The Manhattan weather was oppressive and steamy, and the night heat shrouded the slum tenements like a great wool blanket. In an unlit concrete playground in the peaceful but teeming Clinton district slum in Hell's Kitchen on the West Side, seven boys and two girls lazed quietly on concrete benches. It was past midnight.
Out from the shadows came half a dozen teen-age youngsters. "Where's Frenchy?" demanded one. Nobody knew, although some were aware that cocky Frenchy Cordero, from downtown, had recently been chased out of the neighborhood after he tried to...
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