. They reached the alleyway which led to the courtyard, the "O'Malley courtyard." For the first time, Brian spoke to John.

"We'll go in this way, through the bedroom window. I don't want us to wake Mom."

John bounded ahead of him, walking backwards so that he could face Brian. "I didn't tell them anything, Brian, if that's what you're mad about, honest. Gee, I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. You gonna hit me, Brian? It's okay if you wanna hit me, but just don't be mad."

"I'm not gonna hit you, John," Brian said softly. "Look, I want you to do something for me, okay?"

John nodded, eager to placate his cousin. "Sure, Brian, anything you say, sure. Gee, I'm glad you're not mad at me. That Mr. Dunne, he said you'd probably beat me up real bad. I'm glad you're not mad."

"Okay, now look. Go over there and wait in the next alleyway until I tell you." He pointed across the courtyard to the next alley. "And don't make a sound."

John's mouth hung open. "Over there? Don't you want I should go through the window, Bri? Gee, I'm awful tired."

"In a little while. I want to get Kevin out here for a minute, see? When I get Kev out, then you can go to bed. But you stay over there and don't make a sound. Come on, I'll go over with you." They crossed the yard into the next alleyway. Brian looked up at the dim bulb inside the little wire cage. He took out his handkerchief, opened the cage and unscrewed the bulb and waited for a moment until his eyes became accustomed to the dark. "Now just stay quiet and wait here for us, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, Brian. I won't make no noise."

Kevin pretended he was in a deep sleep and Brian leaned close and whispered in his ear, "Hey, Kevin. Come on, kid, wake up." One hand went firmly around his brother's arm, the other over his mouth as Kevin feigned surprised, waking sounds. "Huh? Wha?"

"Quiet, will you? Don't wake Mom."

The only light in the room came from the hallway and Brian's expression was dimly seen: noncommittal, calm. He turned, found Kevin's pants on a chair and handed them to his brother. "Here, slip into these, will you? Look, I need you to help me with something outside."

Warily, Kevin put the pants on over his shorts, but when he reached for a shirt, Brian told him, "You don't need that, Kev. This'll only take a minute. You don't need your shoes either. I just didn't want anyone to look out the window and see you in your drawers. Go on, go through the window; there's just something I need help with out there."

Kevin stood hesitantly inside the window. He couldn't see anything in the courtyard. "Gee, Brian, I'm still asleep. What's this all about?"

"Stop making noise and go on out, Kevin. I'm right behind you."

Brian's hand rested lightly on the back of Kevin's neck as they walked across the courtyard toward the inner, darkened alleyway. A shiver ran down Kevin's spine. He could feel the hairs along the base of his skull stiffen and he stopped abruptly when they were only a few steps into the passageway.

"Hey, Brian, that you?" John asked, his voice happy and relieved.

Kevin was aware that the pressure on the back of his neck had increased; he couldn't turn or run forward. He was between his brother and his cousin.

"What's this all about anyway, Brian?" Kevin asked.

There was no more pretense at being sleepy. He was starkly awake and the hours of waiting and chewing on his fingers and worrying about what he should do brought him to a pitch of stark terror which he had to dispel. He swung his fist into the unseen bulk of his cousin.

"You stupid son of a bitch," he said to John O'Malley. He felt a satisfying pain in his fist as it made contact with the totally vulnerable, unprepared midsection of his cousin.

Brian locked his arm across Kevin's chest and yanked him back.

"Go on into the house now, John," Brian ordered. "Do what I tell you."

John O'Malley moved reluctantly, his hands hugging his stomach. He didn't want to retaliate for the unprovoked blow. He only wanted to reassure Kevin. "Gee, Kevin," he gasped, "gee, Kev, don't be mad. I never told nobody nothin', I swear to God, Kevin. Hey, Brian, I didn't tell on him, did I?"

"Go on in the house, John, and get to bed now. Move!"

Brian shoved his brother from him. Kevin recoiled from the grating rough surface of the stuccoed wall. He realized now, slowly, with terrifying clarity, why Brian had told him not to put on his shirt.

He rubbed at a scraped elbow. "Ah, Brian, ah, gee, it wasn't my fault. I'm the one's gotta be with that half-wit all the time and I swear it wasn't me that..."

Brian took a step toward him. His right shoe ground down on Kevin's bare toes and his arm went up swiftly, implacably, and caught Kevin's throat so that the cry was stifled. He had decided not to use his fists. He wanted something that would last longer than a few punches. His own hand scraped briefly against the rough wall and gave some measure of what Kevin must feel down the right side of his shoulder and arm as he shoved him against the wall with more deliberate force this time.

