“You’ve got to stop potting around, Alice,” he told her. “I know it’s tough on you and even on me, being alone so much. But if Mom and Pop don’t make the dough now, who knows”—he shrugged his shoulders—“after the war’s over there might be another depression and then things might be tough again. So this way they’re making money and we’ll have some left if times get tough. Gee”—he shook his head—“you’re too young to remember what things were really like.”
“I remember,” Alice said slowly. “I remember when we were on relief.”
“You can’t remember, and I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank cut her short. “Finish your pie and I’ll walk you home. Do your homework and go to sleep.”
“Did you do your homework?” she asked him.
“I didn’t have any.” Frank thought that was funny and he had to smile. “I didn’t get any homework today.”
Fanny Kane was still hanging around their stoop when Frank said good night to Alice, and he could tell by the way she looked at him that she would give anything if he’d invite her to the Amboy Dukes. As he walked toward Pit-kin Avenue he felt her eyes upon him, and consciously he swaggered a little, for he was a Duke, and the Dukes were tops.
The Amboy Dukes had clubrooms on East Ninety-third Street in East Flatbush. Above the entrance a small electric yellow-and-gold sign winked Amboy Dukes. To the right of the entrance door was a little room in which were located the meters of the house and which the Dukes used as a checkroom. The main room had a hardwood floor and was furnished with old secondhand nondescript sofas and easy chairs, a radio-victrola, some end tables loaded with ash trays, and floor lamps in which the dark red and blue bulbs made the dimness in the room a guarantee of privacy. At the far end of the room was another door which led into the small kitchen and toilet, and a closet in which the Dukes kept two folding cots. The club was similar to the dozens of other clubs in East Flatbush, and its purpose was certain and precise.
On any night there would be some of the boys in the clubroom, and one or two of them would be standing out front on the sidewalk to pick up the girls who regularly walked through the streets of the neighborhood looking for a place where they could meet some guys and dance. The Amboy Dukes were lucky, for they had a reputation as a sharp bunch of guys, and a string of steady girls came around in the evening for the dancing and necking. The Dukes had three rules which their members had to observe: they had to pay their dues promptly, be ready to fight for one another at any time, and stay out of the club-room if they were stag. Stags could hang around the kitchen or sit on the bench in front of the basement steps which led to the clubroom until they picked up a date. Then they could enter, dance if they wanted to, or they could sit in the large chairs or sofas and neck. Each of the Dukes was an expert at minding his own business, and no one muscled in on another guy’s date. The Dukes was a good club to belong to, and all the members knew it.
They realized it most when the Dukes threw a party. Then there was a band, guests from other gangs, maybe a real grown-up mobster and his date, and lots of babes who flocked to any dance the Dukes gave. The lights were still dim and private, but there wasn’t any rough stuff. Any guy who became drunk and started a fight got a fast deal and was thrown out.
The only time when girls were not welcome at the club was during the meeting night, which was held every two weeks, and when the Dukes were lining up one or two girls on the cots. Before the meetings the members changed the bulbs in the floor lamps and later the boys played poker and pinochle. A case of beer would be brought in and the Dukes would have a good time without being bothered by babes. On the evenings when the boys would have a couple of amateur sluts or a professional at the club the sign would be cut off and the cots set up in the kitchen. Then the boys were not permitted to drink, nor were they allowed to have any visitors. The blue and red bulbs were in the lamps, and the kitchen was in total darkness.
As Frank walked along Ninety-third Street he could see the sign in front of their clubroom winking invitingly at him, and then it went out. Frank increased his gait and took the eight steps to the basement two at a time, knocked on the locked door in code, and the door was opened slightly.
“It’s me, Frank,” he whispered.
“Come in,” Crazy Sachs said. “We’ve got a hooer in the back.”
“I saw the sign go out.”
“We just got her here.”
“She ever been down before?”
“No,” Crazy replied. “Two of the boys picked her up in Davidson’s. She’s about thirty. A regular bum.”
