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prove too powerful to overcome.
       
         *     *     *
       
    ANGELO WAS SEVEN when he was drawn into his first street fight. He went up against a ten-year-old named Pudge Nichols, a school yard tough who spotted easy pickings in the nervous-looking boy with the stammer. The added fact that he was an Italian with a limited English vocabulary made it all the more enjoyable for the burly Pudge. Within seconds, Nichols towered above Angelo, his right hand open and held out, his left balled into a tight fist.
        Let's see it, wop, Nichols said.
        See what? Angelo managed to stammer.
        Your money, Nichols said.
        I no have money, Angelo said.
        You gonna live in this place, you gotta learn the rules, Nichols said with a tone of disdain. Rule one is when you see me you come across with money. It ain't a hard rule to remember. Even for a moron.
        I no have money, Angelo said, straining over each word.
        Pudge Nichols opened his left hand and slapped Angelo across the face. The sting of the blow brought tears to Angelo's right eye and a shiver to his body.
        I no have money, Angelo said, rugging at the empty pockets of his gray shorts. You see? No money.
        Pudge smiled and rested a beefy hand on Angelo's shoulder, squeezing hard. Angelo stiffened but didn't move.
        Okay, Pudge said. You got no money. Then give me something else.
        What? Angelo asked.
        Pudge looked at Angelo, the red welt on his face, the tears running down his cheeks, the fear in his eyes and he snorted out a laugh. Your clothes, Pudge said.
        Angelo stared at Pudge, at first not understanding the request and then, once he did, he slowly shook his head. No, he said in a voice that hid his fright.
        You can't say no, Pudge said. You're too stupid to even know what no means.
        No my clothes, Angelo said.
        I take home your clothes or you take home a beating.
        You no take nothing from me, Angelo said.
        Pudge immediately landed three blows, swinging from a crunched-down stance. The first two glanced off Angelo's right arm. The third one caught the side of his neck and sent him to the pavement. He landed on his hands and knees and Pudge twice kicked him in the back, forcing all the air out of the damaged lungs.
        You gonna let yourself end up dead for these shitty clothes? Pudge demanded, barely out of breath.
        You no have my clothes, Angelo said, barely able to get the words out, then he crawled toward a street sign, stretching to reach its base and hoist himself to his feet. Pudge grabbed the back of his hair, stopping him in mid-crawl. He began to punch methodically, landing hard right-hand shots to Angelo's head, holding the back of the boy's hair with his left. Blood from Angelo's mouth and nose splashed across Pudge's white T-shirt and freckled face. A circle of locals had, by now, stopped to watch the fight, a few muttering under-the-breath condemnations of the one-sided match. But no one made a move to stop it.
        Pudge let go of Angelo's hair and watched the boy crumple to the ground, his head dangling over the edge of the sidewalk. Pudge bent down and pulled off one of Angelo's shoes.
        Your clothes are too bloody to do me any good, Pudge said disgustedly. But the shoes are okay. This way, I don't walk away empty.
        You take that boy's shoes and it'll cost you your life.
        The voice came from behind Pudge. It was the throaty, sexy voice of a woman. Pudge looked at the group in front of him and saw their expressions change from disapproval to fear. He stood, turned and stared at Ida the Goose.
        Ida Bernadine Edwards was the most beautiful woman on the West Side. She was also one of the toughest, carrying two loaded guns at all times. The queen of the Cafe Maryland, Ida had been a mistress to many of the area's gang leaders. She was in charge of her own crew of thieves, and if the