Next thing I knew, Johnny was in between us, just standing there.
Nobody screws around with him. If he moves in between a stand, it means the stand’s off. I used my fingernail on the lock of my knife and closed the blade. It was a long Italian stiletto, and it fitted nice into my pocket.
Fish was slower about ducking his.
“No fighting,” Johnny stated. “Not now.”
“Later, punk, later,” said Fish, turning away.
“So whadda we gonna do?” asked Lazear. Still on the same kick. Man, he’s all the time gotta be on the move. Go, go, go. Don’t stop for nothin’.
“Let’s go over to the clubroom,” suggested Slice.
Way he said it rocked me again. He said let’s go over, but, man, he meant somethin’ else altogether. I didn’t know what, but I guessed he was wise to my swipin’ the stuff we had put away. I didn’t want to go.
“Cool,” said Lazear, and Chollie bobbed his head. Fish didn’t say nothing, but he was Johnny Slice’s sideboy, and wherever Johnny wanted to go, that Fish swam with him.
I was outnumbered.
“Great.” I agreed. No choice.
We hit for the clubroom.
I walked a little bit behind those others, walking with Dumb Chollie. He ain’t much, but at least he ain’t got the brains to put a shank in my ribs when I’m looking the other way.
We walked with our collars turned up and our feet makin’ slide-sounds on the pavement. The way the street lamps put light on those other three, up ahead, with their collars up, made ’em look like devils, walking to catch a bus.
I looked over at Chollie. Man, was he soft in the head! A real gumbrain. He was on the outs with the Stompers, too, but they let him come along on little jobs like rolling the rummy. It was easier than leaning on him and taking the chance his old man would run to the cops.
But they wouldn’t worry about that with me. Man, I was all by my lonesome and they knew it. If they put me in the Gowanus, ain’t nobody’d go screaming to the Crime Commission.
That’s why I didn’t like this whole bit.
Somewhere something was right down the drain. That Fish man said three times about me talkin’ to Fairchild, the cop, and I ain’t been near the crumb since the day he walked up to me on the street.
I was in the hole for gytching some of the H we had stashed away in the clubroom, then selling it to a coupla hot numbers on Garfield Street who’d go for me every time I brought them some junk. But nobody knew about it. I thought.
This jazz with Fairchild must of been hooked up with some of the kids getting tagged and stuck in the can. Someone was tipping the cops to who was pulling the jobs in our turf. We hadn’t pulled anything till tonight for fear the squeek would blow to the bulls and some of us would get put away.
Tonight we’d gone out, and it looked like they’d brought me along on the roll-job to see if any tip-off went through. If it didn’t, they figured I was the boy.
The only trouble was that I wasn’t Slice’s man. I wasn’t the stoolie. Why’d they pick me? Somebody put up a case with me as water-boy. Man, there was something lousy wrong there.
I felt sweat on my upper lip. I wished I could stop sweating. I wished I was the hell outta there.
Fish kept lookin’ back over his shoulder at us, givin’ me a look that said I’ll see you later, punk, I’ll see you real good!
“You got somethin” in your eye, man?” I said, real wise.
He stopped, and I thought we was gonna have a replay of that bit by the subway station, but he just wrinkled his nose at me like I was horse-droppings, and turned around again.
In a little bit we fell over to the Gorman A.C., where the Jolly Stompers had a clubroom. It was the last thing we had to prove we was a real club. We hadda ditch our jackets…man, were they nervous! Had a big boot and a knife on the back, with Jolly Stompers in red on the black leather, and the names on the front. Mine said Cheech. We ditched ’em ’cause the cops were wise to them. Quickest way for a cop to locate a gang kid is to advertise with your name on the jacket.
So we blew ’em off, fast. Put ’em away and only wore ’em once in a bit to dances, and like that.
When we went through the gym, Johnny gave two-fingers of hello to old man Gorman. That big pug used to be a helluva good middleweight, but he got his brains scrambled almost as bad as Dumb Chollie, and he opened the athletic club to keep himself in beer and cigars. He also got a nice piece of dough from what he fenced for us.
