by Sol Yurick
“. . . is not the way we’ll do it,” Hector said.
“All right, Papa,” Hinton said, angry.
“Father knows best,” Hector intoned. “Am I right?” Hinton didn’t answer. “Am I right?”
Hinton nodded and smiled.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Hinton looked at Hector.
“Smile better.”
Hinton smiled better.
“Don’t let me see your back teeth when you smile, son.”
Hinton modified his smile.
They waited for about fifteen minutes; when the prowl car came and passed, Hinton was the first to go. Hector was still testing him and he knew that he couldn’t show any signs of chicken or resentment; what if they were to leave him here? He went through it cool, taking great care to look unconcerned. The fence was easy; how many fences had he climbed, some of them as high as twenty feet? He stood balanced on about four inches of concrete ledge; he could almost feel the fence pushing outward on him. It seemed too far to jump, even though it was only about twelve feet high. So he didn’t look, knowing when you were scared it was best to think of the thing you are going to do after. Balanced on the ledge, he looked up and down the long street till there were no cars. He turned toward the cemetery; the boys were hidden. He panicked for a second and thought they had run away, but he knew better. He lowered himself till he was hanging and let go. The drop knocked the wind out of him and he almost fell to his knees. He split the back of his right shoe, but it held together by the strip of binding leather at the top. He turned and ran across the street, skipping to keep from losing it. His thighs still ached from the long run. He ran into the shadows of sidewalk trees. Behind the trees, down a small hill, there was a big water tank casting big black shadows; beyond, at the bottom of the dip, next to the little river, he saw the rails.
Hinton turned back. He could see Lunkface posing on the wall, his back to the fence. Hinton stepped out of the shadows and waved. Lunkface didn’t bother to lower himself. He grinned and jumped down and showboated across the street. They came one by one. The Junior was last; he jumped just before the signal because he was scared. They laughed. He landed and fell forward on his palms, scraping them; the comic book popped out of his pocket. The jar also broke his watch. He began to run across the street but they all pointed at the comic book and shouted. He turned, saw it, hesitated in the middle of the street . . . and had to go back and get it. They began to point up to the cemetery and yell that the ghosts were coming, laughing at his terrified run, till Hector quieted them.
They started walking north, toward the little bridge, trying to keep in shadows. It was further away than they thought and they walked for a long time till they came to the corner and turned right. Walking, the shoe didn’t bother Hinton so much. They were on East 233rd Street; The Junior said that it was a long way from home. Hinton had once lived on 221st Street, but he couldn’t remember if it had been in the Bronx, Manhattan, or Queens. He had lived all over.
Bimbo wanted to know if they shouldn’t go on, one by one. Hector said they moved together. After all, if the police stopped them—well, they weren’t doing anything, were they? But Hinton knew first thing Law would inspect their J.D. cards and how could they explain what they were doing so far from home? It was a little hotter down here—no wind cooled it like up in the cemetery. When they crossed the bridge, the strip of park and highway, and went up the hill, they came to two-story houses and the apartment buildings. A few blocks more and they were under the elevated tracks. The street was empty; all the stores were closed. There was a phone booth next to a shut-down newsstand on the corner. Hector said he was going in and call up Wallie, the Youth Board Worker.
Bimbo asked, “Is it smart, man? I mean, after tonight, they’re not going to go along with us. I mean, man, this was the big one. Too much, and now they know they have something to be worried about.”
Lunkface was against calling up too: “What do we need him for?”
But Hinton thought that Wallie, the Worker recently assigned to them, was a good man. “Wallie took a lot of lip, but he bore up,” Hinton said. Lunkface insisted that none of them were any good; the Family didn’t need anyone at all. Hinton explained that with every cop and warrior surely on the alert, possibly with road blocks, check points, heavily guarded enemy turfs, they might have to fight their way through, fist alone because they had come unpacked, except for Arnold’s Power and that was gone now. They had a whole city to march down till they got home. Hinton thought that the others didn’t understand what was ahead. They would see. They weren’t being smart; they were showboating, advertising. It was no shame to be smart, cautious, like Arnold. Hector was always trying to show what a bigger man than Lunkface he was. But Lunkface was the strongest; you never made a fool of him openly, not unless you were ready to bop. There weren’t many men who could take out the Lunkface, so you outwitted him in other ways, like Arnold did. So Hinton only said that they had to phone to have an easy ride.
