His brain snatched at ideas and found one that seemed plausible. The lazy smile came onto his lips and he said, "Got a cigarette?" It stopped them for just a moment. They looked at each other. The one with the knife was medium-sized and in his early twenties. He wore a bandage around his forehead and it was bloodstained and there was a wide gash of dried blood under his nose, slanting down past the corner of his mouth. The other Puerto Rican was about five-three and very skinny. He looked to be in his middle thirties and there were ribbons of baldness showing through his slickeddown jet-black hair. His left eye was puffed and almost closed and under it the cheekbone was swollen and shiny purple. "Please," Whitey said. "I need a cigarette." Again it stopped them. They didn't know what to make of it. The taller one came in very close to Whitey held the knife up in front of his eyes and said, "You see thees? You know what thees is for?" Whitey went on smiling past the blade. "You ain't even got a cigarette?