Don’t know what the hell he ever did with all the hubcaps we used to gytch, but he took ’em off us at two bucks apiece as quick as we lifted ’em.
We went into the back room, and I was rocked again.
The membership was out, full.
Everybody was there. Even studs we didn’t hardly see no more: Powlie, Adolph Bergman, Hunk, Pepper, all the boys moved away or graduated to the big time. It looked like Old Home Week.
Then I stopped dead, right in the doorway.
They was all lookin’ at me.
I made a move to back out, but that Fish was suddenly right at my side, and he shoved me into the room. Lazear locked the door.
Johnny Slice went up to the front of the room and took the gavel outta the desk drawer. Man, I was ready to take a dive; I knew what this was. Court.
And it looked like I was already convicted.
“Put him over there,” Johnny commanded, pointing the mallet at a chair to the right of his desk. The defendant’s chair. Oh, Christ, this was the very least!
I was scared so bad they hadda take three guys to get me over there, into that chair. I sat down like I’d never get up again, and my knees was like jelly. I was so shivery I thought they’d all see it. But I guess they didn’t ’cause Johnny started the case.
“Will the prosecuting attorney please tell the membership what the defendant is up for?”
Slops, a red-haired kid with a big nose, got up and said, “I’m repeatin’ what we were told by a reliable source. That this man—the Defendant Cheech Beldone—was overheard talkin’ with the cop known as Fairchild, and told him who was responsible for the job at Emery’s candy store last Wednesday night.”
He sat down again, and Johnny said: “As you of the membership all know, Carl and Bermie was picked up on Friday afternoon, at work, and they were put in jail. This is the third time such an occurrence has happened.
“I believe from the testimony we have heard, from our reliable source who was there and overheard the defendant tell the names of Carl and Bermie to that cop, Fairchild, that we should ask the death penalty for Cheech.”
He stopped and looked at me. The way he just said we should ask the death penalty for me made me wanta scream. He didn’t give a damn! It was me they was gonna kill, not him, and he didn’t care. I was shakin’ and they was all watchin’ me and I yelled, “That ain’t fair! You ain’t let me say nothing!”
So somebody in the back of the room says, “Yeah, let the pigeon squawk some more,” and everybody laughed like hell, except that Fish, ’cause he hated my guts, and Johnny, who only smiles when he wants to smack somebody.
“All right, all right. Quiet! Let the defendant rise.” Slice was wavin’ the gavel at me, so I got up.
“Tell us about Fairchild,” he said, that sick kisser of his just waiting for me to say something.
So I told them.
I told them how one night about two months ago this knock came on my door. I was asleep. It was about two in the morning, and I was in my pad; I hadda be at work the next morning, nine o’clock.
So I yelled, “Yeah?”
And this voice said, “Open the door, Beldone, it’s the police. We want to talk to you.” He said it real quiet like he didn’t want to wake anyone else on my floor of the rooming house, and I figured only time the bulls are polite is when they haven’t got a tag on you, so I got outta bed and unbolted the door.
When I got the door open and I saw it was that slob Fairchild I was sorry I’d opened it, �
��cause I hate plain-clothes dicks worse than anything, the lousy sneaks.
I knew who he was, from seeing him on the street, and I was sore as hell he come busting around two in the morning when I hadda work the next day. He plopped himself into the chair in my room and said, “Mind if I sit down and talk for a few minutes, Cheech?”
“You’re in, ain’tcha?” I said.
“Why aren’t you in school these days, boy?” he asked, so I told him. “I gotta work, that’s why.”
And he asked me why I didn’t stay livin’ with my uncle after my old lady died, and I told him ’cause Uncle Harry was a lousy broad-chaser and a booze-hound to boot and I didn’t feel like being kicked outta my sack anytime he brought one of his tramps home to sleep with, so I hadda go onto the floor or the bathtub.
I told him I liked it better where I was, on my own.
