He walked the littered alleys and the crooked streets like a god of sin! Nebraska Brace, the foulest, the most lustful, the worst of the Wild Pigs. Nebraska Brace, the knife-swinging idol of the steamed-up little gang tramps who fought each other to give him their wanton favors-and in return were given pitiless shame. Nebraska Brace, who led his gang of juvies with one law-take what you want when you want it! And they took it-the innocence of the whimpering little virgins-the lust of the too-wise teenage harlots-the honor of the women they seized and dragged down into the rape depths they lived in. And when the chips were down-when it seemed that at last Nebraska Brace had traded his law for a crack at Dixie, the scheming little twist whose hunger for trouble was greater than her flesh hunger, even then, when the alarm bells rang in his twisted passion mind, Nebraska Brace grabbed the writhing body and screamed his battle cry that shouted he was the King of Lust!
PROLOGUE
They stood on the corners, leaning against the brick walls with just the right combination of insolence and nonchalance blended with taut-muscled readiness, looking with heavy-lidded eyes at the passersby, cigarettes drooping from their lips. This was their corner, there was nothing to fear as they stood here. Every group thought this of their own corner. Green and Pearl, Madison and Dongan, Hudson and State-the very center of the city. The section where housewives hesitated to go alone while shopping, and where businessmen and college boys were sneered at aloud, called faggots and punks, chicken and yellow. Cigarettes were nicked at their legs and they were spat at and tripped. At all of these things the boys laughed. They seemed driven by a desire, a need to laugh. At everything, everybody, all except their own group on their own corner or in their own clubhouse.
And even more than laughter was the desire to prove themselves. But then, perhaps the laughter was merely a form of this other, deeper, and. Who can say?
They all looked alike, these boys. Some were big, some small, their features were not the same, but there was still something about them that made them all give the same impression, like brothers of various ages and sizes. Perhaps it was the look that each managed to affect in his eyes, the look of open, defiant hatred for the whole world.
And they dressed alike: tight slacks, white shirts open at the neck, leather jackets. They wore engineer boots and garrison belts. The uniform of the gangs. Their conformity against conformity. But few of them would have known what a word as long as conformity meant. And they wouldn't have cared.
On the corner of Madison and Green stood Nebraska Brace. Around him were his men, each one trying to look as much as possible like Nebraska, none quite managing to.
Brace was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was loqg and he wore it swept back into a ducktail, and with very long sideburns. And he wore a moustache, which dropped slightly at the edges, giving him an Oriental look. His eyes added to that impression, for when he kept them half open, in a sleepy, snake-like manner, they seemed to be just a slight bit slanted. His cheekbones were high and prominent, and his lips were pencil-line thin, his jaw sharp. One curl of hair hung over his forehead to the left of center, above one heavy, dark eyebrow, which seemed higher than the other, because he kept it arched constantly. An arched eyebrow is the goal of many a matinee patron of adventure movies on school-cutting days. Brace was not too far removed from those days. He was seventeen years old. But it was a very aware seventeen. Also, quite an intelligent seventeen, but he didn't care about that, and laughed at the advice to continue school and be somebody ... He was somebody.
He was Nebraska Brace, hard guy. Gang leader. Envied and emulated by his men. And that was the kind of somebody he wanted to be.
His gang was called The Wild Pigs. They dressed in the same style, levies and white shirts and levi jackets. On the back of the jackets, painted in white against the blue, they had each inscribed the name of their club. They wore the name proudly. No one goosed a Wild Pig.
Brace was the only one without a club jacket. He didn't need one. Everyone knew who he was. He wore a bulky sheepskin coat instead, collar up. Around his neck was knotted a bright scarlet kerchief, the ends hanging casually down over one shoulder. His levis were tucked into Wellington boots, which were highly polished.
He carried a pair of worn pigskin gloves, which he slapped against his thigh constantly. And he smoked cigars.
"Hey, Nebraska. Pin this witch," said Cherry Red.
Nebraska looked. She was a trim blonde, walking with a heavyset, crewcut type guy. The couple had to pass before where the Pigs stood. Nebraska opened his eyes a little wider and a grin flicked at the corner of his mouth. It was time to have a little fun.
"The witch is right, man. But that's an awful funny lookin' dude with her. You think he's a faggot?" He spoke loudly enough for the couple to hear, but the guy pretended not to and was going to walk past without incident. But Cherry Red was not one to let his idol be ignored. He stepped directly in their path.
"Don't you hear yourself bein' talked to?" he asked the guy. His hands were behind his back, and he leaned forward from the waist.
"I don't want no trouble with you guys. Just get outta the way."
It was bad. The guy had to impress his chick, but he was in no mood to tangle with the whole crowd. He wanted to get away as soon as possible, with as little loss of face as was possible. He could come back. He had friends, too.
"Where you from?" Nebraska asked. He hadnt moved from the wall. "Troy."
"Why you here?"
"That's none of your business. I'm walkin' by. not botherin' anybody, and...."
"None of my business?" Brace stepped forward and in front of the guy. He looked around to see if there were any cops in sight. His jaws were tight.
"Listen, punk! I make what I want my business. Maybe I'll make it my business to hit your eyeballs out, and take this little blonde trick away from you."
"You're brave ... behind your gang," the guy said. He had squared off, and obviously wasn't going to run. But he was scared. His left eye twitched.
"I don't need any help with a faggot like you," Brace said, drawling the words and smiling with his thin mouth while he kept his eyes cold. "Let's go in the alley and do it, punk."
The guy started to shrug, as if to say, all right, I don't want to fight but I'm not chicken. But he never got his shoulders more than half an inch up. Brace ripped a right hook into his stomach, followed with a left, stepped back and kicked the guy directly in the groin. The man fell forward, moaning and clutching himself.
"You louse!" the blonde said.
"Nice," said Cherry Red.
"You take this jerk back to Troy, Sweetie," Brace told the girl "And you tell the people over there that this man has just been frigged up by Nebraska Brace. And you say that Nebraska Brace can frig up a whole lot of guys from Troy, if they went to come over the river.
The Wild Pigs walked away, laughing. The blonde girl helped her boy friend sit up, her eyes watching the back of Nebraska Brace, not looking quite angry enough to wish him dead.
"I'll get that louse," the guy said.
And, half a block away, Brace said, "They'll remember Nebraska Brace on this street for a whole long time."
"Yeah," said Cherry Red.
CHAPTER ONE
Half a dozen of the boys were gathered in the club-house. The clubhouse was not really a house, it was an apartment in the basement of a brick tenement on Dongan Avenue. It consisted of one large room which was the living room in the more respectable days of the dwelling but which now served as the meeting room; two smaller rooms, which still served as a kitchen and bedroom; one closet and a tiny bathroom. The furnishings were very meager, a few chairs, a sofa, one iron
11 bed, a kitchen table. The refrigerator took up most of the tiny kitchen, and was usually stocked with beer and sometimes cheap wine. There was a stove, but no one bothered to ever cook in the clubhouse. Nebraska Brace had set the pattern of thought on that when he had once proclaimed that no man should ever eat if there was something to drink instead, and so most of the club members waited until they could eat in their own homes and denied that they ever touched food.
The most valuable furnishing was a stereo set which took up one corner of the front room. It was also the largest object that the boys had ever managed to steal. Fred the Head had once carried off a cigarette machine, but he had been caught and so that didn't count. They had taken the stereo from the back of an appliance store, very boldly, as though they were delivering it. It was a grand coup, one of which they were all very proud.
They had a large collection of records, some rock and roll but mostly jazz, because the latter were the easiest to get without paying for them, through fictitious names in the record clubs. A record was usually playing at all times when there was someone in the clubhouse.
On the walls were several pictures of naked women, torn from the centerfold of Playboy magazine, and a few photographs that they had snapped themselves, catching girls in various embarrassing poses and states of undress.
There were no rugs, and the hardwood floors were scarred from the cleats which they wore on the heels of their boots. One wall was scarred from many games of darts. They stole the darts from bars. Having no dart-board, they drew one on the wall. Sometimes, instead of darts, they threw knives, and that did more damage. Once Fred the Head had hurtled an axe, barely missing Cherry Red, who was retrieving the knives. They had given Fred the game on principal, and let him have first go with the whore that Brace had brought in for the gang.
Numerous cushions were scattered around on the floor, to compensate for lack of chairs. And on one wall, framed, was Fred the Head's Bad Conduct Discharge from the Army. That was much admired, and it was strictly forbidden to throw darts at it. It was okay to throw at the picture of J. Edgar Hoover, however, and more fun than the dartboard. Hoover was placed between Hitler and Stalin, on the Secret Police wall. Just above them was a picture of Roosevelt, but only Republicans could throw at that. Brace had created a very involved game called Dick the Dictators. It was during a game of this that Fred had called upon his axe for victory, demolishing Stalin's ear, and very nearly Cherry Red's hand, as well. Fred had an intense hatred for all dictators and democrats, equating the two and making no distinction. He wasn't quite as stupid as the others pretended.
They were sitting around on a Saturday afternoon, drinking cans of Hedricks and passing around the last of a dozen joints. It was poor stuff, and no one had gotten very high, but it was something to do, and it had been given them free in return for letting The Derby Kid share in one of their gang bangs, so there were no complaints.
Nebraska was there, wearing his red kerchief around his head and pretending to be an Arab. Cherry Red, stripped to the waist, was sitting on the floor, eel was there. He spelled his name without a capital, because it is impossible to make it look right otherwise. Try it. Eel. EEL. eel. It's really not possible, and it was too good a name for a thin, snake-like guy to pass up. Hence, eel. Fred the Head was dozing on the couch, his great bulk dwarfing the thing, his fly open to properly ventilate his crotch. He had a theory that his abnormal size and strength had been caused by going without clothes in his childhood, when he had lived on a farm, therefore he was a fanatic on proper ventilation. What had worked for his body as a whole, he reasoned, would work for the individual parts. And, if the girl's comments about him were true, there seemed to be some truth to this. Earl was there, smoking a corncob pipe between drags on the joint. And Chino, the only one to still go to school, and therefore made much fun of, was there. They were in a lazy mood.
"I'm horny as a kangaroo," said Nebraska Brace.
"Let's get a chick," Cherry Red said, always ready to comply with Nebraska's wishes.
"Let's get Fred while he sleeps. He's better than a woman anyway. Look at that head, it's enormous. And he snores, too. We can sneak up and tag him before he knows what happened."
Brace was cut short in his planning by the loud snap of Fred's teeth as they closed. Fred still seemed to sleep, but his teeth clicked shut ominously. And that ended the great plan to rape Fred the Head, for if there was one thing that the Wild Pigs feared it was castration.
"How about somebody going over to The Point and getting a hustler?" Cherry suggested.
"I don't want to pay for it," Chino said.
"Shut up, schoolboy. When you get to be our age, you'll know that it's better to pay than to waste money on taking a witch out and then not be sure of getting it." This was Earl talking. He was the philosophical Pig. He said, "My time is worth more than the price of a whore," chanting it as a poem.
"A good idea," Brace said. "Maybe Minnie is there. We can get her drunk."
They laughed. Minnie was a very poor hustler. She was an excellent B girl, but whenever she got drunk she forgot she was a whore and began to give it away. She was skinny, but cute-very stupid but good news in bed.
"I think Nebraska likes Minnie," eel said. "He's real twisted you know."
"It's not that," Nebraska said. "I'm just manly. And besides, it doesn't matter what my face goes against, 'cause there's nothing quite as rotten. That's why I get all the girls while you boy-butts get your fists."
"With your face and my body," said Fred the Head, his eyes still closed, "A man would be irresistable."
"That's the truth."
"Hell, what a man we could make if we combined the best parts of each of us," Earl said.
They considered it. They agreed on the ideal man: he would have Fred's body for brute size and strength; Earl's head for handsome, classic features; Brace's technique in making love, which was highly regarded because he had no inhibitions; eel's lovableness; Cherry Red's bold approach, which seldom worked but had to be included because it was such an integral part of the group. Chino alone had nothing to offer, and they finally agreed that he could supply the high school diploma. He thought that was better than nothing. And they agreed that the composite man would be perfect
"Who goes for the whore?" Brace asked.
"I'll go," Chino volunteered.
"No, we want her to come, not to laugh. Why don't you go, Cherry?"
"Sure," he said, proud to have been chosen as the one who would not fail.
"Get Minnie, if she's there. Or Ethel."
"Too goddamn expensive. Although beautiful."
"Okay, back in ten," Cherry Red said. He got up and went out the front door.
"Wish we had some more pot," eel said.
"Yeah. This stuff was N.G. Damn the Derby Kid. He's a decent guy though."
"Remember when he got all hung up over Toy and we stole all his gin?"
They laughed at the memory. The Derby Kid was an old Negro who had made his fortune on the streets during the thirties, and still kept a hand in the business, although his only girl now was fat and old. He also ran an after-hours joint in his kitchen-very formal-sold unstamped whiskey, marijuana, and ran a poker game on Tuesday nights. He was very well liked.
The Pigs talked and drank beer for a while, and Cherry Red returned hand in hand with Minnie. She looked around, spotted Nebraska, and ran to him.
"Here's my baby," she said, getting in his lap. He smiled smugly at the others, and kissed her ear. It was fine to be so popular with whores. Even Minnie. She had once told him that she would hustle for him, but she had gotten too drunk and forgot to get any money several times, and Brace had said the hell with it and terminated his life as a pimp. It was a glamorous thing to have in one's past, however, when properly embellished.
Minnie was a Spade chick, about five feet two and no more than ninety pounds with her clothes on. But not really bony, more tubular. Her hair was wiry and short, and she had an innocent expression. She very seldom ate, forgetting about it for days at a time. But she sustained herself on great quantities of Fleishmann's with beer chasers, and was seldom sober. When drunk she was irrational and couldn't remember what happened from day to day. Once the same guy had beaten her for money two days in a row, getting his bit and then taking the money from her when he was through. Although they thought him rather noble for this, and would have done the same, the guy was from out of town and when he tried it the third day Brace and Fred had smacked his head and stolen his watch, which they pawned to Derby Kid for a fifth of gin and shared it with Minnie.
"You gona' be nice to us today?" Brace asked her.
"Sure, honey. You know me, I do what my man tells me to do," Minnie said, snuggling close. She was drunk enough to have suffered a time lapse, apparently, and thought that Brace was still her man.
"Well, let's get a buck apiece from these clowns, huh?" he said.
She nodded. The boys looked at one another and grinned. A buck was a bargain for anything. Leave it to Nebraska to get them straightened right out. "But I'll go first," Brace said. "Naturally," she said. "That's the way it always gots to be. I look out for my man first."
Nebraska got up and led her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
Minnie undressed without waiting, and Nebraska did the same. When she was naked he looked at her and said, "Baby, you lookin' good."
She came over and kissed him, both of them naked and standing by the bed. Her thin, firm body pressed against him and he could feel himself getting aroused, his passion fighting its way up through the beer and marijuana indolence. He held her tightly against him, so that they touched all the way down the length of their bodies, and ground his lips tightly to hers. "Let's get on the bed," she said. They lay side by side and kissed again. Nebraska found that it was hard to get really passionate about a woman whom he had had so many times before. He guided her hand down and placed it against him, so that her touch could do what his imagination was not doing a very good job of.
"What's the matter, baby? Aren't you ready?" she asked, as she touched him.
"Drank too much," he explained. "But I'll be okay in a minute. You know how to make me ready."
"How is that?" she asked, innocently, but she smiled and he knew that she understood. He pushed her head down with one hand.
"I don't mind, baby," she said, looking up at him. "But just for you. I won't do this for the others."
"Just for me," Nebraska said.
She lowered her face to him. Nebraska shut his eyes and held her head in both hands and raised his body slightly. Her lips parted and she slid her lips on him, slowly, holding him with one hand and letting the other hand play along his straining back. His passion came in a flood then, and he felt his body tighten.
She moved up again, and pressed her mouth to his. Her fingers continued to tingle on him. "That make you good for me?" she asked.
By way of reply, Nebraska rolled over so that he was atop her. Her narrow body fitted snuggly beneath him. He moved into position between her widespread thighs, and she guided him into place. He pressed against her.
"Wait, mommie show you," she said, her hand moving a bit. Then it was okay, and Nebraska thrust his hips forward in the first long, slow plunge. Minnie was not narrow in all respects.
Nebraska worked, his hips lifting and falling, driving himself to her. Minnie held him around the back and squirmed. She moaned and panted and her slender, smooth legs came up and locked behind the small of his back. Her rhythm matched his and her legs tightened around him, crushing with all her slight strength.
"Ohhhh, Daddy," she whispered. Then, louder, she began to cry out in a series of half-screams, half-pants, "Ohhhh, ahhhh. Eeeee! Oh, Daddy-oooooo, that's so good-do it Daddy, do it!" Her cries increased Brace's efforts, and he pounded away at her more savagely. He hoped that the other guys could hear her little pleasure-moans, so that they would know how good he was being.
"Now, I can't wait any longer, do ft now, Daddy!" she said, working madly beneath him. "Ohhh, I can't wait. Ohhhhhhh...."
In one great surge she rose beneath him, her whole body trembling. And, a split second later, Nebraska shuddered as they melted together in completion.
They rested for a while, side by side, her head snuggled against his shoulder. She was almost asleep. Nebraska stayed for a few minutes, then got up and began to dress.
"I love you," she told him.
"Yeah. But we've gotta' give the others a break now," he said.
"That's okay. But I love you." "Good."
"I won't do it to them. What I did for you, I mean," she told him.
"Good. I'm glad," Nebraska said, and as he thought about it he realized that he really was, and thought how strange a thing a relationship with a woman was, even a whore about whom he cared little. Or maybe it was really not the relationship with the girl but rather with the other men. That seemed more like it. Nebraska was never one to deny pride in such things, and the love of any woman, whether she was desirable or not, still was a great boost to one's pride. Especially when the other men knew about it.
"I'll see you later on," he said.
"Okay, Daddy."
Nebraska went out and shut the door. "Who's next?"
"Me," Fred said. He hadn't opened his eyes yet.
"You'd better go last. You're too big, you'll ruin her for the rest of us," Earl suggested.
Fred was torn between his desire to take his turn right away and the compliment that Earl had paid him. His passion won out, however, and he got up. He filled the room with his bulk. He wasn't as tall as Earl, but he stood over six foot and weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, with a gigantic chest and arms. His head was gigantic, even in relation to the rest of his body. No one contested his claim to seconds, and he went over and entered the bedroom. They heard him say, "The bull is here," and the bed springs gave a loud squeak. Minnie laughed.
However, she did not moan with passion. Nebraska opened a beer and sat down, listening carefully. He was delighted that Minnie was not moaning for Fred. He was still the master of the art, despite Fred's physical advantage. It made him feel good.
"She really squealed for you," Cherry Red said. Brace was happy that they had heard, and that they admitted the fact despite keen contesting when it came to bed prowess. He smiled smugly.
"You must have been giving up some head," Earl said.
"When you get to be my age, sonny, you'll be reduced to that too," Nebraska told him, ignoring the fact that Earl was one year older.
"Not me, I'll use splints," Earl said.
"Chino uses splints already," eel said. "And he's only a high school kid."
"Splints are good before puberty too," Brace said.
"Go to hell!" Chino said.
"Have to. Can't get in heaven without a high school diploma," Earl said.
"And don't want to," said Nebraska. "You can't love angels."
"Except through the halo," said eel, which was quite a funny thought and made them all laugh heartily.
And from the bedroom came Fred's roar of conquest.
Nebraska Brace was a natural leader. He had always been an organizer, even as a child. Always big for his age, and with a unique personality, other boys had looked to him for the decisions on where to go, what to do, how to dress, how to act. He might have made an excellent politician, a fine public relations man, even a good athlete. But that would have implied a different home life, different ideas, and perhaps less originality. It is a sad thing that the most original people in our society can very easily turn out to be the most useless, the beatniks and criminals and hermits. A sad reflection on our times. Nebraska Brace would not believe the lies that guide the average American youth into an average American manhood and right through to an average American death, complete with life insurance and a waterproof casket and flowers and obituary columns. He wanted to be buried in an orange crate, unless he was able to have a Viking funeral pyre in the park, and reasoned that if there was any percentage in having insurance, all the insurance companies would go broke. That was common logic, of the kind that is obscured by the American lie.
When a youth sees through the lie at an early age, too early to do anything about it, too early to even express what his instincts tell him are false-that is when be is so likely to turn to the opposite extreme. Early insight can do so much damage, especially when the youth comes from a home where insight is nonexistent. An aware father might have shown Nebraska his mistakes, shown him how to live with the lie and not let it effect his own life. But a drunken father and an uncaring mother were not capable of this. The lie hadn't trapped them, they were even beneath that. The result: Nebraska Brace, hard guy.
