Was it possible that Johnny really hadn’t killed the spic? Well, that’s what the patrolman had said. It seemed unlikely, but the police didn’t make mistakes like that, not when it concerned murder. Charlie Brown? Did he know anyone named Charlie Brown? None that he could think of. There was an old man who came into the store every now and then, but his name was Bernard Brown, so he wasn’t the one. Charlie Brown, Charlie Brown … Well, it wasn’t really important. The important thing, of course, was the fact that Johnny was innocent. And, according to what the cop had said, Johnny didn’t even know he’d been cleared. Frankie shook his head in wonder. He had certainly seemed guilty yesterday. Was it only yesterday? Yes, and he’d looked damned guilty. That harried look on his face, and the bleeding arm. Of course, there’s something about blood that immediately indicates violence. How was Frankie, after all, to know that he was innocent? Was he supposed to take a chance helping Johnny when he might have been guilty, when he certainly looked guilty?