“Ah,” Frank sniffed, “she doesn’t sound so hot.”
“She’s all right,” Crazy said. “And all she’s asking is a buck apiece.”
Frank walked over to one of the sofas and flopped into the cushions. He took one of his reefers from his cigarette case and lit it. The boys weren’t doing much talking, and one of them would walk into the dark kitchen as one of them came out. Frank wished he hadn’t come down to the club. Maybe he should’ve stayed home with Alice or even taken her to the movies instead of sitting around and waiting for his turn. He never enjoyed paying for it, and so many guys ahead of him dulled his appetite.
Black Benny came out of the kitchen and Frank called him over.
“How was she?”
“So-so.”
“Worth a buck?”
“Depends how you feel.”
“What the hell makes you so fussy?” Crazy butted in.
Frank took a deep drag on the reefer and let the smoke drift slowly out of his mouth. “Get away from me,” he said to Crazy.
Crazy spit on the floor and cursed him softly as he walked to the kitchen door and listened. “Hey, guys,” he whispered to the room, “what d’ya say we all give the bum a lay and then we’ll take back the money?”
Larry Tunafish, who was sitting in one of the dim recesses of the room, laughed. “You’re nuts, Crazy.”
“No, honest,” Crazy insisted. “It’ll really be good.”
“Suppose she gets some gorillas to come down and clean us up?” Larry asked him.
“Forget it.” Crazy walked toward him, his hands shaking with excitement. “We’ve got plenty of protection. She’s just a bum, and I’ll tell her I’ll cut her up if she ever opens her mouth.”
The boys sat tensely on the chairs and sofas, tasting and savoring Crazy’s suggestion, seeing it in its rottenness but enjoying the thought of the whore deprived of her money. They had never done anything like it before, and it sounded like a good idea, except that it had been proposed by Crazy. The boys always thought over carefully anything Crazy suggested, and most of the time they did not listen to him, for Crazy was a right guy who was a little soft in the head and too ready to use a knife on a guy. In fact, some of the boys weren’t too happy about having Crazy in the Dukes because sometimes he acted too nutty to suit them. Crazy walked with a stoop, and his black wiry hair grew out of a broad flat skull. His ears stuck out like the ears of a cup, and his face was dull. His eyes mirrored his helplessness and bewilderment at a world that read a newspaper with ease, wrote rapidly with agile fingers, and reasoned in a matter of seconds. But constant torment, jeers, and gibes had made Crazy dangerous, and within him there always smoldered a fury that changed him from a dull boy to a dangerous, maniacal street fighter. But this was a good idea, even for Crazy, and now they waited for the club president, Larry Tunafish, to make up his mind.
“How about it, guys?” Larry asked them.
“I’m in on it,” Black Benny said.
“You, Frank?” Larry asked him.
The reefer was making Frank feel dreamy. “Anything you guys say.”
Just then the kitchen door opened and one of the boys told Crazy to go in. Crazy giggled stupidly, made a slugging motion with his right fist, and passed through the door.
“Who hasn’t gone in?” Larry asked the room.
“I haven’t.” A voice from one of the sofas spoke.
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“Frank.” Black Benny spoke.
“I don’t want to,” Frank said.
“Why?” Benny asked him.
“I just don’t want to!”
“Frank’s high,” Benny said to the room.
“All right.” Larry spoke decisively. “After you two guys get through we’ll give her a deal. Mitch,” he said to one of the boys, “get the bright bulbs out of the checkroom and start putting them in the lamps.”
Now the boys were feeling good and they were impatient for the last two Dukes to finish with the whore as they waited in the bright room for her to dress and come out of the kitchen.
As she opened the door and came into the clubroom she blinked. She was closer to forty than thirty, and her dyed red hair was black at the roots. Her face was full, tough, and stupid, bruised by drink, dope, and the many beatings given her by pimps, and her eyebrows had been shaved off and replaced by two thin penciled lines. The plaid of her cheap suit did not match at the seams, and she carried a black shoulder bag. Already she showed signs of physical decay and the taint of disease which would finally kill her. She looked around and tried to grin at the boys who sat and stared at her.