Nebraska resented authority vehemently. He had been suspended twice from school for hitting his teachers, and the last time he had simply not returned. His parents didn't even seem aware of the fact. The school was glad to be rid of him. He organized too much, led too much dissension among the students. He always felt that this was justified. Such as the time when dress-up day had been instituted. Every Friday the students had to wear a suit and tie. Now, Nebraska frequently wore a suit and tie to school. But being told to was something else. He and Cherry Red had arrived with ancient double-breasted suits, the pant legs rolled to the knees, filthy white shirts and gigantic, handpainted ties, the width of their chests. The ties were long, and they extended into the pants and protruded from the open fly. The finest part was that Cherry Red's tie was flesh-colored at the tip. They had been suspended....
Nebraska had spent no more time at home than necessary to eat and sleep. Occasionally he didn't sleep. A child of thirteen, he had often walked the streets all night. He was well-known at that early age, and well--liked by the older members of the various street professions. He would sit on the curb and watch the older guys go by in their groups and gangs and wish that he were old enough to join a gang. But even at that age he knew that if he were in a gang he would have to be the leader. So he waited.
The older boys gave him money to run errands. He refused to shine shoes. Occasionally he would wash a car, pretending that it was his. One time he had washed a new Cadillac, belonging to a real, grown up, genuine mobster. When he had finished, the mobster had found a spot of dirt and refused to pay. And Nebraska, fourteen years old, had thrown the wet rag in the man's face and hit him twice in the stomach before the man had been able to grab him and hold him against the car, helpless. And even then Nebraska had cursed him out, and tried to butt him. The man had said, "I like you, kid. How old are you?"
"Nuts to you."
"Take this, and then tell me how old you are." It had been a ten dollar bill. It was the most money that Nebraska had ever possessed.
"Fourteen," he said, unbelieving, sure that the man was going to take the money back.
"You know who I am?"
Nebraska, who lived on the streets, made it his business to know who everyone was. He nodded. He said, "Yeah, you're Duke Wells."
"That's right. Now listen, kid. I like you, and I think maybe I can do a lot for you. Remember what I tell you. When you turn eighteen, look me up. I'll do right by you, kid. And by me, that's where the money is. Remember what I told you."
Nebraska had been thrilled. But even then he had known that he would never work for anyone else, not even for Duke Wells. Nebraska Brace would make his own money.
With the ten dollars he had gone to a whorehouse. The girls knew him from the streets.
"What you want here? You're too young," one of them had said.
"Young, your rear!" he told them.
And for five dollars he had gotten his first real piece, and two hours later had been back with the other five. It was better than spending it on candy.
The girls liked him. After that, when he was broke and had no place to go, he used to sit around in the waiting room at the whorehouse, talking to the girls and reading comic books that they kept there. There were two, one Donald Duck and one Batman. Nebraska didn't care much for Donald Duck. He liked Mickie Mouse, because the mouse was fairly bad and occasionally punched it out with Black Pete, who was nine times his size-Nebraska had measured them and figured it out carefully, and gained respect for Mickie. At fourteen he liked Batman pretty well. Although at fifteen he liked The Joker better-the joker occasionally fought man to man with Batman, always on a balcony, and was a good fifty pounds lighter than Batman, too-because Batman was a cop. And at sixteen he hated Batman because he was a faggot and a virgin. Nebraska had absolutely no respect for any man who did not always want a woman.
The two comics had never changed, and he had read them each a hundred times at least. Sometimes the whores read them too, when there wasn't much business. It wasn't a very high class whorehouse.
A group of friends had gradually built up. Nebraska and Cherry Red had been buddies in school, quit together and hung out together. Fred the Head had moved to town when his parents sold the farm, and they had liked him immediately. He was a couple years older, but about the same mentality and not as much knowledge as Cherry Red, since a farm does not tend to turn out enlightened youths. He had joined the army as soon as he was eighteen, gone awol, punched two M.P.'s into dreamland, been court martialled and BCD'd within a few months. They were happy to have him back with them, and took his BCD as proof of his intelligence, despite rather hayseed ideas. They knew that the only fighting should be personal, the only things worth defending were a friend or a girl or one's honor, the only thing about which to feel patriotic was the street on which one lived and to hell with the army. They hated uniforms, especially on a man who wore it sharply and stood straight and looked like he thought he was pretty damn sharp. They liked especially to beat soldiers and marines in the head and then dirty their uniforms. Only once had a marine proved tough enough to give them trouble, and then Fred had hit him with a rock. The only things worse than military uniforms were cop uniforms. And there was nothing worse than cops. They despised cops. They knew that cops were the men who were so abysmally stupid that they could hold no other job. And that promotions within the force were based on brutality. The police force in a capitol city is invariable the worse of the lot. Capitols are strange. They are always a combination of blue laws and vice. And the cops are therefore always waiting for payoffs. In a small town the cops steal apples. In a big city they get money and free love, etc. And in a capitol city they get political positions, from which they can demand more and more kickbacks on the city's vice, and the city's business. After hours it was possible to get only one brand of beer-except at Derby Kid's. Bars that didn't push so many cases a week received no police protection. The guys knew all about this, but that wasn't so bad as the brutality. They could tolerate the idea of vice, but not injustice, and this was in a world where justice must be paid for. A world that forces the sensitive to be hard, and the intelligent to rebel against everything, even intelligence.
Earl had joined the group. From another part of town, he had wandered over one afternoon, been sounded by Cherry Red, and had said, "Okay let's go! All at once, you louses!"
They had liked him immediately for this, and had not beaten him. Later he told them that he would really have preferred to fight them all at once, because no matter how badly a man is beaten, no one ever says that he has lost a fight to three men. They always refer to it as the time when he fought with three men. And, he admitted, if one if them had fought him alone he might have lost. And so Earl became one of the gang. Very tall, hard, intelligent and humorous-they considered him a valuable asset. eel was younger, Chino's age. They had sort of blended into the group over the course of a few months, eel quit school, Chino stayed. He said that his parents made him stay, but the others still laughed at him and make him the butt of many jokes. But he was game for anything, and they liked him despite his advanced schooling. He was also an in by which they could meet high school girls, and this was an important thing. They didn't always have the money for whores. And besides, it was a good thing to seduce a girl once in a while....
Several other guys hung around with them. It was quite a group. Fred the Head had been the one to get the idea for organizing a club. It had seemed reasonable, since they all hung out together anyway. Everyone was excited about it, and they held their first meeting in the back of the pool room.
It was natural to look to Nebraska for leadership, and he became president. Fred the Head thought that he should be, since he had thought of it, but Earl had explained that boys from farms could no longer become president in the United States, and that seemed logical to Fred, who agreed because it was better to have an excuse than just to be passed over in favor of another. And besides, he hated presidents because they were close to dictators. He agreed to be vice president in charge of defense.
They argued for a long time over the name. Fred suggested several ridiculous things like The Cop Killers and The Crushers and The Rumblers. Brace explained that they couldn't use names like that because it implied that they were just kids seeking glory, and not really bad. He explained that they should have a derogatory name, and therefore would be praised by understatement.
They agreed. The most derogatory name that Fred could think of was pig. But that had no flair. Then Earl told them about a wild, nocturnal, belligerent, tusked South American pig which never fought alone but always ganged up on other animals.
And The Wild Pigs were named.
They were certainly the most interesting gang in the city, and they were sure that they were also the baddest and the most charming. They rented the clubhouse for twelve dollars a month, stole some furniture from each member's home, and began to hang around together more and more. It was proof that the people who reject society and social standards will flock to a new society which is the kind that they want to be a part of.
The society that these boys created had its own standards, its own ideals. Fighting, women, drinking, carousing, smoking marijuana and hating law and order-a society of the individual and the individual's pride. The keynote was violence.
But remember, the society that they rejected has the atomic bomb.
And violence must be judged in context, and degree.
CHAPTER TWO
Cherry Red, whose real name was Irving Katz, awoke at eight o'clock, which was unusually early, and decided to get dressed and go out.
He put on his levis and a tee shirt and went downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother was making coffee. He was a slender boy, seventeen years old, with reddish hair and seven freckles on his nose. He sat at the table and waited while the coffee perked. "Why up so early?" his mother asked.
He shrugged. "Not sleepy."
"Gonna' stay home for a change?"
"Naw."
"Where you going?"
"Out."
"Down with those thugs again?"
"Ma, fer crissake."
"And don't you curse at your mother t"
"Sorry."
"Hanging out with hoodlums. Wearing that jacket and coming home smelling like cigarettes and alcohol. That what I brought you up for? Is it?"
"May I have some coffee?"
"Answer me? What did I bring you up for?"
"How should I know? What the hell else were you gonna' do with me after the ol' man slipped up one night and made me? You couldn't throw me away."
His mother threw up her hands. "Some days I wish that I had!" she said.
Cherry Red looked carefully at the tablecloth.
He drank the coffee with cream and sugar. His mother took a chair opposite and had a cup with him. It was unusual for them to have coffee together in the mornings. He sensed that there was a lecture coming, and waited grimly. Screaming and accusation wasn't so bad, but lectures with his good in mind were very bad.
Cherry Red came from a more well-to-do family than the other Wild Pigs. They owned a house, for one thing, instead of living in a tenement. They also owned a two-year-old Ford, a television, good furniture. Mr. Kate worked steadily as a machinist. They ate well and saved money. They had saved for years in the hopes that Irving would go to college and make something of himself. Now they just saved from habit, and the perpetual Rainy Day. The inevitable Rainy Day. The ever-renewing Rainy Day.
But Cherry Red, like Nebraska, had seen through the lie that deceived his parents. He wasn't a leader, as Brace was, but he was an excellent follower, a person who could follow without being regarded as a lesser person. It was just his natural place in life, it fit him perfectly, and from the day they met he had been Nebraska's chief disciple and best friend.
He sat now and waited for the lecture that he could feel, like an impending storm. Not, however, like the inevitable Rainy Day-for no matter how bad the storm, it never becomes the intangible, elusive, always-just-around-the-corner, Rainy Day of middle class dread.
"Irving...."
"Urn?
"Don't grunt at your mother!"
"Sorry."
"Irving...?"
"Yes, mother?"
"Your father and I were talking the other day. About you, how you won't go to school. We'd like it if you would go back and finish high school at least. Then, maybe college or business school...."
"I don't want to go to school."
"Remember, you're young. We know better what's good for you in the long run. You'll be a sorry boy when you grow up and have no education."
*I am grown up."
"You're just a child."
"I'm more grown up than the kids my age who waste their time in school."
"You know more about the streets, maybe. About girls and whiskey and hoodlums. What kind of grown up is that, I ask you?"
He shrugged.
"You won't even work. You think your father and I owe you a living? You think we'll support you for the rest of your life while you bum around with those hoodlums and sex perverts and maniacs? Those freaks!"
"Don't insult my friends."
"Yes, freaks! That big freak-he's the worst. Stealing a cigarette machine. My God, the whole machine yet! He must not be right."
"He's very right. Not many men can lift a cigarette machine."
"Ah! Big strong ox, he hasn't a brain in his head, he's a cra2y man. Ought to be locked up. How can our little Irving run with those boys?"
"They're nice guys."
"Remember, not so long ago you used to stay home every night? That was good. And you went to school, too, and helped your father with the yard and fixing things. Then you didn't run around, you played at the kitchen table with your games and things ... what had to happen to you? Why did you have to change?"
"Mom ... listen to me. Please. A guy isn't a little kid forever. I just grew up. Everyone does. You can't expect me to sit and play at the table with games...."
"Better than playing with those tramps! Those girls! Don't think your mother doesn't know what goes on down at that clubhouse. Whorehouse, is more like it. And with colored women yet! You, a little boy. Those tramps should be locked up where they can't ruin little boys."
"Ma...."
"And a fine lot of growing up! Learning to be a bum! You think it's so smart now, but wait. Wait until you're an old bum at thirty, no good for work or marriage or anything. Then you'll think about your mother's words!"
"Yeah, sure...."
"Believe it! Smart aleck!"
"Why won't you listen? I was trying to explain to you about how I feel."
"So explain."
She faced him, her face disgusted, her brow knitted in a frown. Not the type of frown, however, that might show that she was trying to understand. It was an impatient frown, dooming his explanation from the start. And it was hard enough to put it into words to begin with. Cherry Red looked at his mother, waited a moment while he considered, and then said, "I forgot."
She snorted.
"You have to either go to school or get a job," she said, after a while. "That's what your father decided. He won't support a lazy no-good."
"There's another choice."
"What's that?"
"I can get out."
"Hal Where would you go? A little boy can't get along without a home."
"I can sleep at the club. Or even get my own pad. I make my money, Ma. I never ask for spending money. I can make enough to get by, easy."
"How? Pimping, maybe? You make me sick I"
"Then I won't spoil your breakfast," Cherry Red said. He got up and strode noisily out of the kitchen.
She heard the front door slam and shook her head. Ah, Irving, what was the matter with you? Why couldn't you forget that you were of a generation different from your parents?
Her coffee was cold before her. She had forgotten about it.
Cherry Red felt angry. Not at his mother, whom he loved-although he had no great respect for her intelligence. It was a general anger toward circumstances. And a vague anger, which he couldn't pin down. It had to do with deception, with the age-old lie of the elders about wisdom coming with age, and neighborhood. He didn't care about starving Chinese, but he felt sorry for hungry hustlers. He didn't hate Communist oppression in Hungary, but he hated police brutality in the Second Precinct. He didn't gave a damn about what happened in Africa, but he hated to see a Negro called a Nigger by a red-faced cop. He was Jewish, but felt no hatred for the Arabs. If everyone in the world thought in the manner that Cherry Red thought, many of the problems would be solved. Or at least brought to a personal level, which would be a big step in the right direction. Hatred might exist, but it would be A hating B, not A hating B's race or religion or country. There might be murder, but never genocide. Injustice, but never injustice legalized. Lies to a woman to aid the seduction, but never to a whole people to start a war or justify a myth.
But everyone did not think as Cherry Red thought, and so it was a society where the most corrupt leader or politician would naturally make the best one, for he would be interested in what was thought of him and in being re-elected, not in being a do-gooder and doing away with what people wanted, and therefore with freedom.
A society in which Cherry Red would not be Irving Katz.
Cherry Red walked toward the clubhouse. It was not yet ten o'clock, and he didn't imagine that anyone would be there yet. He didn't want to sit around alone, didn't feel like listening to music. Maybe he felt like getting drunk. He considered that, and decided that that was exactly what he felt like doing.
There were several bars that served them, with no questions asked about their ages. The one most frequented by the Wild Pigs was The Point, a cellar bar where the policy was to serve anyone big enough to slap then-money on the bar. It had been closed once for a violation of the liquor law, but that had been the time when the State Liquor Authority had investigated. The local police took their kickback and left the place alone.
Cherry Red stopped at the corner store and bought a pack of Chesterfields then headed for The Point. Two blocks from there he was surprised to see Nebraska Brace come out of an apartment building and stand, blinking in the morning sun, on the steps. "Hey!" he called.
Nebraska saw him, grinned, and came down. "Who lives there?"
"Chick I met last night," Nebraska said. "Turned out real funny. I'll tell you about it over a beer."
"Good."
They walked to The Point. It had just opened and they were the only customers. Rose was behind the bar, a huge redhead who had been a whore but had become the owner's mistress and was now a barmaid. She would have rather been a whore.
"Beer," Nebraska said.
"Why you out so early?" Rose asked.
Nebraska told them about the girl that he had met, the night before. He had been walking around, looking for something to do, or more specifically someone to make. Minnie wasn't around. They hadn't seen her in a week, in fact, and Nebraska had been very horny. And he had spotted this chick alone in a little neighborhood bar.
"So," he said, after taking his first sip of beer, "I went in and sat next to her and had a beer, and pretty soon we're talking and I can see that she loves me right away. So I give her my line and she goes for it, especially when I tell her that I love her. She laughs about it, but I can see that she is flattered.
"She's married, but her old man is in the Army, and he's way down in Ft. Dix. And she hasn't had anything for a month. So she's as horny as I am. Pretty soon.
I've got her tight against me at the bar and she's a little drunk and saying how lonely she is. Said she loves her old man, and all, but that she's lonely. So I sympathize with her, tell her that I'm real lonely too and all that jazz, how I don't have a girl. Maybe we can be good friends, keep each other from being alone so much. You know. The typical jazz. And she goes for it all. So, first thing I know, she's taking me up to her apartment for coffee. She lives right around the corner," he told Rose, who was listening to the story with all the interest of an old whore in such matters.
"What's her name?" Cherry Red asked.
"Meta."
"Don't know her."
"Naw, this is respectable stuff. Nothing you would have met."
"Nuts."
"Anyway, we have a cup of coffee, and I sit on the bed to drink it. She sits on a chair. After a while I told her to come over and sit by me. 'Come here, witch,' I told her. She said, 'No-remember, we're only friends. I won't do anything wrong.' I almost choked on the coffee at that. But I kept a straight face and said, 'Baby, I dig you. You're fine, you know? And we don't have to go all the way, or anything like that. But gee, if we're gonna be good friends we can't be afraid of each other, now can we? How can I see you all the time if you don't trust me?' So she thinks about that, and pretty soon the stupid witch is sitting on the bed with me. And I start kissin' on her, and sort of feelin' her up, and telling her that if two people like each other it's only natural to want to be close and touch and all that. And she goes for it. I don't think she was that stupid, it's just that she wanted to believe it."
"Sure," Cherry Red agreed.
"That's how women are," Rose said.
"Well, first thing you know, there we are bangin' away. The chick went nuts, clawin' at me and moanin' and saying how she loved it. Later on she said that she'd never done that before except with her husband, but that she didn't feel bad about it because I was so much better than her old man, and she wanted to know if I would come over every day. She said that she had never known that making love could feel so good." He paused, to let them take proper notice of the compliments which had been paid him.
"But the funniest part is this. I stayed all night, see, and we kept right at it! God, we must've balled nine times. And this morning, at six o'clock, the phone rings. So I answered it and the chick was asleep and didn't know. It was a long distance call, from her husband!" He paused to laugh about it. "He can't think of anything to say at first. Then finally he says, 'Who is this?' So I say, 'Nebraska Brace.' And he asks what I'm doing there, and I just laugh. Then he asks for his old lady, and I tell him, 'She's asleep right now. Why don't you call back later?' Man, it was funny. He finally slammed the phone down and I went back and woke Meta up and balled her again. I didn't tell her about the call, either. Man, I'll bet she gets her rear kicked on the dude's next furlough."
"You are a louse," Rose said, laughing, and gave them each a free beer.
"You gonna' see her again?"
Nebraska shrugged.
"Maybe we can both get her."
"I imagine so. She's a real easy make. Maybe we'll stop by later on."
Rose leaned over the bar, her enormous breasts resting on the polished surface, and whispered. "If you're as good in bed as you always say you are, sweetie, you don't have to look no farther."
And Brace laughed, as though it was a joke, but he was quite sure that Rose was serious. And who knows, in some particularly horny moment...?
They had another beer, and Rose drank a shot and took the price from Nebraska's change.
"Hey! Look!" Cherry Red was looking out the window, and now he called Brace. Brace went over and looked out. Two girls were walking up the street, switching their butts around and walking real slow.
"Recognize her? The one on the left?"
"No," Nebraska said. He couldn't see her face, and a rear is, generally speaking, just a rear. Some are much nicer than others, of course, but it is hard to recognize one as belonging to an individual.
"Remember the guy from Troy that you wasted on the corner last week?"
"Sure."
"That's the chick that was with him."
"No lie? Well, well, well...." Brace rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Shall we?"
"Wait here," Nebraska said. He went out the door and up the street behind the chicks. When he was close enough he called out and the one on the inside turned around and waited while he caught up. The other went on a few steps, and then she stopped too.
"Well, if it isn't the bully," said the blonde. "What was your name?"
"You remember my name, sugar, so don't give me any jazz," he said. He looked her up and down and thought that she was very nice, trim and pretty with short blonde hair and an upturned nose. She wore a tight sweater, and he could see that she had a very ample body on either side of a narrow waist. She made no effort to hide the fact.
"Conceited, aren't you?" she said. "Why should I remember your name?"
"Because you're over here without your boy friend."
She smiled. "I don't have a boy friend."
"What about the guy that I had to deck?"
She laughed. "After the way that you kicked him, what good would he be to me?" she asked, her eyes twinkling rather naughtily.
Nebraska grinned. "I guess it's up to me to make that difference up."
"Is it?" she asked.
"Is it?" he asked.
She smiled again, and shrugged. "You're doing the talking," she stated. Her girl friend had wandered back and was standing beside her. She was a small redhead with the classic green eyes that redheads should have.