"Don't, Brian, please, don't. Oh, Jesus, that hurts!"

He felt a cold and dispassionate anger. "You are really a sneaky, rotten little son of a bitch, Kevin. Not only are you a lousy thief, but you let poor John hold the bag for you all these hours. What have you been worrying about these last three hours, poor John in the precinct house or your own ass?"

It was senseless to deny anything. It was always senseless, and yet, even now, he tried.

"It...it...it was all John's idea, Brian. Honest. You all think he's so dumb, that he never gets an idea. But we were on our way home from basketball and we saw the truck pull up, see? And John says, 'Let's go see what they left there.'"

Brian backed away and seemed very interested. "John said 'Let's go see what they left there'?"

Encouraged, Kevin nodded eagerly. "Yeah, honest, Brian, and I said, 'No, let's go home.'"

"Oh, you wanted to go home, but John insisted you go and look in the box. So one of you...opened the door..."

"John did," Kevin said quickly. "John opened the door and saw the flags, and he carried the box to the street, Brian."

"John did that?"

Kevin nodded anxiously. "Yeah, and then that Danny Dunne came by and...okay, yeah, I ran home. Honest, I got scared, Brian, so I ran home."

"And got into bed."

"Yeah."

"And went to sleep."

"Well...yeah."

"Jesus, it was John did everything, and not you, Kevin, right? It was John?"

The tears, hot and shameful, spilled from Kevin's eyes. The shadow in front of him, all he could see of his brother, was a dark tormenting force against which he had no defense. His words were no defense; they made everything worse, yet they spilled from his mouth almost with a will of their own.

Though he recognized the uselessness of his attempt, and that the penalty which would be exacted because of his very attempt to avoid penalty would increase with each word, Kevin tried to shift the blame. He was overwhelmed by the need to justify himself and he knew of no other way than by blaming someone else for his misdeeds. He stopped speaking, waited for Brian's cold, hard, mocking voice to egg him on to greater lies, but Brian was silent now and the murderous hand was too swift for him. He tried to twist free of Brian's grasp.

"Stand still, damn you, stand still," Brian whispered savagely into his brother's ear. His fingers tightened along the sharp jawline and his arm pressed against the narrow chest, and the rapid heartbeat inside the frightened body was steady against his arm. "You're a thief and a liar and a rotten, sly little son of a bitch," Brian said and he forced the side of Kevin's face against the cement, then jerked it back again. Kevin's neck stiffened against the expected scrape of the other side of his face, but now Brian's shoe ground down on his bare feet. Kevin's whole body jumped beneath his skin, twitching and twisting to avoid sudden assault.

He tasted the salt of his tears; words spilled from him in a torrent of self-pity; and, strangely, he began to believe his own lies and this filled him with a sense of righteousness which led to some small outrage which translated finally into action. His hands went up, tried to pry Brian off him.

"You gonna fight back, Kevin?" Brian asked in an incredulous and insulting tone. "That's very good, Kev. That's really swell. Come on, kid, let's see what you got." Brian slapped him about the face and head but Kevin's hands refused to do more than attempt to ward off the blows. Brian smacked him freely, then finally held him against the wall.

"You had enough, huh? Now listen to me, Kevin, if you step out of line again by so much as one inch I'll kill you. You got that, Kevin?"

Kevin expected the last terrible pain; it was the logical punctuation for the final threat. He closed his eyes instinctively as his face smashed into the cement. The impact sent him to the ground. Brian kicked him hard in the backside then pulled him to his feet and shoved him toward the house.

Kevin lurched from the alleyway, walked painfully on his aching feet. He climbed over the window sill slowly and crept into his bed carefully. He touched at himself with trembling fingertips. His face was sticky and wet with a combination of tears and blood. His shoulders and arms were raw wounds and he couldn't touch them even lightly.

"Kevin? Hey, Kevin?"

Kevin locked his back teeth together, tried to lock out the sound of his cousin's concern. John leaned over him with that worried, sorry, stupid voice. "You okay, Kevin? Hey, Kevin, you all right?"

Kevin watched through the window as Brian moved slowly from the shadows and toward the street. He waited just long enough to be sure Brian wasn't coming into the house yet.

"Come over here, John," he whispered. "I want to tell you something." He motioned John to the foot of his bed and John perched on his heels, expectant.