A Day of Revenge for Panamanians : Demonstration: Expatriates display violent fantasies, but security is pervasive outside the courthouse.

Many of them told of fantasies of killing Gen. Manuel A. Noriega. Shooting him between the eyes. Or tearing him limb from limb. Or maybe just getting in a good punch or spitting into his face.

It was an angry crowd, even in triumph. “If I were to see Noriega, I wouldn’t know what to do, I would need a rifle so bad,” said one of them, Carlos Vallarino, a 35-year-old laborer.

In this city so heavily populated with Latinos, only about 7,000 are Panamanians. Thursday was their day of revenge. Scores of them circled the Federal Courthouse downtown, where Noriega--the man they call “Pineapple Face”--was to be arraigned on the ninth floor.

Security was pervasive. U.S. marshals peered into the crowd from rooftop perches. Police on horseback trotted up and down the surrounding streets. Squad cars rolled past, sometimes 10 in a row.

Inside, in a basement holding cell, Noriega awaited his first day in court. “I just want to get one look at him and tell him a few things, that he’s an assassin . . . and that he destroyed our country,” said Jose Clement, 25, a student two years in exile.

Makeshift Placards

But the crowd did not get even a glance at its villain. Instead, the people stood in small groups, waved makeshift placards and submitted to the questioning of reporters--themselves a horde that outnumbered even the Panamanians.

Miami, as so often before, is the site of a major news story. This time, however, the city has done little to merit the notice; it is merely the place where the Noriega charges were filed.

Hundreds of journalists descended. “There are more satellite dishes here now than there were for the Pope,” said Xavier Suarez, the city’s mayor. A parking lot across from the courthouse was filled entirely with TV trucks.

Only a few dozen reporters were permitted into the arraignment; 100 or so others milled about in a closed-off street, peeking into each others’ note pads, like high schoolers cheating on an algebra final.

From time to time, the crowd provided a tidbit. Once, someone suddenly shouted “Kill him!” and people began to run. A phalanx of police were pushing a young Latino toward the nearby Greyhound bus station.

The man was Jose Cepero, a Cuban-American, and the police were ushering him to safety. He had dared to raise a sign saying “U.S. Hands Off Panama,” and the crowd turned on him.

“I believe Noriega should be penalized,” Cepero said as he was hauled off, trying to clarify his views. “I just don’t think the U.S. military should have gotten involved.”

An hour later, the crowd also turned on a drunk who shouted something contrary to the prevailing mood. Police rushed him away, too.

“It would be better to get our hands on Noriega, but anyone even a little pro-Noriega will have to do for now,” said Silvio Cordoba Quinonez, who had joined the chase.

Celebrating Begins

The celebrating here had begun late Wednesday, as a crowd of 200 clustered outside the gates of Homestead Air Force Base, about 25 miles south of Miami, to await Noriega’s arrival aboard a military C-130 transport.

No one got a look at him then, either, but the vigil turned into a festive street party anyway. People placed Noriega-style sunglasses on pineapples and held the eerie faces aloft. Finally, they smashed the fruit on the pavement.

The plane bearing Noriega touched down in the early morning hours, but he spent only minutes at the Homestead base before being sped to the courthouse in a 12-car motorcade. The automobiles zoomed into the building’s garage in the darkness of pre-dawn, but some bystanders managed a look.

Mayin Correa, an exiled Panamanian journalist, said she saw Noriega hunched down in the car, turning away from the lights of the cameras. She will never forget how he hid his face. And how it pleased her.

“You cannot call him a leader any more,” she said. “He gave up like all dictators, as a coward.”

Times researcher Anna M. Virtue contributed to this story.