"Let's go have a beer," Nebraska suggested.
They looked at one another, in the typical gesture of young women who know what the answer is going to be, and then the blonde said, "All right. Just one."
"Or two," said Nebraska, and led them back to The Point, one on each arm. He wished that he had shaved and changed his clothes, but then he thought, the hell with that, the girls like me no matter what condition I'm in. Especially erect. He chuckled, and led them into the bar.
They joined Cherry Red at a table. Rose looked rather disappointed. Nebraska bought them all beers and they introduced themselves.
The blonde's name was Dixie. The redhead was Judy. They were both from Troy. When Nebraska asked whether they had come over in the hopes of finding him they looked at each other and laughed. It was encouraging, to say the least, and Cherry Red bought the second round.
Cherry Red liked Judy from the start. He had never been much of a ladies' man, and she was a nice looking girl, and what was more important, seemed more interested in him than in Nebraska. He felt nervous, talked too much and smoked too much, but she still seemed to like him and he felt that things were going to be fine with them. Nebraska seemed to be getting on well with Dixie, too, although Cherry Red was not paying much attention to their conversation.
Judy was only fifteen, but quite adult for her age. She seemed to come from a good family, spoke well, and had a great deal of charm.
Dixie was a different type altogether. From several things that were said, Cherry Red gathered that the two girls were not really awfully good friends, just casual acquaintances. Judy seemed to consider herself better than Dixie, although she wasn't obvious about it, and Dixie seemed to consider Judy a "square." Cherry Red thought that she was anything but square, however, and he was surprised that he was able to get along so well with the girl who was so different from the type which the Wild Pigs were used to.
After a few more beers Nebraska suggested that they go to the clubhouse. Dixie liked the idea, saying that she wanted to hear some music. But Judy didn't seem to want to go, and Cherry Red was surprised to find that he was rather glad about that. He didn't feel any desire to make love to her at all, but he did feel that he could possibly love her. This was a differentiation that Nebraska Brace would have laughed at, but it was very real to Cherry Red.
"I have to get home soon," Judy said.
"Home? It's only noon," Brace said.
"I have to babysit with my brother this afternoon. My mother is going shopping."
"Well, I ain't going back yet," Dixie said.
"That's all right, you don't have to go."
"Damn right."
"I'll take you home, if you like," Cherry Red told her. "Maybe I can get my father's car, or we can go on the bus. I think I can get the car, though."
"All right," Judy said.
"You got a car?" Dixie asked Brace.
"No, but I got something better, if you want a ride, Baby," he said. Dixie laughed.
Judy got up and Cherry Red followed suit. He said, "Well, I'll see you later."
Nebraska winked. "Be good," he said.
Cherry Red winked back, but he knew that he wasn't thinking the same thoughts that had prompted Nebraska's wink. There was not, however, any reason to let Nebraska know that. He and Judy went out and Nebraska bought one beer for the road, and a six-pack to go.
Cherry Red and Judy walked to his house. It wasn't far. He was a little nervous about having her meet his mother, but when he thought about it he decided that maybe it was best that she did. Judy was not the kind of girl on whom his mother would frown.
And, as it turned out, he was right. His mother made them coffee, didn't gripe at all, and chatted with Judy about her school and what her father did, etc. It turned out that Judy's father was a doctor, which was very impressive. While Judy was in the bathroom, Cherry Red's mother said "Now, that's the kind of girl you should go out with, Irving. I'm very glad to see you with her."
Encouraged, he asked for the car to take Judy home. And she said all right without hesitating, and then added, "Your father and I aren't ogres, you know. We're very glad to let you take the car, and even a few dollars, if it means that you will go out in good company."
"Thanks, Mom," he said, and thought that he would have to see a lot of Judy. Maybe go steady with her, even if the other guys laughed at him. It was an idea well worth thinking about.
While driving her home, he talked about himself. When she asked where he got his nickname he admitted that it was because he had red hair and because he had been a virgin when Brace had named him. He didn't say one way or another whether he was still a virgin, but Judy laughed at the story and proved that a nice girl didn't necessarily have to be a prude. He liked her more for it, and felt more at ease.
He drove carefully, not at all like he would have driven if there had been another of the guys in the car, and didn't squeal the tires at all. After he crossed the bridge she gave directions and he drove to her house, which was a very impressive building in North Troy.
"Would you like to come in?" Judy asked.
"Sure."
They went in, Her mother was waiting to leave, and only had time to say hello and that she would be back in a few hours. Then she went out. Judy's little brother was sleeping and Judy and Cherry Red sat on the couch and listened to a few records.
He was nervous again, now that they were alone. He could feel the little beads of sweat on his forehead, and he was chain-smoking. The pack of Chesterfields was nearly gone, and Judy didn't smoke.
"Why so quiet?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"I like you," she said, not at all embarrassed by the admission.
"I like you too."
"I mean, you're different than lots of the other guys. Like your friend."
"Nebraska?"
"Yes. I don't care for people like him. I mean, not as friends of mine. So many boys are like that-they think that all the girls want them and will do whatever they say and all. But you're nicer and polite and all. You're the only boy that I know who is polite except for the real sissies and momma's boys. That's why I like you. You're not a sissy but you don't go out of the way to prove it to me by talking about all the fights you've had and all the girls that you've slept with and things like that."
Cherry Red blushed, and didn't know what to say.
"You can kiss me, if you'd like," Judy told him.
He did. At first he kissed her stiffly, but then he felt her tongue squeezing forward into his mouth, and he put his arms around her and kissed her in the manner in which she wanted to be kissed.
He was surprised at her passion, but pleased. They kissed for a long while, several times, holding each other. He became very aroused, and when she touched him and became aware of that, she laughed and said that she was happy that she had been able to make him so passionate.
After a while she said, "I hope you don't think that I'm terrible."
"No, of course not."
"I've never slept with anyone, or anything like that," she said. "But I like to neck and pet. That isn't so wrong, it is?"
"Not at all."
"Do you like to neck with me?"
"Ummm."
"Do I do good?"
"You're the best necker that I've ever known."
That pleased her, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again. This time Cherry Red put his hand against her boob, and she didn't stop him. He kept it there for a few minutes, and then began to move it caressingly, squeezing her firm young boobs through her clothing. He was timid at first, but she didn't object and he began to move more and slid his hand inside her sweater.
"Do you like to do that?" she asked. "Yes. Do you mind?"
"No, it's all right. I don't mind."
"I'm glad."
"Would you like to have me take my bra off?" she asked, and then said. "You must think I'm terrible."
"I would, and I think you're wonderful."
Blushing, she reached behind her back and undid the clasp. Her sweater was unbuttoned. She put the bra aside and turned to Cherry Red again, and he put his hand back against her breasts and kissed her.
She had firm and upright, pear-shaped breasts that quivered at his touch. He squeezed her and then moved up, in a circular motion, until he had the nipples between his fingers. He felt them stiffen and grow larger, standing tautly up, as though in answer to his own passion.
"I like that," she said. Her eyes were shut, and her head rested against his shoulder. "You can do that as long as you like. Do you want me to touch you?" He nodded.
Her fingers touched him, squeezed gently, then unfastened his zipper and slid in. It was like a touch of electricity, and his whole body grew stiff.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Ummmm." He continued to rub her breasts with one hand. The other moved down, pressed her hand to him for a moment, and then slid over to her leg. She didn't stop him and he moved up her thigh.
"Wait," she whispered then.
"What, honey?"
"I don't want to let you think ... I mean, no farther than this, okay? I won't go all the way with you."
"I don't care, baby. This is nice."
"All right," she said. Her hand moved on him again, and his hand slid up the rest of the way along her smooth young thigh and touched her. She was very warm and seemed to quiver. His fingers slid to the edge of her panties and under the cool rayon, and she squirmed and moved her hand faster, burying her face against his neck and breathing very hard.
"I love to have you touch me," she whispered, speaking with her lips against his skin.
"I love you," he told her. His eyes were shut now, too, and he could feel his desire begin to stir and build toward the peak.
"Let's do it like this for hours," she murmured.
But that was impossible.
Cherry Red trembled and held her close and said, "Don't stop, don't stop," and she didn't stop and then he stiffened and she opened her eyes to watch. Cherry Red kept his eyes closed.
He left an hour later. They kissed good-bye at the door and he said that he would call her that evening and that they could see each other every day and that he liked her very much. And no, he didn't think that she was terrible because of what she had done, and what she had let him do to her. And the funny thing was that he didn't.
Usually, when a girl let him do something like that, Cherry lost respect for her. But not with Judy. He thought about it on the way home, and decided that it was because she had not been phony about it, had not played a bit and then pretended that she had been seduced, etc. Judy had been very honest about the whole thing. That proved-to him-that it was different doing things like that with her. Or perhaps it only proved that all people like sex and that respectable girls were no different but that they were only more honest about it. He wasn't really sure what it proved-maybe only that he liked Judy enough so that he thought differently about her than he would have if another girl let him do what Judy had.
It didn't matter. What mattered was that they liked each other and Cherry Red was happy.
Happier than he had ever been before. Happier than he had ever thought possible, even. He was feeling great....
And driving home he didn't squeal his wheels at all, even when an older guy in a slower car pulled up to him at a redlight. And that may have been the first step in the transition of Cherry Red.
Cherry Red hoped it could always be that way, Irving did.
It was almost like the thing he had at the clubhouse. You know, the feeling way inside that he shared with the guys.
Or with Nebraska Brace, alone. It was something swinging and singing a real gut-soothing tune. There were times he expected bells to start ringing at any moment, actually. Though he knew there were no bells-not at least, any that would ring.
For a while he wondered if this thing with Judy was the same. And the more he thought about it the more subtle little differences started to emerge from his thoughts.
No, it was different, but almost the same.
He knew then that the empathy he shared with Brace and Head, eel and others, was a forever thing. The feeling for Judy could be one too, he knew, but for right now it was all still much too new; him and her. It would take just a little longer before he knew for sure if it was a forever feeling too.
But he did know, now, that even if it were to become the Big Thing, him and Judy, that there would still be the feeling flowing from him to the rest of the Pigs. Even back to him in a full circle.
As long as he lived, even if he never saw Brace again, it would still be there.
It was the feeling of knowing that somewhere, somehow, there was at least one person who knew him as he really was. Someone who would never lecture to him like his mother.
Someone to care....
CHAPTER THREE
Dixie was quite a girl. Nebraska Brace decided that he had never met a girl who so completely matched his ideas and his desires. And walking down Hudson Avenue with her on his arm and a six pack of Hedricks in the other he felt quite proud of himself, and hoped that some of the guys would be around to see him, although not in the clubhouse. He preferred to have privacy there.
She walked so that there hips brushed together at each step, and kept looking up at him and smiling sexily. She was, obviously, as proud to be with him as he was to be with her. No, he thought, much prouder actually. After all, I am Nebraska Brace, and any woman should be proud to be seen on my arm. He walked on his heels, so that they clicked loudly, and grinned so that his teeth showed white.
The clubhouse was empty. Nebraska put a stack of rhythm and blues records on-at Dixie's request-and went into the kitchen to open the six pack and bring them each a can. As he re-entered the front room he paused to look at her. She was sprawled in a chair, her eyes closed, listening to a Chuck Jackson rhythm and blues number. The top two buttons of her sweater were open, and he could see the beginning of the cleavage between her heavy, full breasts. Her shorts were white, and very short indeed. Also tight. He had noticed that they clung like another skin to her, and walking behind her he had looked carefully at the contours of her buttocks. Now he looked at her thighs and was very satisfied at their firm roundness. She was only sixteen, but she had the body of a woman. A very attractive woman.
A very sensual woman.
Nebraska was excited. He brought her one can and sat on a cushion, beside her chair, and took a long drink from his own can.
"I love Chuck Jackson," she said. "He makes me feel like taking all my clothes off-you know?"
"Go ahead."
She looked sideways at him. "Maybe I will," she said, "later on."
Nebraska looked innocently at the wall.
Dixie, at sixteen, was a very experienced young girl. She had been born and raised in Troy, where a great many young girls get early experience, but she was very exceptional even there.
Her first experience had been at the age of twelve. Already built like a woman at that age, she had been made by four older boys in a barn behind her house. She hadn't been the least bit frightened at any time, and when they were through she had decided that she liked it very much. She had even pestered the boys after that, wanting to go at it again. They had considered her a nuisance then. Dixie, at sixteen, however, could in no way be considered a nuisance. And she knew this very well.
Her parents had cared but little about her. Both her mother and father had worked and she had been free to roam the streets as she chose. They never asked her where she had been, or what she had been doing. Although they earned enough money between them they seldom bought her clothes, and she wore faded jeans to school, jeans that were several years old and naturally too tight on her maturing figure. Her buttocks strained and bulged and attracted much attention which turned out to be more than just visual interest.
The first time that she had stayed out over night they weren't even aware of it. She had come home for breakfast and they didn't even notice that she came in the front door instead of from her bedroom. She had been at a motel with a thirty-year-old man.
After that she frequently stayed out over night.
Sometimes she stayed for a weekend. Her mother complained about it once. She said, "You're never home. Why the hell don't you stay home and do the housework once in a while?" Her father spoke about it once. He said, "Just don't you get yourself in trouble, y'hear?" And such was the extent of Dixie's parental guidance.
She had developed into a very aware girl, whose great fear was that someone might think that she didn't know what the world was all about. As she put it, "I ain't no square, Jack!"
It was possible to talk her into doing anything, as long as one acted as though she would not be hip unless she did it. And everything that she had been talked into she found that she liked. And she did everything.
She learned about gin when she was thirteen, marijuana when she was fourteen, car theft when she was fifteen, homosexuality on her sixteenth birthday, and the many variations on love all along the way.
Her experience with a lesbian had begun at a party-not a birthday party-and ended in the ladies' room of a Mobilgas station. She had met a woman, a very attractive, twenty-five year old whore. Dixie had been fascinated at meeting a real hustler, and had talked with her all evening, asking her about where she had worked, the various tricks of the trade, how one got started, etc. The woman had been very friendly, and since she wasn't working that evening had spent the time with Dixie. They had both drank a great deal of cheap blended whiskey. After a few hours they had been very close and friendly, and the whore had finally asked if Dixie wanted to take a ride in her sports car. It was an Austin- Healy, and Dixie was amazed to learn that there was enough money in doing what she had always done for fun, to buy a car like that.
The whore's name was Jennifer. She had stopped the car after a while, on a dark street, and they had talked some more about life in general.
"After you have just so many men, it ain't no fun at all," Jennifer had told her. "It gets to be work, like diggin' a ditch. Or rather, getting a ditch dug in you. But it's a living."
"I like men," Dixie had told her.
"Well, you're young honey. By the time you're my age, you'll think different. And if you're lucky, you'll know what the real kick is."
"What's that?" Dixie asked, eagerly, anxious to find out about some esoteric and probably very hip kick.
"Women."
"Huh?"
"Makin' it with another woman."
"Oh ... I...." she paused, unwilling to admit that she had not known about such things. Actually, she had heard of lesbians, and had even engaged in the usual schoolgirl fondling once or twice, but she didn't really know what it was or what they did to one another.
"Ever tried it, honey?"
"No," she admitted.
"Does the idea seem too awful?"
"No. I'm no square. I'll try anything."
Jennifer had paused to light a cigarette. Then she had asked, "Would you like to try it with me? I can show you how good it really is. So much better than with men, really, you know."
"I told you, I'll try anything," Dixie said. She had been a little nervous, but she was very curious. And besides, anything that brought ^a kick was okay with her. Kicks were harder to get all the while.
"It's too tight in the car. Where can we go?"
"I don't know."
Jennifer started the car and they rode around. When they spotted the gas station, Jennifer thought about it and then turned around and pulled in.
"Will you get the key?"
"Sure." Dixie went in and got the key and came back out. Jennifer was by the door. They went in quickly and no one saw that two women were in there at the same time.
"You know much about what we're gonna' do?"
Dixie admitted that she knew nothing about it.
They stood against the wall. Jennifer was finishing another cigarette. She took her time about butting it in the sink, and then she turned to Dixie and kissed her on the lips. Dixie kissed back, and found that a woman's lips were much softer and nicer than a man's. And just as exciting. She was very excited over the whole idea of what they were going to do.
"Take your clothes off, honey," Jennifer whispered, and she began to undress herself. Dixie was wearing shorts and a blouse. Without hesitation she stripped them off. She wore no panties. Jennifer gave a slight gasp when she looked at Dixie's nakedness, and stopped to kiss her once more, passionately.
Dixie watched while Jennifer finished undressing. The older woman took off everything but her garter belt and stockings. Her body was very deeply curved, the line of her torso tapering from full breasts to a slender waist and then back into broad, rounded hips. Her skin was soft and white. Dixie found herself growing very excited as she looked at the woman's body. She wondered why she had never realized before how lovely a woman's nakedness was, and why she had gone so long without trying this form of pleasure. She was very anxious to do whatever they were going to do.
Jennifer came over and stood very close, thrusting her hips forward so that they touched against the soft rise of Dixie's belly. Dixie thrust her own hips out, emulating the other woman, ready to try whatever she was supposed to do. She smiled at Jennifer, and could feel a tremble pass through Jennifer's loins and extend itself into her own.
Jennifer began to rotate her hips. Dixie complied. They stood together and rubbed up along each other for a short while, as Jennifer's breathing became strained, her breasts rose and fell, nearly level with Dixie's face. It seemed like the natural thing to do, and Dixie lowered her face and kissed the nipples. Jennifer held Dixie's head to her with trembling hands. The pressure of her loins increased, the motion turning from rotation to a vertical sliding. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open.
Suddenly Jennifer pulled away. It had become nearly a torture to her. She pushed Dixie back, gently, and fell to her knees on the tile floor. Her fingers dug into Dixie's buttocks. Dixie leaned back, resting her hands against the edge of the sink and let her legs bend, her thighs opening and arching at either side of Jennifer's face. Her belly was wet with sweat, her lithe muscles strained.
Jennifer pressed her face to Dixie, buried herself blindly in the young girl. She worked with her mouth, her face, her whole head, rolling and pressing. Dixie fell farther back, until she was leaning with her buttocks on the edge of the sink. Her thighs rose and locked behind Jennifer's back and she tightened and held and bit her lip and moaned and when she reached the peak and the ripples of release surged through her loins she felt her knees go weak, and knew that she would be unable to stand without support for a long while. She gripped the sink with her fists, knuckles growing white with the pressure, and let her whole body go limp.
Jennifer rested her face against Dixie's belly for several long moments. When she looked up, there was a look of near devotion in her eyes. And Dixie, smiling down at her, was no longer the inexperienced child who submitted to the woman's desires. She sensed the change, and her smile was a tolerant smile.
The smile of the master.
And Dixie had been initiated into another form of pleasure, another way to get her kicks in life. Another proof that she was no square.
Dixie decided, the next day, that lesbianism was not for her. A woman could give her nothing that a man could not, except perhaps a certain gentle knowledge, and Dixie was not particularly thrilled by gentleness.
She had no regrets about what had happened with Jennifer. On the contrary, she was glad that she had tried it. And it had been good, and she never regretted anything that brought her physical pleasure. And she knew that, given the proper circumstances, she would not mind letting a woman have her again. But it would never be a steady thing with her. She liked men, and wanted men. There was only one thing more important to her than men, and that was knowing that she was game for anything, had tried everything, was a very hip chick, was no square.
That had been several months before meeting Nebraska. She had thought a lot about the tall, rugged-looking guy that had so casually disposed of her current boy friend, and finally decided that she wanted very badly to meet him. Hence her trip to his stamping grounds. Troy had exhausted itself, she was ready to expand into new territory.
They were sitting on the floor together, before the stereo. She had played the Chuck Jackson side again, and Nebraska was holding her hand.
"Gonna' be my girl?" he asked.
"Sure."
"Nobody else's."
"1 don't belong to nobody," she told him "I'll be your girl while I'm with you, but no man tells me what to do when he's not around."
"You never met Nebraska Brace."
"You ain't that different."
"Well see, baby."
Dixie could tell that he was annoyed because she wasn't being submissive. She liked that. She was no one to buckle under to any man, whether she liked him or not. And she had never even considered being faithful to a man. That was too high-schoolish for her. She was a woman.
But she did like Brace, found him much more of a man than most of the guys that she had known. She wondered whether all of his friends were so manly. It might be a very clever move to have expanded her territory-there was no telling what kicks awaited her here.
"You know," she said, when the record ended, "The guy that you did in has a pretty rough gang."
"So what?"
"They're after you."
"I couldn't care less."
"You're real hard, ain't you?"
"I'm as hard as you want to know, baby. And my men are as hard as I tell them to be. Ain't nobody gonna' clash with us and get through it."
"Well, I was just tellin' you."