Then he asked me who was head of the Stompers these days, and I told him I didn’t know. So he says I know and he can save me a lotta trouble would I tell him.
“Shove it,” I said.
“Don’t get flip, Beldone,” he said, pointing his finger at me. I was surprised. The finger was all yellow from cigarette stains, and I couldn’t figure this slob to be human enough to smoke. “Tell me what the gang has on, and we can make sure you don’t get any reform school, and we’ll get you into a trade class at Brooklyn Automotive.”
I guess my eyes got wider, because he frowned. I got off the bed and went over and opened the door. “Out,” I said, “I’m a citizen and you got no right in here if I don’t want ya in. Out.”
He got up. “Think it over, kid. It’d be smarter than winding up in a gutter.”
“Out!”
He got out, and I didn’t see him for three weeks. Then he stopped me in the Candy Shop and started to say something, but I shook him loose quick.
Then last Thursday he stopped me again. On the street. I couldn’t shake him that time, ’cause I didn’t want him gettin’ no case of resisting an officer or crap like that on me. So he says the same thing, and I told him to put it where he shit, and I blew outta there fast.
I told them that, and they all sat and just looked at me. I could tell they didn’t wanta have to knock me off, but that goddam Fish was up on his feet, all of a sudden.
“You gonna believe that liar? I saw him on the street with Fairchild. He was talkin’ to him. If our reliable source says he tipped the pot, then he tipped the pot. Let’s put the stinkin’ sonofabitch where he belongs!”
That cat was after my hide, and I was scared white he’d get it.
Johnny started to bang the gavel, and I knew he was goin’ to make a verdict—he never bothered with a jury. He always thought he knew the case better than anybody. All of a sudden I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He didn’t like me, never did, since he became president of the Stompers. I wanted out.
So I made out.
There was thirty-to-one in that room. The one was me. So I beat it up out of that chair and jumped onto Slice’s desk, where he stood gettin’ ready to put me down, and I went out the window over his head.
I just jumped and went through it and I felt the rip of my jeans gettin’ cut open as I went through. I was out on the back roof of the A.C.
I heard ’em yelling and coming up after me. Man, I wanted away, but fast. I was going to fade and not be seen, again, ever.
I’d go to California, or upstate, or anywhere. But I wanted out.
Next thing I knew I was down the fire escape and into the street, running. All of them after me. I was scared to the socks.
It was dark, only one streetlight every half-block, and they’d been around with the water trucks and the streets were wet and shiny. I could see my face all blurred as I ran, see it on the blacktop. I was crying. Oh, Christ, I wanted out bad.
I hit for my room, figuring if I could get holed up there, I could hang on till light and then they’d ease off and I’d get the hell outa there, and move to Jersey someplace. I just wanted out.
They cut me off on the other side of the street. They must of come out through the front of the building and gone around the block. Lazear and Fish was right in front, running like a bitch, and that Slops pounding right past, them like he had a fire up his tail.
I could hear Fish yelling, “Get the bastard, get the stinking, ratting bastard!” And it was coming out in puffs because he was right behind Johnny Slice, and Johnny was coming up fast on me.
My legs was hurting, right in the joints behind the knees, and I could hardly see where I was going. Windows kept opening all up the street, and lights went on. I slipped once in a puddle and almost went down, but I kept going, and every once in a while I could hear myself sobbing. Man, I was scared! If I could ever just get outta this, I’d never see those boys no more at all.
I stopped short and made a dash for an alley between two brownstones. I could hear them pumping slam-slam right behind me. Jeezus, how I was crying! Halfway down the line I saw a fire escape, and I jumped and grabbed it, and pulled myself up, getting rust stains all over the front of my jacket, but I was up.
I felt a hand grab me around the ankle and it was Slops, and he was tugging at me, gasping, “I got the crud, I got him!”
So I kicked out and put my regiment boot right where he wore that big nose of his. He crunched and swore and started bleeding. Even in the dim without much of a moon I could see the shine of blood all over his kisser. He started screaming, and I legged up that fire escape, and onto the roof. I could hear them coming.