“We need Wallie because this younger brother don’t feel like any two-hour ride in some hot subway, man. I like my style and I like my comfort. Besides, how’s he going to rehabilitate us if we don’t give him a chance to help and understand us?” Dewey asked.
Lunkface liked that. And Hinton added that Wallie was their man, almost one of the gang now, wasn’t he? Hector was sure now he would telephone. He deposed the men in shadowed places.
Wallie didn’t sound sleepy; that meant he was awake—as if he had been waiting for the call. That worried Hector, Wallie wanted to know where they were.
“We’re in the Bronx, man,” Hector said.
“Hector, what are you doing in the Bronx?”
There was a lot of static on the phone. Hector felt hot, naked, a sitting duck there under the booth lights; it was dark outside and they could see him so clearly. He opened the door and it felt a little cooler when the booth light went off. He wondered if the static meant that the conversation was being tapped. He read about taps in the newspapers; some kind of noise meant they were listening in, but he couldn’t remember what kind of noise it was supposed to be. “We’re out for an airing, man; like we just had to see the country tonight because it’s so hot. It is always cooler up in the North, so we made it north.” It couldn’t be a tap; how did they know he was going to call from just this booth?
“Were you up there in that big gang rumble? Were you mixed up in that, Hector? Where’s Arnold?”
So they knew about the fight on the plain already. That wasn’t good. He wondered if he should tell Wallie about Arnold. The Father, Hector thought, was probably sitting in a headbuster headquarters and they were giving him the old twenty questions which went, “Why did you . . .” and then, Pow with the back of the hand, and “You’re not dealing with those bleeding hearts on the Youth Board now, you little black motherfucker.” Slap, slap, slap, keeping their hands in his face. Or they’d crowded Arnold into a bugcrawly pen and he had to fight for a little sleep-space. Hector decided not to tell Wallie. “We’re on a street called two, three, three, man, up in the far-out end. I mean, like we would like a little sightsee through the city as we come home. Drive us?” They couldn’t possibly know he would come to this booth.
“Are you all right? Who’s with you? Are the boys with you?” Wallie asked.
“You’re so inquisitive, Wallie. Man, I don’t think you’re accepting us.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Hector,” Wallie tough-talked.
Hector grinned; they were training Wallie, but good. “Like there are a few of us here, one or two, and like it’s two thirty-third street, and are you like coming, Wallie?” His throat felt raw; he had to get out of that phone booth.
“Two hundred and thirty-third and where?”
Outside the men had faded away and were holed up in the shadows; he couldn’t see anyone. A prowl car drifted by and Hector turned his back to them, but not fast and not too jerky; not far, just enough so they wouldn�
��t see the pin shining in his hat. He could feel them giving him the hard look as they passed, but he was one man making a call; what was so bad about that? The spot-car passed.
Hector told Wallie, “It’s by an elevated train.”
“But what’s the street?”
“You’re so inquisitive, man.”
“Do you want me to come or not?”
“I called you, didn’t I?”
“How am I going to get to you if I don’t know where?”
“Like some grave called White Plains Road.”
“How did you get all the way up to the ass end of the Bronx? You were mixed up in that rumble, weren’t you? Are you in trouble? Did you do anything? Some boys were killed.”
“No. Nothing serious. We didn’t do anything.”
“Anyone in prison?”
Or could they tap any booth at will?
“For Christ’s sake, stop asking so many questions. We’re in trouble here,” Hector yelled and was ashamed he had shown strain. He would fix that Wallie for making him show weakness.