"Yeah, thanks. What's the dude's name, anyway?"
"Stack."
"What's his gang?"
"The whole city's behind him."
"He'll need the whole city. And then some. He messes with me again, I'll scramble his mind."
Dixie smiled at Nebraska. She liked the way that he tensed when he thought about fighting. And she loved to watch rumbles. Especially when they were over her. She thought that maybe she would have to arrange a meeting between Nebraska and Stack, and their men. Her body as the winner's prize. That was something worth fighting for.
"Play Chuck Jackson again," Dixie said.
Nebraska got up and placed the arm back on the record. Just as the sound started the front door opened and Fred the Head lumbered in, followed by Earl and eel.
They had several six packs of beer and a pint of whiskey. Nebraska wasn't too glad of the interruption, he would have preferred to have been alone with Dixie for a while longer, but he was glad that they had brought something to drink and he was also glad of a chance to introduce them to his new girl.
Dixie, for her part, was very glad. She looked at Fred's bulging arms and thought that he was very manly and that she would like to know him intimately. And Fred looked at her, his eyes running slowly along her curves, his eyes both lazy and interested.
Nebraska introduced them, and they opened the pint of whiskey and passed it around, drinking from the bottle and chasing it with beer which they drank from the cans. Dixie stayed with them, drink for drink, and began to feel real good about everything.
She thought that perhaps she wouldn't go back to Troy that day. Maybe she wouldn't go back all week. These guys were the party type, and that was what she liked. They were also good looking, and bad, and she liked that too. Brace seemed to have staked a claim on her, but she didn't care about that. She liked him, but no man was going to brand her. She did what she wanted, with who she wanted, whenever she wanted. And the hell with consequences. Dixie had never thought about consequences in her life, and this was no time to start, with guys like Fred around. Thinking this way she looked at Fred with a sideways glance, her eyelids fluttering slightly, and found that he was looking at her too. Nebraska was in the kitchen opening beers and she got up and walked over, her hips swinging, and sat on Fred's lap.
"Hello, big boy," she told him.
He just looked at her.
"You look like a guy who's game for kicks."
He shrugged.
She felt his arm. His bicep rolled as he flexed it, and she said, "Ooooo, nice. Are you as strong as Nebraska?"
"Stronger."
"You don't talk as much." He shrugged. "You like me?"
"Sure."
"I'm a party girl, big boy."
Fred put his hand on her leg. Laughing, she jumped up and ran back to her seat, as Nebraska came back into the room. He frowned at her and passed the new beers around. Then he came over and sat by her.
"What's the idea?"
"What?"
"Why were you playing around with my boy?"
"I told you, I'm nobody's woman. If I feel like foolin' around, I fool around."
"Yeah, well I like you. You know? You're a hip witch, and I want you to be mine."
She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. This was great fun, having her pick of two men. Maybe three. She looked at Earl, pursed her lips, and decided that there was a good possibility of that.
Nebraska was looking very glum. Everything had been going so well, he had begun to really like the girl and make plans for all the kicks that they could have together. And now Dixie was acting like a flirt. He didn't think that there was any danger of losing her, but the thing that angered him was that the other guys were seeing his girl flirt with them, and that hurt his pride. When the pint came around he took a big swallow and finished it.
"Man," Fred said, "You'd think you bought it, the way you drank it down."
"So what?"
Fred looked at him. He could see that Brace was getting quite drunk, and was in a bad mood. He didn't say anything, but he continued to look.
"We need some more whiskey," Nebraska said.
"You got money?" Fred asked.
"I always got money. You gonna' go get it?"
"Yeah, I'll go."
Nebraska gave Fred three dollars and Fred got up and went out. Nebraska went back to his seat.
"Dixie, don't make me mad," he said.
She looked at him, and felt glad that he was jealous. She could see that it had been gnawing at him. She said, "Don't tell me what to do."
"I'll slap your eyeballs out!" he snarled, his fingers digging into her arm.
She winced. But she felt very good about it. She said, "You're pretty bad, gonna' slap a woman. You didn't talk so bad when Fred was here."
"Don't give me that jazz!"
"You afraid of him?"
"I ain't afraid of nobody, witch!"
She shrugged.
Nebraska shoved her away and got up and went out to the kitchen to get another beer. She laughed and laughed. This was fine. She already had him to the point where she knew he would be eating out of her hand. She didn't know about Fred, he seemed like a less sensitive type, the type that wouldn't give a damn if a girl wanted to cross him. But she felt sure that she would be able to make him bow down to her also, with a little time.
Fred the Head returned with another pint. He had met Chino and a couple other guys on the street and they had returned with him. They had a gallon of Gallo wine, and were already drunk.
"Gimme," Nebraska said, yanking the gallon jug from Chino and tipping it up. Wine ran down the corner of his mouth. He handed the jug back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Dixie was introduced to the newcomers by Earl. She said, "I like you boys. You know what good times are. The punks in Troy don't have times like this every day. They all work or go to school, a real drag. I think that I'll be around here a whole lot."
Chino gave her his sexy look, which he had studied for long hours in the mirror.
"Cool your pants," Nebraska said. "The chick's mine."
"Sorry," Chino said.
"She don't act it," one of the other guys said He was a slender kid named Gus, with a bright red shirt. He was a new member of the club.
"What?" Nebraska asked him.
"I said, she don't act it."
Nebraska grabbed his shirt and pulled the smaller man close. He said, "When 1 tell you something punk, you don't have a goddamn thing to say. Right?"
Gus didn't answer, but he looked scared. Nebraska shoved him aside disdainfully.
"Cool it, man," Earl said.
Nebraska turned to him. "You got troubles?"
"Oh, wow You gonna' fight with everybody?" Earl said. "You know that I'm your friend."
"Yeah, sorry." Nebraska turned away and found the beer that he had set down. He drained it. "Where's the whiskey bottle?" he asked. eel handed it to him, and he took a long drink. He passed it to Earl, obviously sorry that he had been cross with his friend.
Dixie saw that Nebraska was beginning to forget about her. She didn't like that. She went over and sat on Fred's lap again, and began to play with his ear.
"Hey, if I stay over here tonight, can I sleep in the clubhouse?"
"Sure." Fred said.
"Do any of you guys stay here?"*
"Sometimes."
"You gonna' stay tonight, big boy?"
"No, he isn't!" Nebraska said. He grabbed Dixie's arm and pulled her from Fred's lap. She stumbled and fell to the floor. Nebraska still held her arm, standing over her glaring.
"You and I are going in the bedroom. Now."
"Un-un. I ain't goin' anywhere with you."
"Oh yes you are," he snarled, and jerked her to her feet savagely.
"Ah, leave her alone," Fred said. "You're drunk, Nebraska. Forget it."
Brace faced him. "Don't tell me what to do," he said, his voice very calm now. His cheek twitched. His fists were clenched at his sides.
"Easy," Fred said. "You don't want me."
"Then back off."
"You're on me, Nebraska. Don't blame me if you can't handle your woman."
"I can handle you, Head."
"No, you can't, Brace."
"Try me."
Earl stepped between them. He said, "Listen, you're both a little drunk. You don't want to fight. Hell, you're both in the club-don't let this broad come between you. She's not worth it. Can't you see what the little tramp is trying to pull?"
"Call me a tramp!" Dixie shouted. "I'll cut your cubes off, you louse!" She attempted to kick Earl Brace threw her back to the floor. He was still facing Fred, and he didn't even look at the girl.
"It's deeper than that," Brace said. "You think you can take me, and I don't like that. I'm too bad for you, Fred. Too fast and too bad."
Fred stood up and walked away from the chair. A few yards off he turned and faced Fred again. He said, "You talkin' a lot. You too little to talk too much. You lettin' your whiskey belly talk through your head."
"Here I am," Brace said, hands spread.
"Don't fight in here," Earl said. "We don't want the place wrecked. If you gotta' go, go out back."
Nebraska turned, without another word, and walked through the kitchen and out the back door into the alley. The others watched him leave silently.
Fred hesitated. Dixie, from the floor, said, "Don't take that jazz-if you want to have me don't ever take nothing from anybody."
"Shut up," Fred told her. She shut up. Fred turned and followed Nebraska out the back door.
The others waited for a minute and then followed. They didn't like to see two of the members of the club fight, but they had been curious for a long time as to who would come out on top in a scuffle between Nebraska and Fred. They crowded out the door and formed a circle around the two. Dixie came out behind them and watched from the doorway. She was very excited, but a little worried too. She was afraid that she might wind up with no one; they seemed to have her number down. She didn't know who she wanted to win at first, and then as she looked at them she decided that she wanted Nebraska, whether he won or not. She was almost sorry that she had started the trouble.
Fred stood with his hands at his sides. Brace stood a few feet away, in a half crouch. Brace said, "Okay, Head, how bad are you?"
"Try me." Fred was not really angry, but he had never backed down in his life.
Brace's lips curled in a smirk. He seemed to relax and took a half step to the side. The others thought that the argument was going to settle into one of the long verbal hassles which amount to nothing. But Brace was very angry and quite drunk. Fred turned to follow Brace's sideward motion, his hands still down, not quite ready to move.
Suddenly Brace spun in, his right fist arching in a short curve to the center of Fred's stomach. He followed with the left and then hooked his right to the head, getting his shoulder into it with a rolling motion. He felt the contact in his shoulder and knew that he had landed a solid shot.
Fred fell back, but didn't go down. The wind was knocked out of him. He set his feet and threw a right as Brace came in, but Brace slipped under it and landed to the body again, two half-arm jolts. Fred sat down in the gravel, with an explosive grunt.
Brace stepped back, tense and ready. Fred looked up at him, surprised. Fred had never been dropped before.
"I could kick your eyes out," Brace said. Then he stepped back and waited.
Fred got up slowly. He squared off, his hands up now. Brace circled slowly, his shoulders high and his knees half bent. He had great respect for Fred's power. Fred turned slowly, keeping his body squared toward Brace, in a hitter's stance. Brace's left shoulder was forward in the boxer's position. But it was Brace who had to force the fight, as Fred waited for the opportunity to use his great strength against the lighter man.
Brace feigned a jab, then stepped in behind a real jab. It landed high, too high to rock Fred's head, and Fred landed a sweeping right to the ribs. They crashed together and Fred got his arms around Brace's back and lifted him from the ground. Brace drove his right against Fred's temple, but he could generate no power with his feet off the ground. Fred threw him down and leaped on him. They rolled over twice, first one and then the other on top, as Brace tried to get punching room and Fred tried to get a wrestling hold. Fred finally came up on top, his knees planted on either side of Brace's torso. His left hand held Brace's throat and his right was cocked above Brace's face. Brace struggled for a moment, but was unable to break free.
"And now I could punch your eyes out," Fred told him, when Brace stopped struggling. His giant fist hovered above Nebraska's face. Neither man moved for a few seconds, and then Fred slowly got to his feet and released Brace. Brace got up too. They faced each other again, both men ready, but the fight was gone from them. Both had passed up the opportunity to end it, and neither wanted to continue. The others could sense the lessening of tension and they relaxed in the circle around the combatants.
Brace laughed first. A moment later Fred broke into a grin, and said, "What the hell was that all about?" They fell, laughing, into one another's arm, and slapped each other on the back. It was the only way in which the fight could have ended, and still have them remain friends, still have them both retain the respect ol the other members, still have them both remain in the club. Everyone seemed glad that it had ended the way that it had. and everyone began to talk at once, in nervous excitement.
They went back into the building and opened more cans of beer. Fred and Brace cleaned themselves up in the bathroom. Neither of them was cut, and the main damage consisted of a few gravel burns. Fred had two small bruises where Brace had landed to the body, and one mark high on his head. They washed and brushed their clothes off and went back into the main room to drink beer together.
Everyone ignored Dixie. She sat alone in one corner of the room and wondered what had gone wrong with her plan, and why no one seemed to be willing to fight for her any longer. She just couldn't understand how men thought. After all, they must be able to see how abundant her gift would be to the one whom she chose to give it to.
It was no longer her choice, however.
"What about the witch?" Fred asked, after a while.
"Nebraska shrugged. "You want her?"
"Naw."
"Anybody else want her?"
They undoubtably did. but no one would admit it, following the pattern set by Fred Everyone shook their heads or said "no" to the question
"Well, I guess that she's still my girl. It's nice to have a faithful girl," Nebraska said. They all laughed. Dixie didn't quite understand. There was only one way that she knew to equalize things now, and that was to use her best weapon. Her willing body.
She got up and come over to Nebraska. He ignored her as she stroked his hair. She tugged his head around so that he was looking at her.
"Whatdya want, witch?"
"You. I want you."
"Sure."
"Please."
He looked at her. She could tell that he wanted her, and that he was contemplating what image would be projected to the others if he were to go with her. She moved a little closer and said, "Please, now?"
Nebraska shrugged. He got up and finished the beer, tossed the empty can down and pushed her toward the bedroom. He grinned at the others, so that they would know that he was indifferent about her, and was just going for the hell of it. But he felt glad that she had asked him, especially in front of the rest of the guys, and he thought that now, maybe, things would work out between them as he had planned for them to work out from the first. And he was glad that he didn't have to share her with anyone else, although he would have if anyone had expressed a desire to have her. He still thought of her as something rather different and special, and as long as she allowed him to dominate her he would keep her. But there could never be a repetition of the scene that had just occurred. He decided that no woman was worth fighting for, especially when they were responsible for starting the fight.
He shut the bedroom door behind them. Dixie turned to him, smiling meekly, and stood on her toes so that he could kiss her. He did, and then held her at arm's length, his hands on her shoulders.
"Now listen," he told her. "You made a mistake today. I ought to kick your teeth in and let the rest of the guys do what they want to you, all at once. You're lucky that I don't. But you ain't ever gonna' act that way again, hear? When a chick belongs to Nebraska Brace she don't flirt, not with any one else, dig it? And if she does, she gets her face changed so that she never flirts again."
"All right," she said. She wasn't really scared by his threats, but she wanted to obey him. Dixie had never felt that way before. But she wasn't one to analyze emotions or reasons, and she said what she felt like saying.
Brace held her with one hand and brought the other across her face, hard, snapping her head around. She looked at him, surprised, tears starting to form in her wide-opened eyes, and then she threw her arms around his neck and held him and let herself cry.
"I'll be good. I'll always do what you want," she told him, her face buried against his chest.
"That's right," he said.
"Make love to me," she asked, when the tears had stopped flowing. Her face was streaked and looked very pretty.
"Yeah," he said.
They went over to the bed. Dixie sat down and untied her sneakers, kicking them off. Then she took her sweater off. Brace unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. His large hand found her breasts and cupped them in turn, squeezing them. He was standing behind her. He unfastened his own clothes with one hand, while the other remained on her breasts. She held him against her, and bending her face down she kissed the back of his caressing hand.
He pulled away to finish undressing, and Dixie pulled her brief white shorts down. She wore no panties. Brace was surprised that-considering how very brief her shorts were-he had not noticed. He watched as she raised her hips and tugged the shorts off. She was not ashamed of her nakedness, and turned to him, swivelling on her hips, so that she faced him. Her feet were on the bed, knees slightly apart.
Nebraska finished undressing while she watched. He noticed that she smiled happily as he flexed his muscles slightly, and she arched her back so that her breasts stood out. He went to the bed and sat, by her feet.
"I'm sorry about before," she said. "I'll make it up to you now."
He placed one hand on her knee and started to rub upward along her thigh. Her legs opened a bit more. Her self confidence returned as they began the preliminaries to love. This was the game that she knew well, the game at which she had the experience and the ability. She was always very confident while she was in bed with a man. Even with Nebraska Brace. She had been subservient for a moment, but now they were back in her element, and it would be she who dominated.
But it was a domination that Nebraska didn't mind in the least. As he moved closer, she opened her legs and pulled him to her. He kissed her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, and then back down to her belly. She stretched out and let his lips run up and down her smooth curves. Her hands were against. his head, guiding him slowly toward where he was slowly moving.
And then he was there, pressed to her, and she quivered with delight and moved her legs as though she were slowly pumping a bicycle. Her hands ran over the hard knots of muscle in his shoulders, her fingers moving. Her stomach rose and fell as she breathed.
Then he moved up, letting their nakedness slid together slowly, the distance of their bodies. She raised her hips and encircled him with her arms, her lips seeking his in one long embrace. Their tongues lashed together quickly, and then slowed to begin a rhythm that preluded the rhythm that was to follow. Nebraska paused for a moment, and then pressed forward and she locked her legs around him and began to heave beneath his body, moving in the opposite motion from his own driving body. They moved together, all the delayed passion building quickly, all the fury and argument changing to desire, then to lust, then to urgency, then to the height of ecstasy, poised there and trembling, one long second as their beings quivered and tingled. Every molecule vibrated at once for them, and then shattered, like broken glass at the ringing of a bell, shattered by the perfect vibration, at the same instant.
And Dixie-for a while at least-was once more the dominated woman, as they settled slowly together in fulfilled bliss.
This is the way it should always be, Nebraska thought. My girl does exactly what I tell her to, every goddamned time.
I'll bend you good, rough-man, Dixie thought.
And she did, a little while later, after Brace felt the old sensations rise, eager to feel her again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nebraska Brace saw Dixie nearly every day after his first meeting with her. And Cherry Red saw Judy just as often. They saw each other considerably less, however, as their love affairs progressed in different directions.
Nebraska brought Dixie to the club, to some of the nearby bars where there was no difficulty in being served, despite her age, to his house when his parents happened to be out. She often spent the night in the clubhouse with him. He grew more and more fond of her, his feelings progressing from a pure physical desire to a deeper thing, a sense that they were compatible in the other facets of life, that they both held the same principles and thoughts in regard to the insignificance of life and the same regard for the rebellion against the established goals and ends which society tries to put up on a pedestal as right and good and best. That they both knew that nothing, in the final sense, mattered, except kicks and pleasure and being able to maintain a pride in one's own self, the pride of knowing that, despite the fact that nothing mattered, they would bow to nothing.
Nebraska wanted money, but security was something that never entered his mind. He wanted money to spend, to make an impression, to drive a Cadillac and have a good looking babe and spend a fortune in the high priced night clubs, and to have people point at him and whisper, "That's Nebraska Brace." But he didn't want to have to work to do this. That wouldn't be the same thing. Anyone could spend a lot and drive a new car if he was willing to work eight hours a day. And there was no charm to having money that was earned in that manner. It had to be mysterious: people had to think, "He has all the money he wants, and he never works a day. That boy must really have something going for him." In other words, he had to earn his money and, subsequently, his notoriety, on the streets and not on a legitimate job. He was still a bit young, despite his experience, to make the money that he wanted. But he knew that soon, inevitably, he would make his mark.
Dixie didn't care about money at all. Perhaps this was because she had never known its presence The important things in her life didn't need money And anything that she needed could be bartered for her body. Her body could be traded for kicks, for whiskey, for food. She didn't think of herself as a whore, because money was never involved. It was up to Nebraska to take care of her needs in return for her love and fidelity-she had managed to remain faithful, much to her own surprise. She decided that she must be genuinely in love with Nebraska.
Dixie wasn't expensive. She wore shorts and levies, and asked nothing more. She was content to share a pint of gin and call it a date, to listen to records and think of it as a fine evening, to shoplift with Nebraska and get a great deal of fun out of it. This was probably because she was young yet. When she grew a bit older the other, more expensive things might begin to appeal to her, and she might ask more of life than to merely be recognized as a good-time-chick.
Nebraska asked her if she would hustle for him. Without the slightest hesitation, she agreed. It seemed quite glamorous to her to be a whore. But he didn't press it, didn't really care to. Although he wouldn't admit it, Nebraska didn't like the idea of sharing her with another man, even a trick. The idea was put aside for the time, although she remained willing to do it.
By contrast to the relationship between Dixie and Nebraska, Cherry Red and Judy developed a rather tender young love affair, the sort that one associates with springtime and flowers and plans for a cottage in the suburbs and a big wedding in some church or other. They went for walks in the park, went to movies, even went to a few dances at such places as the YWCA and CYO-places that the boys had always avoided except when they went to get in fights with the guys and try to steal their dates.
As a result of the time spent with Judy, Cherry Red spent less time at the club. His relations at home improved, and he was allowed to have the car whenever he wanted, as long as he promised that it was for a date with Judy and not to go riding with his friends.
The rest of the gang noticed his increasing absence. At first they made fun of him for letting a chick direct his affairs, but after a while they began to resent his neglect. After all, the club was supposed to come first. But he didn't seem to notice the growing animosity. He was too absorbed in his new life and new goals. He even stopped wearing his club jacket and began to dress in a suit and tie. As Brace said, "Cherry's becoming a real fink. He'd better shape up soon and turn that chick lose before she ruins him. Why, he may even get a job or go back to school, or somethin'."