“Well, boys,” she tittered nervously, “everybody happy?”
“So-so,” Black Benny said.
She tugged at her skirt. “Well”—she cleared her throat which was heavy with phlegm—“you can’t please everybody.”
“That’s what we like about department stores,” Larry said to her.
“What?” she asked him.
“That you can return the merchandise and get your money back.”
The whore became uneasy. “What the hell are you guys talking about?” she asked them, and began to walk to the front door. Then she stopped as she saw Crazy push one of the large chairs in front of the door and sit down in it. “Let me out.” Her voice became shrill.
“When you give us back our dough,” Crazy said.
“Get out of my way.” She stood in front of Crazy.
Crazy put his foot in the pit of her stomach and kicked her into the middle of the room. As she reeled backward on her high heels she screamed and collapsed, with her skirt above her thighs.
None of the boys spoke as she sat on the floor and sobbed. “Let me out of here, you dirty bastards,” she wept.
“When you give us our dough,” Larry said.
She stood up and looked at them. “You dirty bastards!”
“You want a kick in the ass?” Crazy asked her.
“You’ll get yours!” she screamed at him, her eyes wild with fright and fury. “You’ll get yours!”
“Stop your yelling,” Larry warned her, “before I tell Crazy to go to work on you.”
Crazy stood up and walked toward her menacingly. She backed away from him toward one end of the room, and suddenly a hard slap on her buttocks sent her staggering forward toward Crazy. Crazy grabbed her by the hair and spit full in her face. Then he twisted her hair until she fell to her knees.
“You no-good hooer.” Crazy spit at her again. “You’re gonna give us our dough?”
“Let go of her,” Larry said to Crazy. Crazy kicked her shin and she winced with pain.
Frank stared at the ceiling and tried not to be part of what was going on. The whole thing made him sick. Crazy spitting in the whore’s face and the whore sitting limply in the middle of the floor, clutching her pocketbook while she wept. It stank. Not at all like the kind of thing the Dukes would do. But that’s what came from listening to that bastard Crazy. The guys never learned.
“Give me a break,” she sobbed.
No one answered her.
“Give me a break.” She hiccuped as she sobbed. “I took on eleven of you guys and you’re not giving me a break. Don’t you guys ever give anyone a break?”
“Sure,” Crazy said, “we’ll break your ass if you don’t give us back our dough.”
“Shut up,” Larry said to him. “Listen,” he said to her. “We’ve got you, so better give it back.”
“I’ll give you back a quarter each.” Her voice was thick with tears.
Larry shook his head. “All of it.”
“A half buck each,” she replied desperately.
“No.”
“Ain’t you guys got hearts? Give me a break!”
“No.”
“Please!”
“Cut it out,” Larry warned her. “We’re not bargaining. Get it up.”
She put her hands to her face and wept bitterly. Black Benny shifted nervously and nudged Frank. “I don’t like it,” he whispered.
Frank continued to stare at the ceiling. “I think we’re being a bunch of jerks,” he said with disgust.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Benny went on.
“Mine either.”
“Well?” Larry’s voice was frigid and hard, and the knife scar on his right cheek glowed red. “You made up your mind? I’m gonna give you another minute to make up your mind, and if you don’t you’re gonna get a beating.”
“Can’t I even keep five bucks? Please”—she stood up slowly and approached Larry—“give me a break. This is work to me. I spent a whole night here with you guys. I gave you boys a good time,” she appealed to them; “give me a break. Please, give me a break.” Her voice trailed off in a whisper.