“I’m coming. Don’t move. Was anyone hurt? Don’t move. Just stay where you are and I’ll come. An hour. Don’t move, do you understand? If it takes me a little longer, don’t worry. I’ll be there.”
“I’m cool. I’m waiting. Come on, lover.”
“Don’t move . . .” Wallie was saying as Hector hung up on him. He was sweating when he got out of the phone booth. Between a building and the elevated tracks, he could see the cloud front had come up on the moon and the white-tipped edges of the clouds were swallowing the light. What had Wallie meant by its taking a little longer? How much was longer? Why should there be an extra wait?
“The man is on the way with the excursion bus,” Hector went around and told each of them. They were placed where they could see one another. A train passed overhead, going uptown. One came downtown. They fidgeted in the darkness. Hector holed up where he could see all the other hiding places. After a while he went out and over to The Junior to ask him what time it was. The Junior’s watch said 11:41, but that seemed wrong. They listened and found the watch wasn’t running. That fucked everything up, Hector thought; how much time had passed? He went back to his hiding place. He wondered how long it was going to take and tried to figure out a way of knowing how much time had passed. He tried counting, but that went too slowly. Two of the men, Dewey and The Junior, began horsing around. Hector crossed the street and ordered them to stay in the freeze. Dewey asked how long they had been waiting; it was hours, he was sure. He was bored hanging around. How much longer was it going to take? The Junior said no one could be expected to be perfectly still; besides, there were no cops anyway. Hector said to maintain discipline; whose fault was it they were out of the cemetery? That quieted The Junior because he was a little ashamed.
Hector inspected Hinton’s cave. Hinton was sitting in a small, dark alleyway between two stores, his knees drawn up to his chin, staring at the wall ahead. Over his head a sign in luminescent gold paint announced that the territory belonged to Golden Janissaries. Hinton pointed, “Can’t be hard—they have a bad Crayon.”
Hector had never heard of them. He asked how it was going. Hinton said it was going. Lunkface was fidgeting in a store door, squirming, wanting to move it, bouncing in and out of the shadows. He kept leaving his place to go and talk to his brothers. Hector ordered Lunkface to get back and returned to his own hole-up. Bimbo came over and asked how long did Hector think it took to get up here from where Wallie was? Hector said he wasn’t sure, but it shouldn’t take too much longer.
“It took us more than an hour to get up here.”
“But that was on the train.”
“Well, he’s got a car. That .means he should come twice as fast, doesn’t it?”
“It don’t mean that.”
“I mean a car should go twice as fast.”
“It should, but it isn’t on the straightaway. Stay cool. He’ll come,” and he remembered what Wallie had said about it maybe taking time and not to panic. So he had Bimbo break out the bottle. Hector took a drink; Bimbo took a drink. Bimbo went all around and gave everyone a drink. That killed the bottle, but Bimbo put it back inside his raincoat—you couldn’t tell when it would be useful.
They waited. Another train passed. About a half-hour passed. Two couples passed, the boys leaning all over the girls, playing their hands on the house fronts; one couple was walking with their lips glued and their eyes shut tight. The men thought it was funny; the lovers didn’t even know they were being watched. One of the girls carried a portable radio and it played rockabilly love songs. But Lunkface had to play cute and come drag-dancing out of the shadows and strut by them very close, looking carefully, insolently, at the girls. The boys stepped free to look him over. Lunkface kept swaggering. The boys wanted to give Lunkface what he was looking for, but the girls held them back. The lovers let Lunkface go striding on, high, and the Family didn’t have to come out and stand up for him. One day he was going to do that, Hector thought, and the Family was going to let him get what he deserved; he had it coming, but good. Lunkface turned the corner and disappeared and the boys relaxed and kept walking with the girls. One girl’s hand kept holding on to her boy’s ass, squeezing, and that excited the Family. The other boy kept turning his head, looking back at the direction Lunkface had taken. That clown, Hector thought again; he would have to penalize Lunkface when they got back to the territory. What if Wallie came while Lunkface was gone? What if the fuzz showed?