And that would most certainly complete the ruination of a good man, in their eyes.
On a lucky Saturday afternoon, Nebraska found himself a good thing on the pool table. He had been standing around, killing time, when several college men had come in to shoot a game. When he saw that they were shooting money ball, and that they were slightly drunk, he wandered over and watched for a while. They weren't bad, but neither were they good. And Nebraska shot a decent stick. That was almost a prerequisite for living on the street. After a while he asked if he could get in, and they said all right. They were playing for a dollar, and breaking about even, each one winning his share of the games. That stopped immediately upon Nebraska's entry into the game.
He played it very well, not shooting as well as he was able to, never running the balls, but making sure that he made the shots that counted. He won four games in a row, and they grumbled about how lucky he was. He agreed with them, being very juvenile acting and beaming about his good luck, saying that he must really be on. because he had never won like that before.
One of the college men won, a lucky combination on the nine, and then Brace won three more. One of the others dropped out, the other two continued. Several of the poolroom boys asked to get in, but Brace vetoed this, telling the college boys that the newcomers were hustlers. This made them angry at him, but he didn't care and wasn't about to share a good thing. And besides, they couldn't do a goddamn thing about it, and they knew it. No one whipped Nebraska Brace, and no one cared to try.
Brace was thirty five bucks ahead when the college men said that it would have to be their last game. They were still under the impression that Brace was lucky, and in an attempt to get back some of their losses they played the last game for five dollars apiece.
Since it was the last game Brace gave way to his impulse to build his image. He ran all nine bails, making a nice cross corner bank on the eight and setting the nine up perfectly. The college men blinked, grumbled, handed their money over belligerently. Brace took it, his feet set in case of trouble, his face expressionless and cold. But the college men were far away from their element, and they knew that it was not the time nor the place to complain. They left, sullenly, and Brace was forty five dollars to the good.
There is nothing to do with money except to spend it. He knew that very well. He decided that this easy money would go just as easily, a much more noble fate for money than to be used to buy textbooks and pay tuitions. He called Dixie and told her to get dressed and come over to the club, and then he went home and got ready himself.
When he dressed, Nebraska dressed well. Although he was usually wearing his levies and sheepskin coat, he had a well developed sense of correct dress. This had something to do with his plans for the future, when he was going to have all the money that he needed.
Today he dressed in a three-button blue suit, white shirt, gray tie and black shoes. His socks matched his tie. His belt was black calfskin. His shoes were very well polished. His cuffs broke just at the shoe tops. He looked at himself in the mirror and decided that he looked like money. Perhaps his hair was a trifle too long, but when one had money, one didn't have to concern himself with haircuts. And Nebraska had some fifty dollars in his money clip.
Some men went out every night and spent a little, a few bucks. Brace knew that it created a much finer impression to only go out on the town once in a while and then to spend a great deal. It was almost as impressive as being able to spend a great deal every night, as far as the observers were concerned. As long as they never saw one broke....
Dixie took the bus from Troy and then took a cab to the clubhouse. She looked very nice, and Nebraska was surprised that she owned the clothes necessary to make such an impression. He had never seen her in other than shorts or slacks and a blouse or sweater.
She was dressed in a light blue sheath which was sleeveless and had a round neckline. Her shoes were white and dainty looking with a sling strap across her heels. Her feet looked much smaller in the high heels than they usually did. She wore a single strand of opaque white summer beads around her neck and matching earrings, not the kind that dangle. Her blonde hair was freshly washed and arranged in a French roll. The short ends curled around her face, giving her an innocent look. In her hands she held a pair of short white gloves and an orange faille clutch bag which held her makeup. She didn't particularly care to get dressed, but since Nebraska had asked her to she had done a good job of it. He felt very proud of her, and was sure that she looked good enough to walk beside him-it was necessary to have an attractive woman to enhance the image. She should have been a bit older, a little more worldly, but for now Dixie would do nicely. There was plenty of time for the other.
She met Nebraska at the club, and they walked down to the cab stand at the corner. He felt very adult as they passed by the loungers on the corner, probably the only couple to pass by that day without being peered at or remarked upon. He nodded to some of the guys he knew, remaining rather aloof about it, as someone like Duke Wells might have done.
Across the street a group of young men were pitching pennies against the wall of a vacant tenement. There were four vacant buildings in a row, all of them marked with broken windows through which it could be seen that the rafters and interior walls were starting to collapse. Nebraska wondered how many people were sleeping in the ruined basements and first floors. People not too much older than himself, who had already lost the battle with society and whose main ambition was the next bottle of wine. That would never happen to him, he knew. He was already on the way up, and his thoughts were geared to the rise. It hadn't been too long ago when he might have been pitching pennies with those men, and now he was walking on the other side of the street with a good-looking woman and plenty of money in his pants. He saw several of them look over at him, and wondered if they were thinking the same thoughts that they would think if they were to see Duke Wells or one of the other big time mobsters walk by. Probably not, he thought-he hadn't made that grade yet. But he was starting. And the difference between him and them was very obvious to any observer. The passengers on the bus that passed by them, for instance, a chartered bus with some professional baseball team. Nebraska could see the writing on the back of one of their uniforms, The Indianapolis Clowns. He had never had time for sports such as baseball. There were far more serious and important things to be done with one's time. But athletes were better than college students, at least, better than merchants and salesmen and all the rest of the work-a-day fools who didn't know there was money to be made without work.
Nebraska could see the people on the bus as they looked out at the ruined tenements and the gang on the street, and could imagine their thoughts as to what the city was like. And then they would look at him and know that he must be quite a guy to be so well dressed and arrogant in this place. He smiled to himself and walked on to the corner, where they caught a cab to a night club at the outskirts of the city.
It was a good place, where respectable businessmen and men who made their living in the streets mingled. It was expensive, but that was all the better. It was good to be seen, occasionally, in an expensive place.
They were shown to a table and Nebraska ordered highballs for them both. There was no question about Dixie's age. There never is in an expensive, better class night club; it is assumed that one who comes there is naturally old enough.
There was a show going on, with a very bad M.C. and a couple of adequate girl performers. But Nebraska didn't watch them anyway, he was busy looking around and trying to spot someone whom he might know Dixie, for her part, was amazed that such places as this existed. She had never been in a night club before, and such places as The Point were the extent of her experiences in regard to a night on the town.
Nebraska lit a cigarette, reminding himself that he would have to acquire a cigarette case, and blew the smoke casually upward. Another couple were being seated next to them, and he turned to look. And then he felt very big time, for it was none other than Duke Wells.
Nebraska nodded at him. Wells recognized him and smiled. Nebraska had been afraid that the man would not speak. Now he was bolder and leaned over toward their table.
"How are you, kid?" Wells asked.
"Well, you know...."
"Join us?"
"Sure. Thanks."
Nebraska and Dixie moved to Wells' table. Wells was with a very beautiful redhead. He bought them a round of drinks and they watched the show for a while. Between acts Wells lit a cigar-a very long, thin cigar-and turned to Nebraska.
"I see you on the street a lot," he said.
"Yeah, I'm around."
"How old are you now?"
"Seventeen."
"Getting up there. I still got that job for you, when you want it."
"Thanks, Mr Wells. I don't know. I'm doin' pretty good on my own."
"So I see." He glanced at Dixie, who smiled very nicely at him. She hadn't spoken a word, which was fine, because she would have had no idea what to say. "You seem to be living very well, kid. Got a few angles going for you, huh?"
"A few."
He puffed on the cigar. That was the way that it was always spoken of, a few angles, never any specifics. Another act came on and Wells watched it, while Nebraska looked at him and thought that he looked exactly like a real mobster should look, a successful mobster: the hard face, cold eyes, slightly over-dressed, but expensively so, a little too much handkerchief showing in his breast pocket. And was that bulge in his suit a gun? It was hard to tell, the suit was well tailored and could hide such things.
They stayed together for the rest of the evening, moving from one club to the next. Wells picked up all the checks, and when Nebraska protested, he said, "Kid when you're out with Duke Wells, you keep your money in your pocket. The Duke know? how to spend."
At three o'clock the clubs closed They left the last one and got in Duke's Cadillac Brace sat in back and Dixie snuggled close to him She was very drunk He felt a little drunk too, but didn't think that it showed.
"Well, the night's over I guess," Duke said.
"There are some other places," Brace said.
"Yeah? I haven't been making this scene for a while, a guy loses track."
"Yeah Derby's got another place, for one."
"That where you're goin?"
"Sure."
"Well, let's go."
Nebraska directed him, feeling very good about being able to show Duke Wells to an after hours joint, and feeling glad that the crowd at Derby's was going to see him with Wells. Maybe The Duke didn't get around so much any more, but that was because he was busy making money. He was still well known and his name was famous even among the younger crowd who had never seen him in person.
The Derby Kid's place was in the basement of his house, with a makeshift bar along one side of the room and a few old cast-off kitchen tables. He answered the door himself, saw who it was, and let them in.
"Ain't seen you in a while," said Derby to Wells. "Glad you're around again."
Wells nodded. Nebraska spoke. They went into the room and were greeted by the dozen or so people who were drinking there. Everyone showed respect for Wells, and perhaps a new respect for Nebraska. This was an older crowd than those who showed him respect on the streets, and there rtspect was worth much more, for he was still a kid to many of them.
"Give us a bottle, Derby," Wells said.
They took a table and the bottle and four glasses arrived. Wells' girl, a particularly wide-eyed and stupid-although beautiful-type, was charmed by the idea of being in such a place. It was just like during Prohibition, she told them, looking around. Brace was even happier that he had known where to go after hours.
Suddenly a glass smashed. Nebraska turned to the sound, and saw Minnie rushing through the smoky, dark room, heading for them. He stood up and caught her around the waist, got a grip on her wrist and forced her to drop the glass.
"You louse!" she screamed. Then, to Dixie, she said, "If I ever see you with my man again, I'll cut you!"
Dixie looked surprised. She was too drunk to reason about what was happening, and didn't try.
"Get her outta' here," Nebraska said, and Derby Kid helped to drag her to the door. She struggled more as she got near to the door, screaming incoherently. She was very, very drunk. But she stared at Dixie intently, trying her best to remember what the girl looked like.
"You think I won't fight for you?" she asked Nebraska.
"Aw, shut up! Damn drunk whore."
"I'll cut that man-stealin' witch!"
"Out," Derby said, shoving her through the door. She tried to get back in, but he closed the door and locked it. She knocked a few times, and then gave it up and went staggering up to the street.
Nebraska returned to his table. He was smiling and shaking his head. He said, "Give one of these chicks a tumble and they think they own you."
Wells laughed. He said, "She used to be a tough chick, good hustler. Too bad how drinkin' got the best of her."
"Yeah, she hustled for me for a while," Brace told him. That was very good for making an impression. Already na[;t the pandering stage at seventeen.
"Got to watch out for a witch like that, though. No telling what she might do."
"Aw, she's harmless," Brace said. "The only thing that she can damage is a bottle of gin."
And they laughed and forgot about it. But outside, staggering blindly up the deserted street, Minnie had not forgotten. The idea had become impressed on her foggy mind, she had been wronged and she had to get even. She had to have revenge against the woman who had stolen her man. And, considering the way that thoughts slipped from her mind, considering the inconsistency if her ideas, it was amazing how long the idea of revenge could stay with her.
During the time that Nebraska had been winning money on the pool table, Cherry Red and Judy had been watching television at his house. His mother was home. She came in with a tray of coffee and cookies and sat by them.
"Have you thought about what we talked over the other day?" his mother, asked. He nodded. "Well?"
"I guess maybe I'll go back to school in the fall," he said. His mother smiled.
"We decided that it was the best thing," Judy said.
"I'm so glad that Irving has finally got himself a nice girl like you. It's good for him not to be so much with those ruffians and hoodlums."
"Don't start that, now," Cherry Red said.
"Well, it's true. But I'm glad about school, anyway It's the best thing for you."
"I guess so."
"Can you stay for dinner, Judy?"
"Yes, if I call home."
"Good. We have a nice roast, and ice cream for dessert. You call your mother and tell her that you'll eat here and that Irving can drive you home later."
"All right. Thank you, Mrs. Katz."
"It's no trouble. Irving's father and I like to have you here. And, who knows, you might someday be one of the family. Who can tell?" She smiled shyly. Judy blushed. And Cherry Red said, "Aw, for chrissake, Ma-don't start that." But she could tell that he didn't mind, really. She felt very wise as she smiled and sipped her coffee.
* * *
Later on the subject of marriage came up again. But this time it was between Judy and Cherry Red, as they sat alone in the car, in their favorite parking place outside of Troy, on the hill to the east. The lights of the city winked below them, and it was a deserted and lonely and romantic place.
"I don't know, Judy," he said. "You know that I'd like to marry you. But we oughta' wait until we're older."
"I guess so. But I don't want to wait. I want to get married right away. I love you."
"And I love you."
"Then why should we wait, Irving?" She had begun calling him Irving, at his mother's request. He hated the name, but let it go at that. The name of Cherry Red was beginning to seem awfully ridiculous anyway. "Because we're too young."
"I can get permission. I know that I can. And I know that your parents wouldn't mind."
"It's not that. I just don't think that I'm ready to settle down yet."
"Wouldn't you rather be with me than to go back to your friends and that silly club?"
He shrugged.
"Yeah?"
"Would you like to make love to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, not just necking. All the way."
"Sure. But it doesn't matter."
"It does matter. If you want to, it matters."
"Do you want to?"
"Yes. I think so. I don't know, but I think that I want to go all the way with you."
"You might be sorry later."
"No. I don't think so."
"It won't make any difference. I mean, I won't want to marry you after we did it, any more than I do now."
"That's not why I'd do it. It's just that I want to, because I love you."
"I'm glad."
"Let's do it now, honey."
Cherry Red hesitated. But he wanted to. And Judy slid closer on the scat and put her arms around his neck.
She felt very warm and soft, next to him. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
She worked her mouth against his, lips parted, and her body pressed against him. He could feel her breasts straining against his chest, and could see her thighs tight beneath her skirt. She had a good body, he knew. He had never seen her without any clothes on, though, and he wanted to. He wanted to see all of her, not just fumble beneath her clothes with his fumbling fingers, not to just touch her with his hands but to feel his whole body against hers, to be a part of her, to do all that was possible to her and with her. She had never done it before, he knew, but they were in love and that made it all right. When people were in love, anything was all right. And she wanted him to....
His hands caressed her-her firm young boobs, her rounded thighs, her smooth stomach. The fastenings of her clothing came undone one by one under his hands. And she responded with caresses of her own and he felt his own clothing open and loosen.
They twisted and turned within the confines of the car, helping each other undress one another, raising their hips and turning their bodies. And then they were both naked, and they sat apart for a moment to look at one another, and then came together in a tight, desperate embrace.
His hands slid along her silken body, moving down to stroke along her hips, her belly, and finally to probe the depths of her burning passion. She trembled at his touch, and tell away to stretch out on her back, raising her legs.
He slid his body up along hers, and suddenly felt the touch of her hand, enclosing him, caressing him. And then slowly placing him where she wanted. Poised at the threshold of her passion he could feel himself throb with urgency, and he began to push himself to her. She guided him with her hand and raised her body to aid him.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, at the last possible moment, when neither of them could have possibly resisted anyway.
She answered with a heaving of her body upward and toward him, engulfing him with her desire. He plunged forward to meet her thrust and they were joined together in the flooded depths of passion.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned. Her hands dug at his back, her teeth sunk into his shoulder. But he noticed no pain, the only sensation that he could know was that which was rippling through him, and her, the same ripples of passion, running from one body to the other as they drove and heaved against one another.
Her hands left his back, moving down to hold him and to cup herself at the place where their desire joined. And her touch increased and multiplied the sensation as it built to the peak.
Then, together, their passion erupted and cascaded in the bursting flood of release. Judy gave a little cry as it came. And then they collapsed together....
Later, smoking a cigarette, sitting together and still naked, Cherry Red asked her if she was sorry that they had done it.
"No. Oh, no-I'm glad. I wanted yon so badly. And I'll never let anyone else do that to me, no matter what. I love you so much."
"I'm glad. I was afraid that you would be sorry after it was over."
"I feel so good, darling. Just so good. I want to do it all the time, every time that we have a chance. It's not wrong, nothing that good could be wrong. Isn't that right, honey? It can't be wrong?"
"No, it isn't wrong."
She snuggled closer and looked out the car window. The moon was up, very round and yellow and big, and there were stars.
"I'll never forget this place," she said.
"Neither will I," Cherry Red told her.
Neither one knew how true that was going to be.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cherry Red was at the clubhouse. It was quite unusual for him to be there these days. Most of the others were there as well, making plans for the evening. Nebraska was talking, and Dixie was sitting by him, "Has everyone got it straight now?" he asked.
They nodded affirmatively.
"You can help Fred and Chino carry the beer," Nebraska said to Cherry Red. "Or you can wait in the car with eel. We didn't plan on you. You haven't been around in a long time-we thought that maybe you weren't coming any more."
"I've been pretty busy, Nebraska."
"Henpecked, don't you mean?"
Cherry Red laughed slightly.
"Well, we all have to fall in love when we're young," Earl said, with a shrug. Chino beamed. It was good to have someone else be the brunt of the youth jokes.
"Well, glad to see you back, anyway," Nebraska said.
"Unn ... I can't make it tonight, though," Cherry Red said, hesitantly. "Oh? Why not?"
"Well, I promised Judy that I'd pick her up right after dinner."
"The hell with her," Fred said. "Who's more important, this witch or the club?"
Cherry Red didn't speak.
"Maybe he'd better not answer that," Nebraska said. "It's his business, anyhow."
"It's not that, guys. But I really like this chick, you know? I can't just stand her up."
Nebraska shrugged. "I like Dixie, too. What the hell's that got to do with it?"
"Yeah, but Dixie is here with you."
"You can bring Judy."
"Judy wouldn't want to come. She's not like that."
"Like what?" Dixie asked.
"I didn't mean anything It's just that Judy doesn't dig scenes like you've got planned."
"Well, it's time she grew up," Fred said.
"No, just because she doesn't go for these things ... that doesn't mean that she is childish. Hell, it might well mean that she's more grown up."
"Oh, that's where it is, huh?" Fred said.
"Aw, nuts! I just don't like to have you talk about her, you know? She's my girl and I like her. That doesn't mean that I can't like you guys too."
"Yeah. Well, if you're not coming with us, you'd better make it, hey?" Nebraska said.
"Yeah," Cherry said. He got up and went out. He stopped at the door to say good-bye, but no one was paying him any attention, so he went on out.
"That shows what a chick can do to a guy," Fred said, after the door closed.
"It's a shame," Earl said. "I imagine that it will pass, though. Cherry's too groovy to go for this square jazz for very long."
"Ah, who cares?" Nebraska said. He was quite annoyed, taking Cherry Red's attitude as a personal affront to his own leadership. "He's a square, anyway, the hell with him. What did he ever do?"
"Yeah," said Fred. "He can't whip nobody."
They forgot about Cherry Red and continued with the plans for the evening. They were going to steal a car, first, after which they were going to steal several cases of beer and pick up some girls. They could have bought the beer, they had some money in the treasury, but the idea of stealing it was better than the drinking of it. They had done nothing exciting for some weeks, and everyone felt the need of a little action, a little comradeship in some daring enterprise.
The first step in the plan involved getting a car. That was going to be up to eel and Fred. There was nothing very difficult or dangerous about this. All they had to do was find a General Motors car with the ignition unlocked, and it was surprising how many owners failed to turn the switch all the way over. And if the car was found on a residential street, there was a good chance that it would not be noticed that it was stolen until the morning, when the owner came out to go to work. And by morning they would be through with it and would have deserted it somewhere, minus radio, tires, and whatever other accessories could be easily removed.
The second step involved the beer, and Nebraska had planned this out in detail, not complicated, but involved enough to be funny. All things were funny if they could be laughed about later. For instance, it was not very funny to steal a man's watch, unless the thief later asked the man for the time. Or sold the watch back to him. Little sidelights like that made life better.
The third step was in getting girls who would be willing to join in the fun. This had been left up to Chino, with his schoolgirl contacts, and he had arranged for two sisters to meet them later that evening, when they would be able to sneak out of the house.
As soon as it was dark, Fred and eel went out. They wore dark clothes and had left their club jackets off. The others waited for them in the club.
It didn't take long. Within forty-five minutes the two were back smiling.
"All set?" Brace asked.
"Right"
"What d'ya get?"
"A '60 Chevy. Convertible, no less. Nobody around it, and the street was dark."
"Good. Nice work. Chino's youngsters should like a convertible."
"They ain't so young," Chino said.
"Chino likes older women," Fred said.
