The Pablo Molari Murder Case

Broadways My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the godiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadways My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In the time before dawn, Broadway is an island of silence torn from the blazing neon, the midnight sun of the spectaculars.

The river mists mingle with the vapors rising from manhole covers. Through them move the rejects, the stragglers, the wanderers, the men without sleep. One detaches himself, scavenges in a trash bin, chopered the remnants of night, finds nothing, moves on to the next.

It's the time of the endless search, the restlessness of an anguish you can't understand, on the street built for the purpose. You walk it, and if shadow whimpers and you hurry on, close your heart to it, because the whimper was yours.

And finally, you must put aside whatever it was you were looking for, because on a side street a man waits for you to give you the night times departing gift. The boy lying dead against the iron gate of the Tenement Spaceman Court.

Pablo Mulare, Danny, from uptown, west 109th Street. Teary, one of those handwritten identification cards. Find anything else on him? Not much. Five dollar bill on his wallet. His Saints medallion he's wearing on his chain around his neck.

That's about all. You question the people in there? Yeah, Danny, every door. No one ever heard of the kid, had nothing to do with him, didn't want to talk about him. You know, most of them were trying to sleep, to heat, to kids squalling.

Yeah. Beaten. Jaw broken. This brew was on his throat. Must be the one that killed it. Come down here, Danny. What? Take a look at the sign on this door. Hudson Club. Johnny Hammett, President.