I didn’t know what the hell to do.
There was a pigeon loft up there and I crouched down behind it, and pulled my switch. I was afraid to open it, like they’d hear the snick of it, but I did it anyhow, holding my hand over it so it wouldn’t click. It opened and the moonlight caught the honed blade for a second before I got it out of the light.
I heard a noise, and someone crept over.
I got that shank up, ready to slice the bastard, but it was only Dumb Chollie. How he got up there and left the others behind, I don’t know. He came over, and how he knew I was there, I don’t know that either.
“Cheech, it’s me, it’s Chollie. Hey, lemme stay with ya. They’re after me, too.” Why the hell were they after him, I wondered. I knew he was outside, but they wouldn’t pot off the dummy, like me. His voice was all queer and beggy, like a kid asking a favor, so I took a chance and went, “Psst!” and he came over and hunkered down next to me. He had a switch, too.
I didn’t know where he came from, or what he wanted, but he wasn’t screaming for my blood, and I was glad to have anybody on my side, even if it was a loose-headed character like that.
Then they all came up the fire escape.
They’d come up slow, ’cause they thought I might be in a window on the way up. I could see ’em blacked-out against the lighter black of the sky. It was them just standing, looking around for me, and all them TV antennas. It was weird, real weird.
I could hear them muttering to each other, but they didn’t know where I was.
Then Dumb Chollie started talking.
“It was me, Cheech. I told the cops. I called ’em and didn’t tell ’em my name. But I called ’em.”
“Shut up,” I whispered at him. I could see those studs listening real cat-like for where the voices was comin’ from. Man, I didn’t know what that crazy Chollie was sayin’, but I had to shut him up or I was dead meat.
“I told them ta pick up Carl and Bermie, and the other kids, and then I told Johnny I heard you tell the cop who it was robbed Emery’s.”
I suddenly knew what he was blabbing about!
“Why? Why, you crazy gumhead? Why?” I was talking, loud, and I was so scared I wasn’t worried about them guys no more, just getting the stuff outta Dumb Chollie.
“’Cause I wanted back in the gang, Cheech. They was gonna make me a member again, I knew it, if-I told ’em you was tippin’ the cops. I hadda do it, Cheech. I hadda get back in the gang. You know.”
>
Oh, Christ, yeah I knew. That lousy dummy killed me with his lies. I was framed, and they were gonna get me sure.
They was coming toward us, slow. They knew I hadn’t gotten away over the roofs. They wasn’t sure where I was up there, but they knew I was up there.
I sat there shaking like a freezing dog, praying, honest-to-God praying, hoping they’d go on past and I’d be able to run like hell.
I wasn’t even going back to my pad. I was just gonna leg out fast.
They stopped again, about fifteen feet from the pigeon coop, lookin” around, when that Dumb Chollie stood up and yelled, “Hey, Johnny, here he is! You put me back in the club again?”
“You crazy bastard!” I screamed, and put my knife into the back of him. I yelled when I saw he was bleeding. He slid off my knife and fell over on his face, kicking his legs so I wanted to puke. Man, I’d never seen anything like that and Oh, Christ! I wanted away, bad!
All of a sudden I saw all them bastards coming at me, screaming and yelling at me, and I turned around and ran again. This time I made it to the edge of the roof and started to jump across the alley, but someone, I guess Johnny Slice—he’s the best with a shank—put his knife right through my jacket and out through my shoulder and I screamed because it was like cutting your finger on glass or paper or a razor blade and all of them at once only deeper and harder and I could feel the skin part and the blood start to sticky my undershirt, and I screamed again, and stopped dead.
And they’re coming over, but they aren’t in too big a hurry, because I heard my knife go banging down into the alley, and they know I can’t jump across that with one arm.
They don’t know it wasn’t me.
It wasn’t me was a stoolie.
I was a good member. I never ratted.
That Dumb Chollie, boy, did he screw himself up. Look what happened to him.
Yeah, did he screw himself up.
JOY RIDE
The Deadly Streets Page 9