They went out and piled into the car, which had been parked around the block, eel drove. It was time for Stage Two of the plans, and the chosen place was a small corner grocery on Hudson Ave. whose main distinction was in having two entrances, one on each of the intersecting streets. Nebraska had been there a few times and knew the setup. On the way uptown he went over the plan once more.
"Earl and I will go in the side door and go up to the counter and buy a pack of cigarettes. There's only one guy there at this hour, an old dude. We'll start talking to him about something or other.
"Then Fred and Chino come in the other door, making a lot of noise. When he is watching them, they grab a case of beer and walk out. Remember, the beer is stacked right by the front door, on the left as you enter, by the freezer. They snatch one and walk out with it. Right?"
They nodded.
"Now the old guy will run after them. And eel is waiting in the car, by the side door. The minute the guy goes out the front, Earl and I start lugging cases of beer out the side door and throwing them in the car.
"Fred and Chino go down the hill, away from the intersection, with the guy after them. Don't go too fast, he'll get discouraged. Just enough to keep away from him. When you get to the corner, set the beer down and take off around the block. He'll have to carry the beer back up the hill, and by the time that he gets back to the store, we'll have plenty stacked in the car. We'll drive around the block, pick Fred and Chino up on Hamilton Street and be on our way, while the guy is congratulating himself on getting his case of beer back."
Everyone knew his role, which was very simple. Going over it several times had been unnecessary, but it lent an air of professional planning and big-time robbery to the scheme. They all took it very seriously. eel parked on the cross street and left the car running. Nebraska and Earl got out and went in the side door and up to the counter, which was in the back. The proprietor was fat and bald with a mustache. He looked like an Italian, and his face was shiny.
"Pack of Camels," Nebraska said.
The man passed them over.
"Matches?"
He tossed them on the counter. "How much?"
"Twenty seven."
Fred and Chino came in the front door, talking in loud, drunken tones. The store owner glanced up at them.
"Got two cents, John?" Nebraska asked Earl. "Let me see. I think so," Earl said. He began to dig through his pockets.
Nebraska put a quarter on the counter.
"What kind shall we steal?" Fred said to Chino, in a very thoughful voice.
"Ballantine," Chino said.
They picked up a case, each holding one side, and started back out the door.
"Hey! Wait up there!" shouted the owner.
They went out the door, giggling.
"They're stealing my beer!"
"Better get the rotten juvenile delinquents," Earl suggests shaking his head in disgust with the way that the youth of America deported itself.
The man hurried around the counter and ran to the front door. "Stop!" he shouted.
"Get 'em!" Earl said.
The man started down the hill in pursuit. They could still hear Fred's laughter.
Nebraska grabbed a carton of cigarettes from behind the counter and he and Earl hurried to the front of the store. Earl looked out and saw that the owner was halfway down the block.
"Okay," he said.
They each grabbed two cases of beer and carried them out the side door and tossed them in the back seat of the convertible. The top was down, and this made it much faster and easier to load it. They went back in and grabbed four more cases and took them out. On the third trip, Earl checked Hudson Avenue and said, "He's coming back already. Better hurry."
Nebraska ran back to the counter and opened the cash register. He scooped out the bills and ran out the door as Earl was carrying out two more cases. They jumped in the car and eel pulled slowly and silently away and up the street, turning left at the first corner and heading down Hamilton. Fred and Chino were waiting to open the doors. When they saw the cases of beer they laughed in earnest, in contrast to drunken giggles, and congratulated one another.
Nebraska counted the money and found that they had done much better than expected. The money had been a secondary consideration, since small stores seldom have much on hand, but they had made over thirty dollars in cash. He pocketed a ten and gave the others five dollars each, plus some silver. It had been a very successful attack, and he knew that his careful planning was the chief reason for it.
"Now the girls," he said.
Chino directed eel to the rendezvous, a street corner in the south end. They were all a little surprised to find that the girls were already waiting. They hadn't banked too heavily on Chino's reliability.
"Want to go back to the club?" eel said.
"Naw, let's ride."
"What about Dixie? She's waiting there." She had wanted to come, but Nebraska had said that it was too dangerous. The real reason was that he wanted to see if Chino's girls would materialize, of course.
"Let her wait. I'm in love with these girls, anyway," he said, and the girls giggled. One sat in front, between eel and Nebraska. The other sat on Chino's lap, in back. But after a few minutes, Fred pulled her to his own lap and began to kiss her Chino didn't say anything and the girl didn't seem to resent the change. Nebraska put his arm around the girl in front and pulled her to him.
"Where to?" eel asked.
"The woods. We'll drink this beer and then make love to these girlies."
"Not to me, you won't," the girl in front said. "The hell we won't."
"Hey, Chino," she said, "I'm not that kind of girl. You didn't say that we had to give up something if we went for a ride with you."
"Tough," said Chino.
"You louse!" she said. The girl on Fred's lap didn't seem to mind the idea, however. Fred had already managed to undo the zipper at the side of her shorts, and was boasting about how great he was at making love.
They drove a few miles out of town and eel pulled off the road and into a parking spot where the car couldn't be seen from the highway.
They opened the beer and everyone drank a can fast. It wasn't cold enough.
"That swine, giving us warm beer!" Earl exclaimed, and they laughed.
"Warm beer and cold women," Brace said, as the girl beside him pushed his hand away from her breasts.
"Maybe they like to walk," Earl said.
"My girl's not complaining," Fred said. Then he said, "Of course, she's got the only real man here. Feel this, baby." Giggles came from the girl.
Nebraska finally managed to get his hand under the girl's bra, and she stopped struggling. But she said, "You can feel me, but that's all. I'll get out if you try anything more. I'm not that kind of girl."
"Then what in hell are you doing in the car with five guys?" he asked.
"Chino said that we were just going to drink beer. That's all he told us."
"Leave it to the child to screw up. Look at what he gets for us."
"Nuts! They knew what we wanted." Chino said.
"Stop that," Fred's girl said, in a tone that meant that she didn't care. But the girl in front continued to resist any further advances.
"Let's rape her," eel suggested.
"I'll tell!" She seemed to be genuinely scared and panicky. "I will. I know that you stole this car too. I'll tell all about it."
"Better not rape her," Chino said.
Nebraska pushed the chick away, in disgust. "The hell with 'em, let's make 'em walk back."
The girl next to him seemed to think that it was a good idea. She tried to crawl over Nebraska. He grabbed her and held her down while he ran one hand up her leg, inside the hem of her shorts. But she didn't stop struggling as he touched her, and he let go and she opened the door and got out and stood beside the car.
"You comin', Peggy?" she asked.
The girl in back said, "Aw, they won't hurt you."
"Well, you can stay. I'm not getting back in that car, I'll walk home."
"I'd better go with her. She's liable to tell my mother and then I'll catch hell."
Fred was disgusted. "Go ahead," he said, taking his hands out of her shorts.
"You mad?"
"Yeah."
"Look, maybe I can meet you guys sometime without my sister. She's kinda funny about these things. I don't mind, though. Some other night."
"All right," Fred said.
"Can we have a ride home?"
"If you can get her in the car."
Peggy got out and talked with her sister for a while, and then they got back in. Peggy was in back, on Fred's lap once more, but her sister insisted on sitting by the front door.
"I'll jump out if you touch me," she warned Brace. "Nuts to you!" he said.
On the way back, Fred and Peggy continued to neck. The others grew very horny from listening to them and watching them. Fred had her shorts halfway down her thighs, and one hand was under her panties. His own clothes were open and she was holding him. After a while she crawled on him so that her back was against his chest and leaned back. Fred began to move under her, and then they were both breathing hard and heavily around on the seat.
Earl leaned close to watch. Fred didn't mind and Peggy didn't even notice. Her sister looked at them, then looked out the window. She was biting her lip.
"Wouldn't you like to try that?" Brace asked her.
She shook her head.
"The hell with you, then! Be frustrated." He turned on the seat to watch.
Fred was heaving higher now, raising Peggy from the seat. Her head was back and her hands clenched. By way of aiding Fred, eel was hitting all the bumps in the road. The action in the back increased, until it looked like they might fall out of the car. Then, with one mighty heave, Fred settled back and relaxed.
Peggy continued to twist and squirm for a few seconds, and then she too was still.
"How about us?" Earl asked.
She shook her head.
"Don't be that way. You'll like it."
"Sure. But not with my sister here. I'll go with you guys some other time. Okay?"
"I guess it has to be."
"Will you call me, Fred?" she asked.
"Naw."
"Why not?" she wanted to know, surprised at his curt reply.
"I only date virgins," he said. "You were too easy and too dirty-minded."
"You louse!" she exclaimed, half in earnest and half in laughter. The others laughed loudly, except for her sister, who sat looking out the side window and continued to bit her lip.
"One thing that you can say about Fred the Head." Earl proclaimed. "He has high moral character."
They all agreed and drove back to the city, where they were to strip the car and cool the beer and talk about what had transpired. eel, still at the wheel, gunned the engine as a light turned green. The powerful Chevy screamed from the dead stop in an agony of used rubber.
First, they stopped at the clubhouse to unload the beer. Dixie seemed furious for a while, but the prospects of the party that was to come soon calmed her. eel drove the Chevy into an alley, away from the clubhouse, where Earl and Fred could start the stripping.
It was going to be a real fun night.
At the same time something else was transpiring which was to affect them profoundly, but they knew nothing of this.
CHAPTER SIX
They sat smoking and looking out at the lights of the city below them and the dark sky above, while the car radio played soft jazz. It was very intimate and warm and made them feel very adult, as soft music on dark nights is apt to do when one is really quite young.
"I'd like to stay here forever," Judy said.
Cherry Red grunted a reply, and puffed on his cigarette and blew smoke at the windshield. He was sitting behind the wheel, and she was by the opposite door. They had just come from a drive in movie and stopped by their favorite parking place, the one at which their love had been consummated and subsequently renewed many tunas, in varying degree* of passion and tenderness.
They felt no great passion now, but a very close feeling of affection, and the desire to assure one another that they would always be together, that this was not simply another instance of young infatuation on the part of either or both of them.
Judy was more sure of how she felt than Cherry Red was. She knew that she loved him and wanted to marry him and would be happy with him for the rest of their lives. She knew, also, the goals that she wanted to aim for, the security and the stability and the conformity that seemed like the easiest and the most logical course to follow in order to attain eventual happiness within the society in which they both had to spend their lives.
Cherry Red was less positive. He was pretty sure that he loved her, but he couldn't be sure about what he wanted out of life. On one side stood the teachings of his parents and Judy's desires. His parents have never been able to convince him that they were right. He even doubted that they were really happy. But Judy's urging was stronger, she was of his own world and generation, and coming from her the idea seemed more logical and more desirable.
But, on the other side, there were all the things that he and Nebraska and the others had found out for themselves about life. He found it hard to cast them aside so easily, to admit that the years of his young manhood had been spent by living under a false premise, that the disregard he had felt for the securties and stabilities that ruined the adults of the world was nothing more than the failure to comprehend the ultimate scheme of things and that the adults were in their blind and stumbling and not-clearly-explained way, right all along in their teachings.
He couldn't just change his mind like that, just suddenly decide that he would accept what he had ridiculed in his words and in his actions. But, he knew, his thinking was changing more and more each day, with every hour spent with Judy, with every night away from the club.
He was very thoughtful this night, and he sensed that it was the time to make a very important decision one way or the other. He was pretty sure that he knew which way he was going to turn, but it was hard to make the final statement that would line him up on the other side of the two contradicting and unstated philosophies of life and of good and of what constituted a worthwhile life.
He butted his cigarette in the ashtray and immediately lit another from the dash cigarette lighter. Judy was watching him carefully, watching the glow light up the thoughtful frown which was wrinkling his young features.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked. "Are you worried about something?"
"No. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Us."
She waited for a while. Then he asked, anxiously, "What about us, Irv?"
"Oh, I don't know. We're too young to think seriouslv about anything, anyway."
"Oh?"
"But ... well, I was thinking that maybe I would tell Nebraska that I'm going to quit the club. I haven't been going there much anymore, anyway. Somehow there doesn't seem to be much to talk about with them. They're still my friends, and all, but...."
"I'm glad," she said, and slid across the seat to rest her head against his shoulder.
"I must love you," he said, as though considering the possibility for the first time and being very objective about the decision.
"Well, I hope so," she said, and raised her face to him, to be kissed. He kissed her for a long while, without passion but with tenderness.
"Will we make love tonight?" she asked.
"Do you want to?"
After a while she said, "Yes."
"All right."
"Right here? In our own spot?"
"Yes, if you like." He didn't really feel like it, he didn't want to mix up decisions about life with passion and desire. It was too easy to make mistakes that way. But what does one say to a girl who wants to make love, and who is happy for the chance to let you use her body? It would be hard to tell her that he didn't feel like it.
She had already started to undress, reaching behind her to unfasten her brassiere Cherry Red reached out to help her and she twisted so that he could undo the clasp. He saw her slender, tanned back and began to feel a little more excited as his eyes ran from the nape of her neck to where her hips began to widen away from the very narrow waist. She is such a good looking girl, he thought, and she is so fine, I am lucky to have her. I mustn't ever make a mistake and lose her. She's the best thing that I'll ever have.
The bra came loose and he placed it on the top of the dash while she unfastened her skirt at the side and began to pull it down, raising herself from the seat.
Cherry Red didn't want to get undressed completely. Judy liked to, he knew, but he always felt silly when he was naked in the car. And you could never tell when someone might come along and they would have to drive off or look innocent. The cops didn't patrol this spot, but still, with cops, one could never tell.
He unfastened his shirt and pants and opened them but didn't take them off. By then Judy was naked. She slid back to him on the seat and they embraced and kissed, their tongues moving together from one mouth to the other, lashing them into a peak of readiness.
His hands fondled her, breasts, rolling them in circular motions, working with his fingers up toward the nipples which were upright and stiffened. She squirmed, her thighs crossing and squeezing each other, her hands touching him and stroking and caressing.
"Let's do it," she whispered. "Let's do it now." Without waiting for his answer, she pulled away and lay back on the seat, her thighs raised and parted. He raised his body above her and slowly lowered himself between her waiting thighs.
"That's right, there," she said, urging him closer, raising her hips off the seat.
He began the first slow thrust....
The light seemed to materialize from nowhere, blinding him. At first he couldn't comprehend what it was, what was happening. Then he heard the noises outside the car, and he knew that someone was there, watching them, with a flashlight directed at them. His first thought was that it must be a policeman, but it was a vague thought that had no affect on his actions as he pulled back from Judy and lunged forward to hit the button that would lock the door....
Too late.
The door was open.
And a moment later, he knew that it wasn't the police that were crowded around the car.
Judy screamed, but not too loudly....
A voice outside the car said, "We sure timed this one right. This dude was in the saddle."
Laughter.
Cherry Red grabbed Judy's skirt from the dash and threw it over her, and slid toward the door, angrily, not afraid of the people outside but very angry and ready to fight. In the back of his mind he might have remembered the numerous times that he and his friends had pulled the same thing on others, but there was no time to contemplate that now. He got out of the car and stood blinking into the flashlight.
"Hey!" a voice said. "Look who the chick is!"
'fWell, I'm damned! And she goes around school acting as though nobody could touch her. I guess we got the goods on her now!"
"What the hell's the idea?" Cherry Red snarled.
"Hey, he talks pretty bad for a little guy, don't he?" someone said. Someone else laughed. Cherry Red reached over for the door, to close it, but someone had a hold on it and someone else pushed him back.
"Listen, Punk I You ain't about to jump bad on us! If you know what's good for you, you'll be beggin' us to leave you alone."
"Frig you!"
"I guess you ... hey! Wait a minute...."
The way the voice tapered off, something about the sound of the words, made Cherry Red know that something bad was going to happen. For the first time he felt more frightened than angry.
The flashlight turned away from his eyes, and he was able to make out a group of young men crowded around He counted five, there may have been more. He stood, trying not to look scared, and faced them. But the lump in his stomach was growing very large.
"You see who I am?" the same voice asked, and one of the men stepped forward.
For a second, Cherry Red didn't recognize him. And then he knew who it was, the guy that Nebraska had wasted a while back, the one who had been going with Dixie Stark He looked at Stack's face, trying to act genuinely puzzled, and then said, "I never saw you before."
"The hell you didn't."
"I didn't. Who are you?"
"Give me some jazz! Where's your big man tonight, punk I" Stack snarled. He had stepped closer.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Stack pushed him against the car, and held him by the shirtfront. Everything seemed very clear to Cherry Red, his thoughts were very precise and the air itself had suddenly grown cold. His bowels were knotted up, but his head was clear and logical. He knew that he couldn't lie his way out, and he knew that he had to protect Judy first, and those were the only two thoughts that he needed right then. He could hear Judy stirring behind him on the seat, and understood that she was trying to get her clothes on. He thought that he heard her sob a little.
"You know me now?" Stack snarled, pushing his broad face close.
Cherry Red didn't try to get away, and didn't fight back. He said, "Yeah, I know you."
"Ain't you frightened, hard guy?"
"I didn't do nothin' to you."
"Your man did."
Cherry attempted a shrug, which was hard because of the way that Stack held his shirt. He said, "What he does has nothing to do with me."
"You're in his gang, punk!"
"I quit them. No lie, I don't belong to the club any more," Cherry Red said, knowing as he spoke how false and useless his words sounded.
Stack shoved him away, and he bumped against another guy who had been standing behind him.
"Listen, punk. Lyin' ain't gonna' save you. And the only thing that we hate worse than punks is cowards I And you're both. You won't even stand up for yourself and fight, you try to lie out of it. But it ain't gonna' work, you're just gonna' get it all the harder."
Cherry knew the guy was right, and felt a moment of disgust with himself for being so weak. But he had to think of Judy first. He said, "You can believe what you like. I did quit them, but I don't give a damn whether you believe it or not. I've had my rear whipped before."
"Not like I'm gonna' kick it," Stack said, smiling with his teeth.
Someone else said, "Hey, Stack, the chick's gettin' her clothes on."
"Stop her."
Cherry Red saw someone reach into the car. Fury was once more, for a second, stronger than fear He lunged past Stack and shoved the man away, grabbing at the door and attempting to shut it. Someone was still holding it, and he hit the man with his elbow, got a grip on the door, and heaved it around and shut. Someone grabbed it and tried to open it, but it wouldn't open and he knew that Judy must have locked it in time.
"Very smart. Brave too. You Wild Pigs are really a hard bunch of guys." It was Stack talking.
Cherry Red shrugged. At least Judy was safe in the car. She couldn't drive, but they couldn't get at her either, without smashing the windows, which would prove to be quite a task He could see her white, terrified face, pressed to the window, and he tried to smile at her.
But he was too scared, and his smile was a grimace.
"Hey, hard guy ... how would you like to go around a few turns with me?" Stack asked.
Cherry Red looked at him. Stack was twice his size, a little taller and much heavier, one of the square, box-like builds that usually take more years to fill out. And his face was vicious, square like his torso, with hard eyes and a perpetual sneer. Cherry didn't think that he would like to fight with Stack. He didn't say anything.
"Here your chance to fight just me. Would you rather have us all stomp you?"
"I'll fight you," Cherry Red said, his voice quite level and calm. He thought about how easily Nebraska had dropped the man. But that had been a sudden attack, for one thing. And, for another, Cherry Red was not Nebraska Brace. He faced Stack and felt his jaws tighten. He wanted desperately to strike first, to land a telling punch before Stack was ready. That was his only chance. Nebraska would have done that, even with Stack's men around. But he couldn't force himself to start it, he was stiff and had to wait. It would have taken great courage to throw the first punch right then, and a different kind of courage than Cherry Red might have possessed. And Stack's face frightened him. A large, muscular body can make one hesitate, but a vicious face can really make one too scared to act.
"Then fight!" Stack roared, and rushed at Cherry Red with his arms flailing.
Cherry Red threw one punch, a roundhouse right, and it landed somewhere against Stack. He couldn't tell where, most likely the chest. Then Stack had him against the car and was raining swings and chops from all angles against him, not aiming the blows, just swarming. He hit Cherry Red in the back, the arms, the sides of the head, the ribs ... hard blows, but wild, with little weight in them. Cherry knew that he should have been able to put up a decent fight against a man this awkward and inexperienced and over-anxious. But he couldn't. He couldn't break loose for punching room, Stack's body held him against the car, helpless. Cherry Red managed to throw his right hand twice into Stack's stomach, out of his protective crouch, but he did no damage And then Stack's barrage of blows beat him to the ground.
He stayed there, face down in the mud. He wasn't really hurt, he could have gotten up. He could have taken those wild, inaccurate punches all night without being able to get up. But what was the sense of it? If he pretended to be unconscious they might let him alone. Perhaps Stack's revenge would be over He kept his face down and waited. He could hear Stack's heavy breath over him.
