Shadowplay

WATCHER 2

On the Bridge, the scenes in the cells kept changing, a mosaic of hate and pain and terror.

"Wicikinkatim nanipotima," the street boys chanted, faces blacked with mud-filthy dog, murd'ring hound-slings whirring, petting with pebbles the kipao (street guard) who backed away from the whore who'd tolled him into the alley. Holding his pants up with one hand, he fumbled for his gun with the other, his eyes searching the murky shadows for the taunters; he was young and frightened, greasy with sweat. "Pipo, pipo," the street boys chanted, hidden in the smoky shadows. Pigflea, pigflea. Giggling and whooping, a boy came darting from a doorway and flung mud at the guard's face, went scrambling away as the man clawed at the mud and began shooting at the jeering children he couldn't see. The teener whore dropped flat and crawled away as a second boy rushed silently up behind the guard, snatched the gun away from him and faded back Into the night. The young kipao panicked and started to run. A shot came from somewhere behind, blew his head into bloody shards. The street boys whooped their triumph in wild ululating howls, a boy soprano sang, ''Tocikatim tocikopipo"-dead dog, dead flea.