The time kept dragging. No other trains came for a long while. Did the trains stop running after a certain hour? He began to wonder if he had made a mistake in calling Wallie after all. They could have been almost home. And how much could you trust him—any Other, for that matter? If Wallie knew where they were—and tonight—could the Other overlook a rumble like this—how sure of Wallie could they be?—could they be sure this wasn’t a trap—what if the cops were tipped—what if they were just around that corner—if Lunkface had danced into their arms? And after all, the trains went downtown; that was the way the hometurf lay. If they were on that train, they could always look up which way they had to go, what transfers they would have to make. It was really simple. And now the Lunkface had called attention to them. What if the boys were part of some army, those Spahis or these Janissaries, and came back with reinforcements? A prowl-car siren sounded from a long way off and Hinton got nervous until it faded. Why had Wallie insisted that they shouldn’t move—some kind of trap? No. That wasn’t the way these Youth Board jokers moved. But what if they had decided to clean them up, once and for all—what if it all had been some kind of trap to get all the gang leaders, all the hardest rocks into a net—what then? Well, if that was the case, Ismael had gotten his, but good. But now it would be a matter of cleaning up the ones who had gotten away.
Lunkface came back and was laughing. He went over to Hector’s hiding place and said he had gone around the block and passed the couples again. “They didn’t even see me. I walked by so close and they didn’t even see me. You know, they’re all sitting on a stoop, their mouths slobbering and that eyes-shut jazz, and one of them had his hand inside her pants and was feeling the old you know what, man. We could take them chicks away.”
“Get back to the hole and wait,” Hector told him.
“Man, it wouldn’t take long,” Lunkface said. “They’re around the corner and all we have to do is indian up and jap them quick and take those cunt. We could go back down to the park and do the job and be back before that Wallie would get here. We owe it to them chicks to show them how men operate, don’t we?”
“Get back and wait. We’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“Or man, we take them with us! We could do that. And if that Wallie, he don’t like it, why we could just take the car too.”
Hector told Lunkface to make the girl out of his hand and to cool his warrior in the dark waiting place. The Lunkface did what Hector said, but he was hot and didn’t much like
it.
They waited. Hector began to trust Wallie’s word less and less, perhaps because no one’s word should be trusted. And the longer they waited, the more exposed their own hiding places seemed to be. Hector saw a prowl car drifting by, about two blocks away; in the other direction, a block or so down, a beat-bull strolled by. They seemed to be casual enough, but—on the other hand they could be moving in on them. Arnold would have waited it out, Hector thought, and now that he was the Father, he would play it wise, old, and cool, too. Clouds began to float over the moon, and for a while they could see it, but its light was dimming, breaking through less and less till after a while the moon became completely blocked out. It slowly grew more airless, closer, and the thickness, mugginess, became palpable, and Hector could smell something faintly smoky—smog, maybe.
Hector was hot and sweating now; the sweat made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t take off his jacket in case he had to move fast. He waited. A sudden rill of perspiration running down his side made him jump. He realized he hadn’t heard any fireworks going off for a long time. Did that mean they had stopped shooting off because the neighborhood was becoming loaded with Law? Hector made himself think it was all right; traffic was holding Wallie up. But, on the other hand, where was the traffic this time of the night? If Wallie reported them, it might take just about this much time to set the net, surround them, trap them, but good. From uptown far off, he heard the faint sound of a train rumbling. Hector thought he would give it till the train after this one—that would be enough time for Wallie. If Wallie wasn’t here by then they would know, definitely, that something was wrong and they would cut out.
That patrol car passed, but it seemed as if it was a block nearer. Or was it a different hunt-buggy—going a little faster than he thought it should. Some older men came by, never noticing the Family hiding—or did they pretend not to notice. Could they be the plain clothes?
As the train came in, Hector couldn’t take it; he stepped out and gave the signal.