"Nice fight, Stack."
"Showed that bastard."
"He's a punk All those louses are."
"Get up!" The last was Stack's voice. Cherry Red didn't move, and Stack kicked him in the side. This was different than the punches, it hurt. He rolled over and started to get up, but Stack kicked him again, and he went back into the mud, his stomach aching.
"I'm beat," he said.
"Not by a longshot. punk! You lost a fight, that's all. You ain't half beat yet."
Stack kicked him alongside the head, savagely, and Cherry Red rolled over. Someone else kicked him in the ribs, and another boot to the small of his back.
"You wanta' kill me?" he gasped, holding his arms around his head and drawing his knees up to his stomach.
"We might," Stack said. He kicked him in the back. "We just might."
"We never booted you," Cherry Red said. His voice came out as a whimper, and again he felt disgust. But right then he didn't give a damn. "Give me a break, for crissake. Let me go, you whipped me."
"Let's burn him," someone said.
"Yeah."
"Here's a cigarette, let's butt it on his face."
"Jesus Christ ... give me a break!"
Stack kicked him. "Roll the bastard over," he said, taking the cigarette.
Suddenly the car horn began to blow. Judy had begun blowing it, hoping to attract attention. But they were far from the road. One of the guys ran over, opened the hood, and in a moment the horn stopped as he ripped the wires away. He grinned at Stack.
"I forgot the chick," Stack said. "Get her out of there, let's see what she has to say."
"The doors locked."
"Smash the window. No, wait!" He laughed. "Drag that punk over to the car."
Three guys dragged Cherry Red through the mud. "Stand him up."
They pulled him to his feet. He let his weight go dead, but didn't struggle. As he got his feet under him he could see Judy's face in the window His eyes were wide with fear and her mouth trembled. One band was pressed against the side ol her face.
"Open the door," Stack told her.
She shook her head, soundlessly.
Stack hit Cherry Red in the stomach. Cherry doubled over, but two guys held him up
"Open the door."
She didn't shake her head this time, but she made no motion to obey.
Stack hit him again.
"We can play all night," he said.
"Don't listen to them!" Cherry Red shouted. "These louses can't hurt me! Don't open the "
His voice was stopped short as a first sunk deeply into his solar plexus. He bent as far forward as the restraining hands would allow, and vomited violently on the side of the car Dimly, he could hear Stack laugh, and he shook his head and fought to breath.
"Hold his head up. Put his face right up to the window," Stack commanded.
They shoved him roughly against the glass, his face turned sideways. Someone had a hold of his hair and was twisting so that his neck hurt.
"Look closely," Stack told Judy. He had a cigarette and was holding it close to Cherry Red's face. "Watch while I poke this in his eye."
Cherry Red screamed.
"Don't!" Judy cried.
"Open the door then."
The cigarette came nearer. Cherry Red wanted to shout out for Judy to open the door, and he wanted to shout out for her not to open the door, and all he did was scream as the glowing end neared his eye.
And Judy opened the door.
"Well, I'll be damned," said Stack. "She must really like this punk."
"Or else she likes the idea of what the five of us are gonna' give her," someone else said.
"Yeah. The whore."
"Get out," Stack told her.
She did. Her face was expressionless now. She seemed to be resigned to whatever was going to happen now. She had gotten all her clothes on by now.
"Get that blanket," Stack said, and one of his boys pulled it from the seat and tossed it on the ground.
"Now you get your clothes off and get on your back, baby. We got a train for you."
Cherry tried to break away, but someone grabbed him around the throat and held him. Stack hit him with a right, well below the belt, and the last bit of his strength seeped out with the blow. He collapsed against the guy who was holding him.
Judy hadn't moved. Stack nodded to two of his men and they grabbed her and threw her down on the blanket. One held her arms while the other pulled her clothes off. They got everything off but her skirt, and pulled that up so that her loins were exposed. She didn't struggle too much, but she was racked with sobs.
"I'll go first," Stack said, undoing his clothes and sinking to his knees.
One of his men held her skirt over her head. She kept her legs tightly closed at first, and wouldn't open them as Stack pulled.
"Either you give it up, baby, or we burn the punks eyes right out," he said.
After that, as he pulled, her legs opened She was very still. Cherry Red saw the scene through a dim haze, and was glad that the skirt was over her face so that he did not have to look at her.
Stack placed himself on her and plunged. Judy made no sound. Stack thrust himself at her, back and then forward again, and her legs twitched but otherwise she made no movements. The others, except the one holding Cherry Red, knelt and watched closely, their own desires rising.
Stack took a long while, his rhythm increasing with each stroke, his broad back heaving with the effort his breath coming in labored pants. When he had reached the peak. Cherry could tell it. by the way he plunged and pumped spasmodically, and then collapsed on her lifeless form. It made Cherry Red sick to think of this brute having fulfilled his lust in Judy's body.
And then the next man moved between her thighs, and it began again. This man was quicker.
The third man a bit slower.
The fourth big and clumsy and brutal, pounding her against the ground.
The fifth, the one who had been holding him, very quick, his desire fanned to the heighth from watching his comrades go first.
"Shall we go again?" someone asked.
"Why not?" Stack replied, taking his pants completely off this time.
They let the skirt fall away from her face the second time around. Her face was very calm, and her eyes were open but didn't seem to see anything. Her lips were parted but her breath came evenly. Cherry Red thought at first that she was dead, or in a state of shock, but as Stack thrust himself against her, she grimaced and he knew that she was conscious and having to experience each terrible stroke.
Stack worked for a long while, grunting and sweating. One of his men said. "Look, she likes it!"
But it was not a smile that twisted her face, it was a grimace of agony and degradation, and Cherry Red felt like crying as he watched.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took a long time for Cherry Red to drive back to the city. There was a burning pain in his side, and he knew that he had broken ribs. His face was bruised and one eye was closed. From the way that his insides ached he was afraid that he might have internal injuries. He drove slowly, hunched over to the right to minimize the strain on his side, watching the road from his one open eye and trying not to breathe too deeply so that his ribs wouldn't have to move in the process.
Judy sat next to him. At first she sat silently, but after a while she began to cry, and the longer she cried the greater her sobbing became, until she was racked by nearly hysterical heavings. She rested her head against Cherry Red's shoulder and it hurt him quite a bit to have the pressure on his side, but he didn't say anything.
He stopped the car in front of her house and they sat for a while. She spoke first
"What will we do?" she asked.
"I don't know. You know who they were?"
She nodded.
"We can go to the police," he said. And this surprised him very much, after he said it. He would never have even contemplated such a move a few days before. It was something that would have had to be settled between his friends and the ones who had hurt him. The police were of another world, enemies far greater than the men who had hurt him. Stack and his men thought the same way. They would expect retaliation from Cherry Red's friends, never from the police. It was an unspoken and yet definite agreement between all the boys of their age and class.
And yet now he thought of the police, and felt no shame that he did. It was a manifestation of how much he had changed since meeting Judy. It was surprising to think of the police as allies instead of enemies, but not shameful. It seemed like a good idea, in fact, the easiest and surest way to avenge themselves against the men who had beaten him and nearly ruined Judy.
"No, we can't," she said.
"Why not?"
"I can't let anyone know what happened. Please, Irv. I can't let anyone know. I'm so ashamed."
"You couldn't help it, honey."
"It doesn't matter. What they did to me ... I'd rather die than have anyone know."
He thought for a while.
"Light me a cigarette," he said.
She reached across and took the pack from his breast pocket and lit one; passed it from her lips to his. He couldn't raise his arm high enough without pain.
"All right. Well keep it quiet. I'll say that I was alone and got jumped by some guys that I don't know and that it was after I took you home."
She nodded.
"I'd better go now. I've got to get home, I'm starting to feel sick."
"Can you drive all right. Would you rather stay here tonight?"
"Can't. Not if we're gonna' keep this secret. I'll be okay, but I'd better leave now."
She kissed him and got out and ran into the house. His face felt wet from her tears. He put the car into drive and moved slowly away from the curb.
He made it home, although he nearly blacked out once, crossing the bridge. His parents were still up, watching a late movie on television, and when they saw the beaten condition of their son there was very nearly hysterics. He tried to tell them that he was all right, but they insisted on getting a doctor, and then changed their minds and thought that he had better go to the hospital. He didn't object, he was too sick and too tired to argue. They got him in the car and drove to the emergency ward of the hospital, his mother talking all the while about how people could die from beatings and how even professional fighters could die and so it was very dangerous and maybe he had a concussion, etc. He sat hunched over in the front seat and said nothing.
He was thinking about Judy, and hoping that she would be all right-but knowing that what had happened to her could mar her for life, and make her so ashamed that she would be hesitant to see him again, to ever be able to look him in the eyes without thinking of that terrible night and feeling her shame and disgrace anew. And he was determined that he would marry her and make her forget it
When they got to the hospital he had passed out, and his father carried him in.
Fred brought Peggy to the club house the next day. The boys were sitting around drinking wine from two gallon containers, talking about how successfully they had robbed the grocery store, and feeling generally lazy.
Fred convinced Peggy to do a strip tease for them, and she was dancing in the center of the room, bumping and grinding in an amateur fashion to the music from the radio. The boys sat around and watched, anticipating what was going to follow after all her clothes were off. Only Fred, who had already had her once the night before, seemed uninterested. He drank the wine and looked more amused than passionate as more of her clothing joined the growing pile. Her body wasn't really thrilling anyway, she was too undeveloped. But willing, they had to give her that.
The music ended and the radio began to give the news report. No one wanted to bother to change the station, and Peggy stood in the center of the room looking quite silly as the announcers voice replaced the music. She was half undressed and couldn't figure what she should do now. After a while she went over to change the station herself.
"Hold it!" Nebraska said.
The announcer was telling about the brutal attack upon a young local man, Irving Katz. At the mention of Cherry Red's name they all sat up and listened, intently, their fists clenched and their jaws tight.
He was in the hospital with broken ribs and severe facial cuts. His condition was good. He had been attacked on a road outside of Troy, and didn't know who his attackers were or why he had been attacked. He had stopped the car to rest for a few minutes, since he had felt sleepy, and they had pulled him from the car and kicked and punched him with no explanation as to why.
When the report was over, Nebraska got up and turned the radio off. He turned to the others and they faced each other in silence, all with the same thought. There was going to be revenge.
"I wonder who it was?" Chino said.
"Cherry will know."
"The radio said that they were guys that he had never seen before."
"The hell they were."
"Yeah," Earl said. "Cherry Red wouldn't want the fuzz in on this. He's saving the louses for us."
"Sure. And we'll get 'em."
"Well get 'em good."
Fists smacked into open palms, eyes squinted, the beauty of deserved vengeance was contemplated. Fighting was fun, and when there was a reason, a cause for which to fight, then it was the best of all.
"First we go to the hospital," Brace said. "Let's do that right now. ThaI'll give us time to plan for tonight, as soon as it gets dark."
"Can I come?" Peggy asked.
"You wait here," Fred told her.
She nodded meekly and sat down, still half naked and obviously disappointed that her strip act had been interrupted by something much more important that sex. But she understood how it must be-men had things to do that must go before women, that were important because they were the basic principles of life. This was probably as profound as Peggy's thinking ever went, but it was enough and she would wait proudly for her heroes to return, like a wife whose husband has gone to war, or perhaps to sea on a sailing vessel, depending on how advanced the society in which they lived had become, both in technology and stupidity, since there seems to be a correlation between the two.
The men went out and walked to the hospital, bringing one of the jugs along and drinking it as they went.
Only two visitors were allowed at one time. Nebraska and Earl went in first. Cherry Red was in bed, his face bandaged and his ribs taped. He smiled when he saw them, and tried to sit up.
"How are you?"
"Okay. Nothing bad."
"Need anything? Cigarettes? A bottle?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Good."
The necessary questions were over. It was time for business to begin.
"Who was it?"
"Stack. Four of his boys."
"We heard the radio. What's the real story?"
Cherry Red told them, whispering.
He told them the whole story, not even leaving out the part about having a chance to fight Stack alone. He felt no need to impress them. , Nebraska and Earl listened gravely, smoking, their lips curled in hatred.
When Cherry Red finished, Brace asked, "What about the fuzz? Did they go for your story?"
"No. They figure that I know who did it, all right. But I stuck to it. I didn't want Judy involved, for one thing-she asked me not to mention her name. If the cops busted Stack, they'd find out about it."
"Yeah. And we know the other reason for not talking," Earl said. "Well do a job on those louses that they'll never forget."
Cherry Red didn't answer.
"You want us to wait until you can come along?" Nebraska asked him.
"No. Look, you don't have to do a thing. If you do, then they'll strike back, and then you will, it can go on forever, never solving a damn thing."
"I don't understand."
"Just forget about it."
"Forget? Are you nuts? Nobody pushes one of our men around, Cherry."
Cherry waited for a while before he spoke. Then he said, "Nebraska, I want out of the club. You're still my friends, it's nothing personal, but I don't go for it anymore. I mean, I'm thinking differently about life."
Nebraska and Earl looked at him strangely.
"You ain't scared, are you?"
"No."
"You just want to quit? To let those punks get away with what they did to you? And to your girl-that's worse. Only a real punk would let them gangbang his chick and not want somebody to die."
"What's the use? Look, the way I see it, it was the natural result of belonging to a gang. If you hadn't wasted Stack once, then they wouldn't have done any more than scare me. It's just a chain of reactions. If you get Stack today, he or his boys will get one of us tomorrow. Can't you see how it goes?"
"Only a coward could see it," Brace said.
"No, it's deeper than fear. It's more like disgust with the life that I've been leading."
"Nuts. If you're chicken, all right. And you can get out of the club at anytime you like; we got no place for chickens. But don't pull any of that philosophy jazz on us, Cherry Red. It don't go."
"I'm sorry that you don't understand, Brace. But it's something that I've been thinking about for a long time. This beating was just the clincher, it just speeded up what I would have decided on anyway."
"Yeah, sure. Let's go, Earl."
"Wait, guys. Listen. It's something that you ought to think about. We're not kids any more. It's time that we stopped playing guns, playing grown-up instead of being grown-up. We've spent years trying to act like men and it's kept us from being men. I'm sick of it. I want to make something out of my life. If we go on like we have been we'll wind up as nothing, middle-aged men fighting in alleys and standing on street corners. That's not what you want, is it? You want more...."
"Yeah. But not the cottage and rosebushes and screaming brats. I want more like Duke Wells has got more. And it's more than you'll ever get with your punk ideas."
Cherry Red started to speak, stopped, and then said, "Sorry, Nebraska."
Brace and Earl walked out.
"I'm surprised he didn't call the fuzz," Earl said. "The punk!"
The others were waiting their turn to visit. Fred and eel stood up, but Nebraska shook his head and motioned for them to follow him out the door. They did, looking at each other wonderingly.
Outside, Brace and Earl told them about the conversation with Cherry Red. They were both amazed and angry. They sat on the hospital steps and considered the change in their friend.
"He's turned punk, that's all," Fred the Head said, by way of summing it up.
"What do we do?" Chino asked.
"Let him go. The hell with him."
"I mean about Stack? Do we just forget about it?"
"Hell no," Fred said.
"We can't forget it. They'll think that we're all punks like Cherry. He was one of us, what he is now doesn't matter. We have to get even to save our own reputations. He probably damaged it enough last night."
"I'll bet he cried and begged them to leave him alone," Chino said.
"I wish it had been me," Fred said.
"Well get even. Well square things for Cherry Red, and after that well never speak to him again. There ain't no place for punks with us."
They walked back to the clubhouse. From his bed, Cherry Red could see them go down the street, five boys in dungaree jackets with writing on the back. A little later three young men in suits walked by in the opposite direction, on their way to work. Not much older than the club members, but so different, so much more mature in their ways and in their thoughts. And probably less mature in a great many other ways, experience, rough sophistication, even in knowing what' life was really all about....
Yeah, be had to admit that. The life that he was giving up was more aware. Those young men in suits had bought the lie. they were living the lie. But it didn't really seem so bad. Hell, he was going to buy it himself. One had to give up truth when one decided to accept society.
Judy came to visit later. When she came into the room it was no longer Cherry Red in the bed. It was Irving Katz between those clean white sheets.
Peggy was still waiting at the club, but they paid no attention to her. They sat and drank some of the beer that they had stolen the night before and discussed their plans for revenge. They found that their rage had increased greatly since visiting the hospital. All the anger and frustration that had been caused by Cherry Red selling out on them was transferred to the guys who had caused it. They wanted to hurt somebody very badly.
"Dixie will be able to find Stack," Nebraska said. "She must know where he hangs out."
"He'll have a lot of his boys around, if we have to go to Troy after him."
"Yeah. That's all right. Well get everyone of the dirty punks."
"We'd better get some other guys."
Nebraska smiled grimly. He said, "I think that this calls for bringing the equalizer."
Fred nodded. Chino looked nervous.
"Gonna' use it?" Earl asked. He didn't sound nervous, but his eyebrows were raised.
"No. Not unless T have to. But T want it along for insurance. We've gotta' be sure that we do this right, if we expect to keep our reputations."
"Right," Fred said.
"Get it out," Brace told Chino. The latter went over to the closet and returned in a few seconds with the gun. It was wrapped in an oily rag, along with a package of cartridges and cleaning equipment.
Nebraska took it out and looked at it. It was an Italian gun, a Beretta, small and snug. He sighted along the barrel and pulled the trigger twice, listening to the click. It felt good to have a gun.
Peggy watched, thrilled that she knew men who were really hard and bad. She wanted very much to be in with them, to be their girl.
"Let's plan," Earl said.
"We'll have to wait until we talk to Dixie. I'll call her later. Then, as soon as it's dark, we'll take the bus over to Troy."
"Want me to get a car?" eel asked.
"We'll see. Maybe. If it looks like well need a fast getaway."
"Give me some beer," Fred said, and Peggy went to the kitchen for more. When she was out of the room, he said, "Better be careful about what we say with the chick here. She's pretty stupid."
"Right."
"We gonna' lay 'er?" Chino asked. Fred shrugged.
"Might's well," eel said. "We've got time to kill until dark."
Fred shrugged again. "I don't care. Go ahead. I don't want her."
She came back with beers for everyone.
"Turn on the radio and finish your strip," Nebraska told her, taking one of the cans.
"Okay," she said, willingly, glad that they had noticed her once more. She was ready to do just about anything for these guys that had a real gun, and stole cars, and did all the things that real men did.
The radio music was too slow She turned it off and put on a record. Fred went out. When he was thinking about a thing he didn't like distractions. The others watched while Peggy began to do what she imagined was a very sensual strip routine.
Nebraska toyed with the gun and watched her. He felt no great desire. But when she had stripped as far as her bra and panties he got up and changed chairs, so that he was closer. She hesitated.
"Go on," he said.
"Shall I take everything off?"
"Sure. Nobody does anything halfway when they're with us," Nebraska told her.
She continued, taking her bra off first and finally sliding her panties down, as the record ended. She was smooth and slender, not very mature yet, but her legs were good and her waist small.
Nebraska got up and took her hand. He nodded toward the bedroom and she went with him, very excited and a little nervous. He closed the door behind them.
She turned to him and slipped her arms around his waist, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss, and his hands rubbed her buttocks and upward toward her breasts. She sighed and snuggled her head against his neck. He lifted her up and lay her on the bed. She opened her eyes and watched him take his clothes off. First the shirt, exposing his chest, hard and covered with hair. It was very exciting for her, a man with hair on his chest. She felt very adult and desirable and feminine. He stripped his pants off and joined her on the bed, taking her in his arms and pulling her close. His hands caressed her small breasts, rolling the pink nipples between thumb and forefinger, then stroked down her stomach, following the contours of her body, causing a tingling sensation to move through her, increasing as his touch moved downward toward its source.
Then he moved, rolling her to her back and positioning himself above her. She didn't move, and he worked his way to her and began the slowly increasing motions of love, his weight partially supported by his elbows and knees.
Peggy didn't move much. She lay still and kept her eyes closed and pretended that she had seduced this large, hard, worldly man who was working above her. After a while, as the waves of pleasure began the final motions through her body, she moved a little and let a slight pleasure moan come from her lips.
Nebraska moved faster, the thrill increasing, and at the height of the sensation he thought only of what he was doing, and enjoyed it. Then the peak had arrived, tremored, exploded, and he was sinking back to lazy, fulfilled reality, and he no longer thought of the girl beneath him, no longer felt any pleasure at the contact between them, no longer was interested in carnal contact.
His mind had returned to Cherry Red, and Stack, and what had to be done. It was boring to be with a woman when the act was over, and he wished that she were no longer with him on the bed.