Larry looked at the boys and saw they were disgusted. All except Crazy, who started to yell that they shouldn’t let her get away. The whore saw they were wavering and continued to plead, crying and blubbering for a break. She approached each boy and begged for a break, asking each of them if he wanted his dollar back, but no one replied to her question. She began to weep again, and the boys were ashamed to look at her or one another. All except Crazy, for the boys accepted so few of his suggestions that he hated to have this one flop.
“Stop your bawling,” Crazy warned her, “or I’ll clout you one in the teeth.” He shoved her against the wall to emphasize his threat.
“You’re the only one who doesn’t want to give me a break.” She turned on him. “I’ll bet it was your idea!”
“Shut up!”
“Amboy Dukes are supposed to be regular guys”—she wept and clutched her purse with both hands—“not a bunch of chiselers.”
Unwittingly she had struck the responsive chord. Larry stood up and pulled the chair away from the door. “Go ahead,” he said to her. “You can blow.”
As she realized that she was free to go she stumbled forward and then turned and walked toward the kitchen. “I want to fix my face,” she said hoarsely.
After she left the boys leaned back and relaxed. They were glad it was over and that they hadn’t taken her money. It hadn’t been such a good idea. Frank lit the third reefer. It took three of them now to make him feel real high, and as he took the first couple of drags on the opiated cigarette the comedy of the episode struck him and he began to laugh wildly, stamping his feet and beating one fist into the other. Soon some of the other boys began to laugh, partly at him and partly as a release from the tension, and the clubroom rocked with laughter as Crazy wallowed and slobbered on the floor in the middle of the room and imitated the pleadings and weepings of the whore. In his stupid, vicious, and pornographic way Crazy was obscenely funny, and the boys were limp from laughing. This was really some night.
Benny looked at his wrist watch and saw that it was past eleven. “You’re coming?” he asked Frank, and stood up. “We’re going home,” he addressed the others. “Anybody coming?”
“I’ll go with you!” Crazy shouted.
“Aw, balls,” Frank muttered. “I’ve had enough of that jerk for one day.”
Frank left the clubroom with Benny, Crazy, Mitch, Larry Tunafish, and Bull Bronstein. On Ninety-eighth and Rutland they stopped into Katz’s Kozy Korner for sandwiches and coffee, and when they left the restaurant they walked under the elevated structure on Ninety-eighth Street to East New York Avenue. It was past midnight, and Frank was coming out of the marijuana jag and feeling lousy. Crazy Sa
chs kept yelling and laughing, and nothing they said could shut him up. Sometimes Frank wondered why the hell he had to be a member of the Amboy Dukes, but then he remembered that Crazy was one of the best guys they had when they got into a fight. It really wasn’t his fault that he was dumb and crazy. So crazy that he didn’t graduate from public school and too dumb to be anything but a laborer on a wholesale meat truck.
The fresh night air was clearing Frank’s head, and the fatigue of excitement was being replaced by the natural fatigue that came from getting up early and going to bed late. Now his head no longer felt as if someone were flying around in it, and things were beginning to look life size again. But as the shape and smell and feel of things returned to normal he found himself becoming more and more irritable. That was why when he saw the three guys pass them on the sidewalk he stuck his foot out and tripped one of them, because as they passed Black Benny and him he identified them as being spicks who probably came from Ocean Hill. They wore zoot suits and felt hats with shallow crowns and large exaggerated brims, and one of them had a key chain which dangled to his knees.
They stopped and waited for the boy who had been tripped to get up. Then Frank approached him and looked at him steadily, his eyes still glittering from the marijuana. “Why don’tcha look where you’re walking?” he asked him.
The Puerto Rican boy smoothed his hair and dusted off his hat. “What’s the idea tripping me?”
“Because I don’t like you.” Frank’s face twitched. “I don’t like the way you look.”
“And I don’t like the way you look,” one of the other Puerto Ricans said to Frank.
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Larry Tunafish advised the stranger. “No one’s asking you what you like.”
Crazy Sachs pushed his way forward. “Where you from? Where you guys from?”
The Amboy Dukes Page 4