But he felt indolent and didn't get up right away, sliding off her by degrees and touching her gently with his hands, because he still had the image of an experienced lover to project.
And he succeeded. She clung to him and would have whispered about how much she had liked doing it with him, except that she felt too shy about it, too young, and so she just touched him and hoped that he had enjoyed her body and that he would do it again soon.
On the other side of the closed door, the others waited their turns. And they, like Nebraska, were thinking little about sex and a lot about what they had to do. That it was necessary to do it, in order to be men.
They glanced a lot at the gun, which was resting on the table, and felt excited and nervous. Perhaps a little apprehensive.
But this they couldn't admit.
Nebraska came out and nodded at the door. Earl got up and went over to it.
"How was she?" he asked.
"Not bad."
Earl shrugged and went in.
Nebraska went over to the table and picked up the gun. Then he went out to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and got a fresh beer. He opened it and took a sip from the cold can.
A beer in one hand and a gun in the other. There was something very adult and charming about that. Hard drinking and hard fighting. That was how a man had to be, not a punk like Cherry Red. He wondered how Cherry Red had fooled him for so long. As he thought back, he could see many times when the guy's cowardness had showed through without drawing attention.
He went back into the front room and sat down, staring at the bedroom door for a while, and then at the gun.
"You going to load the gun?" Chino asked. "That's what it's for."
"Yeah. But you ain't gonna' really shoot anybody, are you?"
"Whassa' matter? Afraid that you'll get expelled from school?"
"Nuts!"
"You think that Chino is punk like Cherry Red?" Nebraska asked the others. "Probably," eel said.
Giving them someone to poke fun at lessened the degree of apprehension that they all felt. They weren't cowards, they knew. It was better when they had someone to think of as a coward, even though they knew that Chino would be as game as anyone when the time came. More so, perhaps, because he would have more to prove. And everything would work out all right, all they had to do was to be brave, to be men. Cherry Red had turned punk, and so he was hurt. But they would be all right.
"Let's hurry up and get rid of this chick," Nebraska suggested. "She ain't worth seconds on, so we'll go through once and kick her out. Then I'll call Dixie and we'll make our plans."
Earl came out. He shrugged and said, "She's okay. She tries, anyhow." eel went into the bedroom and closed the door. Earl got a beer and sat down by Nebraska. Chino moved up so that he would be nearer the bedroom door and ready to go in next. He thought that Peggy was very nice looking, although he knew that he must act indifferent. Nebraska had set a precedent for that, and Earl had followed, eel would too. Such things were important, especially to a guy who still went to school.
Nebraska pointed the gun at Chino. He was looking very thoughtful. After a while he pulled the trigger and the hammer clicked loudly on the empty chamber.
"Bangr he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as it was dark, eel stole a car. It was the same Chevy that he had stolen the night before. They had abandoned it near where they had found it, minus the radio and the spare tire, and he had found it sitting in the owner's driveway with the ignition switch unlocked. This was probably because the owner was a firm believer in the idea that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Or perhaps he was one of the few but definite number of Chevrolet owners who have never realized that there is a place on the ignition switch which locks it. Regardless of the reason, he stole it, and this was humorous and would have been responsible for a great many laughs at most times. This evening, however, they were too concerned with the business at hand to give it more than a few chuckles.
They piled into the convertible, top up tonight, and eel drove to Troy, obeying all the speed and stop signs. The boys were very quiet during the ride, each lost in his own thoughts, perhaps day dreaming of the honors that they would win that evening by their courage and physical prowess, and possibly wishing that it were all over and those honors had already been won.
Chino and eel had knives in their pockets. Earl had a homemade blackjack, sand and lead inside a leather tube. He had made it carefully, hanging it up and letting the sand settle overnight, then pouring a bit more in each morning, until it was rock hard. The lead had been put in with the first sand and was in the tip. Then he had sewed the bottom around a hard rubber grip, making it flexible when swung. It was a very dangerous weapon. Fred the Head had a bicycle chain and a lead pipe with tape wrapped around it. Nebraska had a pair of very special gloves. He had taken the linings out and fitted a large piece of lead in each glove, shaped in a slightly curved form so that his knuckles and the edge of his hand were covered by the metal. This had the effect of covered brass knuckles, plus the added force of two pounds in each fist. And they were concealed, so that an observer would have thought he wore only leather gloves. This was very good for impressing people with his punching ability.
He also had the gun. eel drove to Dixie's house. She was on the porch, and ran down to the car. She had heard about Cherry Red on the radio, and Nebraska filled her in on the other things that had happened. She interrupted once to call Cherry Red a punk, and then was still and listened.
"Where can we find Stack?"
She thought for a moment. "He hangs around the poolroom on Fourth St."
Nebraska nodded.
"Let me come," she said.
"This is nothing for women."
"You can use me."
"Oh?"
"Look, if he's in there, how will you get him out? He'll have all his boys there with him, and there's only five of you."
"We can handle them."
"And besides, the owner will call the fuzz if you start anything there."
This made sense. Nebraska asked. "What can you do about that, Dixie?"
"Stack still likes me. I'll get him to walk me home, and you can be waiting or him."
"Sounds good."
"There's an alley around the corner from the poolroom, on Federal St. You can wait there for him, and when he comes by you can give it to him."
"All right. Get in."
Dixie got in the car and they drove to Federal St. and down to near Fourth. She showed them the alley, and they parked across the street and got out and went in the alley. Dixie kissed Nebraska and walked down the street and around the corner.
The alley was dark and deserted. Railroad tracks bisected it at one point, the remnants of a railroad that no longer ran. Many broken whiskey and wine bottles littered the space between the tracks.
They waited in the shadows of the buildings, where they couldn't be seen from the street. Someone was smoking, and Nebraska said, "Don't smoke any more after you butt these. It shouldn't be too long."
The cigarette went out, ground into the gravel and dirt, and there was no sound from the darkness.
They waited.
Dixie went in the poolroom. It was understood, as it is in most poolrooms, that women were not allowed, but this didn't bother her at all. Stack was shooting on the front table, and she walked up to him and waited until he missed before she spoke.
"Hello, Stack."
He looked up, surprised. Everyone was looking at her, wondering what in hell a girl was doing there. But most of them knew Dixie, and knew that she was not the kind of girl to respect traditions in any form, let alone to shy away from a poolroom because of the understood attitude of the place, no-woman-allowed.
"Hi," he said, frowning.
She felt a tingle. This was great, it was like being a spy. She enjoyed her role very much.
"Walk me home?"
"What's this about?"
"I just wanted you to walk me home My parents are out, and they left a bottle of whiskey there. I thought that we could have some thinks and ... you know, just like we used to do, when I was your girl."
"Yeah. Before you started running around with those punks from across the river."
"Well, I'm through with them, now."
"Yeah? They get sick of you?"
"I got sick of them. I decided that you were more of a man than they were. But, hell, if you aren't interested in coming with me, I'll find someone else." She half turned away, as if to. leave, and her large breasts stood out in profile beneath her tight sweater.
"Wait, I'll take you home as soon as this game is over," Stack said, and turned back to the table.
Dixie stood against the wall and waited. The game didn't take long, Stack was obviously rushing it, missed some easy shots, and lost. He racked his cue and turned to her, taking her arm.
"Let's go."
She went out the door ahead of him, and didn't see the look that passed between Stack and several of his friends who were standing near the door. Stack nodded and motioned and they gave a silent okay. Then he followed her out and they went up Fourth St. together.
"It's nice to see you again," she said.
"Yeah."
"I'm really through with those punks."
"Good."
"I hear that you got one of them last night."
Stack shrugged. "Some girl, too."
"It can happen. You're lucky that it didn't happen to you, running around with them."
"Well, I'm through with them now."
"Yeah."
They turned the corner and started up Federal. Stack was holding her arm. As they neared the alley, Dixie pulled a little away from him, and he started to ask her what was the matter.
It happened so fast that even Dixie was startled, and gave a little jump!
Fred the Head grabbed Stack around the neck and hauled him completely off his feet, swinging him around and into the alley. Earl grabbed his legs, which were kicking wildly, and helped to pull him back to the darkness. Then they let him go, and he stood in a circle of very black, scowling faces, the foremost of which was Nebraska Brace.
"You know what's happening now?" Brace asked.
"I've got an idea." Stack didn't sound frightened in the least, which annoyed Brace.
"We're gonna' break you up, punk!"
Stack smiled with one corner of his mouth, at the same moment that the car pulled into the alley and the doors opened and a group of figures moved toward them.
"You think that I would trust that whore?" Stack said, moving his square head toward Dixie.
The newcomers moved up, and Nebraska's men left the circle and backed farther into the alley. Stack moved to the front of his gang. Nebraska stayed at the head of his.
"Now we got ya' all," Stack said.
He had a dozen men behind him. In the dim light they could be seen, their hands holding things-pipes, knives, chains. Several of them were laughing, that nervous, high pitched laugh peculiar to young men about to go into action, a little excited, a little afraid, a laugh that sneaks out through tight lips and dispells a little of the tension that is building in their bowels.
Nebraska was holding his gloves. He put them on now, very carefully pulling each on in turn, and looking at them as he did so. They looked like ordinary gloves.
"I hear that you like to have boys watch while you do a cat in alone," Brace said.
Stack sneered.
"That right?"
"Mebbe."
"Well, then, how about you and I hitting each other in the head?"
"I don't have to, punk. We got you now, why should I give up the advantage?"
"To prove that you're not chicken," Nebraska said, very slowly, accenting each syllable and pronouncing the last word, chic-ken, with a whispering sound.
"They already know that."
"Yeah. I don't. I think that you're very much chicken, punk. You'll have to prove it to me." He was still talking in a soft whisper. His gloves were on, hanging heavily at his sides. He was sneering. And, despite the odds against them, Nebraska felt no fear at all. He was glad, really. It was a chance to be really bad, to conquer these odds. He felt very fast and strong and confident.
Stack hesitated for a moment, but he knew that he had no choice. He had given Cherry Red a chance to fight him man to man, That had been a mistake. If he didn't give Nebraska a chance it would mean that he was afraid of him. And he couldn't let his men know that.
He forced a smile of disdain, half turning away from Nebraska, and then lunged at him. He wanted to get close and wrestle, use his size and strength, and he came in with his head down to tackle Brace.
Nebraska never moved. As Stack lunged within range, he dropped his weighted right fist in a downward hook that caught Stack behind the ear and sent him sprawling in the dirt, nearly unconscious.
Nebraska stood near, wanting to kick Stack but aware that Stack's men were there, waiting, wanting to see a fair fight. So he waited.
Stack got up slowly. His face was smeared with dirt. He snarled and lunged again, catching Nebraska this time and trying to throw him down. But Nebraska set his feet, shifting to keep his balance, got his right clear, and hammered a hook into Stack's temple, then another one to his ribs, and back to the head.
Stack sat down in the dirt and rolled over. He half-rose and then fell back, shaking his head.
Nebraska laughed. He felt very good. "Want to try again, punk?" he asked.
"Git 'em!" Stack screamed, from the ground. "Git these louses!"
A ripple ran through his men. But they hesitated.
He had been beaten fairly. Perhaps they wouldn't have attacked at all.
But Fred didn't wait. Excited by watching Nebraska fight, ready to move, he reacted at Stack's words. He leaped at the enemy, swinging his bicycle chain, and was enveloped in a swarm of men, arms and legs and clubs flailing.
And suddenly everyone was fighting.
The odds were rough. It takes a good man to fight against more than one opponent. Nebraska and Fred moved like lightning,, dropping several men in the first seconds of the fight But then Fred was struck by a pipe and stumbled against the wall. Nebraska reeled back, stunned by a rock. Chino was down and Earl was wrestling beneath two men. eel fell across the tracks.
Stack was up now. He spotted Nebraska, and came at him, a huge rock in his hand. Nebraska backed off, bleeding at the mouth, his confidence shaken.
"We're gonna' kill you, punk!" Stack screamed, his mind lost in his hatred, the disgrace of being whipped before his men.
"Come on, then," Nebraska said.
Two men were advancing with Stack. One had a broken bottle, the other a heavy stick. Nebraska got his leaded fists up and his feet set, his chin behind one shoulder. They would know it if they got him. His bicep twitched, ready to move.
Stack swung the rock. It hit Nebraska on the forearm, as he stepped back. His other hand darted forward and broke Stack's nose with a savage blow. Blood spurted out in all directions, and Nebraska moved away, to the left, trying to get room to maneuver.
Stack screamed in hatred. He said, "We're gonna' git you, Brace! And after we knock you out, I'm gonna' cut your cubes off! I'll blind you, too! I'll kill you!"
And then Nebraska felt afraid, for the first time that night.
And then he remembered the gun.
He pulled it and aimed directly at Stack. The other two men stopped in their tracks, but Stack didn't seem to see the weapon. He moved forward.
"Fight's over," Brace said.
Stack came forward, the rock raised, his face contorted in rage and hatred. "Stop there." He came another step.
Nebraska had never intended to use the gun. But Stack came another step. And there he was, right in front of the barrel, walking into it....
Nebraska wasn't sure why he pulled the trigger. The first time. After that he shot three more times as Stack crumbled forward to fall in his own blood.
He kicked a little, and then he was still so that they all knew that he was dead.
Everyone was frozen. They stood in whatever position they had been in when the shots rang out, and looked from Nebraska to Stack and then back to Nebraska, centering on the gun in his hand.
Then they melted away, disappearing into the shadows. The fight was over.
"Let's go," Fred said. He seemed calm. The others were not the least bit calm. Earl swore softly. They ran across the street and jumped in the car. eel wouldn't drive, and Fred took the wheel and drove back to the city. Nebraska sat next to him and looked at the gun. He was very calm and seemed to be talking to himself.
Crossing the bridge, he spoke.
"I killed a man," he said, simply.
Then no one spoke until they were back in the clubhouse, and the car was ditched.
"I knew that gun was bad news," Chino said.
"Shut up," Fred told him.
"You shouldn't have really used it," Earl said.
"It's over with. I had no choice."
"Yeah, but murder I We could all burn on this rap," Chino said, his voice high pitched and breaking.
Nebraska shrugged.
"He had it coming," Fred said. He went over to Nebraska and put one huge hand on his shoulder. "He had it coming," he repeated.
"Yeah," Nebraska said.
"What we gonna' do?" Earl asked.
"I don't know."
"It's one thing to keep quiet about getting beaten op like Cherry Red. But they wouldn't keep quiet about this, the cops will make them talk. They'll be after you in a few hours, Nebraska."
"After us," Nebraska said.
"Well, us. But you, mainly."
"Yeah. Yeah, I had the guts to pull the trigger."
They were silent for a while.
"Well, I've gotta' hide out, I guess," Nebraska said, after a while. "It's me that they'll want You guys should be able to talk out of it, you had nothing to do with the shooting. Didn't even know that I had a gun, got it?"
They nodded, no one wanting to voice the agreement that he was to take the rap alone. But what was the way it had to be, of course.
"I'll make it now. Who's got money?"
They each gave him what they had in their pockets. It came to fifty bucks.
"Where you goin'?" Fred asked. "The coast?"
"Where I go, I don't want anyone to know. I trust you-it's not that. I just want to be sure."
"It's better that way."
"I won't be able to leave the city for a while, anyway. They'll have the roads blocked soon. Maybe already, for all I know. I'll hide out right here in town, but I don't want anyone to know."
"Want me to come with you?" Fred asked.
Brace thought. "No, it'll be easier alone. Dig?"
"Right."
"Well meet again. They won't catch Nebraska Brace. Not alive." It sounded very dramatic, and due to the tension of the moment it wasn't trite or melodramatic, but very dashing and brave. Nebraska wished that Dixie were there to hear him say it. He wondered if she had seen him shoot Stack, and hoped that she had.
He got the extra shells for the gun and put them in his pocket.
"You guys scatter now. Get rid of those knives and things. Be clean when they pick you up, and don't talk until you get a lawyer. And don't worry, you'll be okay." He looked at his watch.
"Well, that's it. So long, guys."
"So long, Nebraska."
"Good luck, man. The best luck."
Fred walked him to the door and slapped him on the shoulder. Brace winked at him, turned and walked away into the night. Alone, he no longer felt brave, and he was very, very scared.
But he knew what he was doing. They wouldn't catch him. And he had killed a man. That made him very much the man that he wanted to be.
Nebraska knew where he was going. He stopped at a phone booth, after he had put a few blocks between himself and the clubhouse, and looked up Duke Wells' address. Wells lived in the fashionable western section of the city, too far to walk, and although he was wary of being seen, Nebraska hailed a taxi and rode to within a block of the house. Then he waited until the cab had pulled away and walked rapidly down the tree-lined street to Wells' house.
It was large and modern, an expensive home with a large yard, beautifully landscaped. It was the kind of home that one could afford if one was tough, like Duke Wells, and willing to do whatever one had to in order to succeed. Standing in front of the wide, white steps, Nebraska wondered how many men Duke Wells had killed, and whether he had killed a man at as youthful an age as Nebraska was. Nebraska felt almost proud about it.
He went up and rang the bell. He waited for a few minutes, and then the porch light went on and he knew that Wells was looking at him to see who it was. A second later the door opened.
"Hello, Brace," Wells said. He was wearing a lounging robe and smoking a cigarette. "What are you doing here?" He didn't seem too surprised to see Nebraska, but he wasn't exactly happy, either.
"I have to see you."
"I don't talk business at home. I'll meet you somewhere tomorrow."
"No good. It's important"
Wells hesitated for a few seconds, then stepped aside and let Brace enter. He led the way to the living room and motioned to a chair.
"Drink?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I need a drink."
Wells poured them each a good-sized glass of brandy from a cut glass decanter. He sipped his and Nebraska took a large swallow and coughed a little as it went down.
"Well?"
"I'm in trouble, Duke."
"Yeah? Bad trouble?"
Nebraska shook his head. He said, "That's why I came here. I knew that you'd know what to do, that you'd help me get away."
"Yeah? Maybe, that depends. What kind of trouble are you in, kid?" He was squinting rather suspiciously over the rim of his glass.
"I ... killed a man."
Wells' eyebrows went up.
"I shot him. We were rumbling and I shot him. Over in Troy. I gotta get away."
Wells was silent for a while. Nebraska felt very uncomfortable, although he did feel a certain pride in admitting the crime that he was guilty of. He felt sure that Wells would understand and would help him. Wells should be glad to help a man who was already a killer at Nebraska's age.
"When did it happen?" Wells asked, his eyes becoming very heavy-lidded as he watched Brace.
"About an hour ago."
"The cops know yet?"
"I don't know. Probably."
"Anyone see you do it?"
"God yes! That's why I gotta get away."
"Who saw you?"
"A dozen guys. All his gang. My own, too."
Duke sipped his brandy. Nebraska waited expect-antly for the expert advice.
"There's nothing I can do, kid. Sorry. I'm too big to get mixed up in this."
"But I need help."
Duke shrugged. "The best you'll get from me is advice. And quick advice, because you've gotta get outta here. I can't risk myself by playing cops and robbers."
"You told me that I could work for you," Nebraska said, unbelievingly. It didn't seem possible that Duke Wells would let a man down.
"I thought you were smart, kid. I was wrong. You're dumb. A punk. Only a punk would get himself in a mess like this. Why in hell would you shoot someone in front of all those witnesses?"
"I ... nobody pushes me around! He pushed me!"
Wells made a disgusted noise in his throat.
"Nobody ever pushed you around, did they?" Brace asked, pleading for approval.
Wells didn't answer this. He poured himself another glass of brandy.
"Well," he said, "You've gotta get out of here. Right away."
"Where'll I go?"
"You want my advice?"
Nebraska nodded.
"Go to the police. Give yourself up. You can't get away with it, but if you shot him while you were having a fight you can get a reduced charge. It'll mean a few years. Probably do you a lot of good, give you time to get smart. When you get out I might be able to use you. But nobody can use you while you're hot."
"Give up?" Brace echoed. He couldn't believe that he had heard right. Not from Duke Wells. The real mobster that he had idolized so long, that he had wanted to pattern himself after. Give up?
Duke shrugged. "That's your best bet. I don't personally care what you do."
Brace stood up. He said, "You're a phony, Wells. A small time phony. You ain't bad at all. You're chicken. I thought you were bad."
Wells smiled without humor. "Bad?" he said. "I'm rich. I'm not in jail. What's bad?"
Nebraska's hand was on the cold steel of the gun in his pocket. For one moment he contemplated taking it out and threatening Wells, taking whatever money the man had, showing him what it meant to be really tough. But he didn't. The old memory was still too strong. He could imagine what Wells would do, how far he would go, to avenge himself on someone who had crossed him. It was bad enough to be running from the law. He didn't want to get himself in the middle of a trap.
"You're soft, Duke," he said. Duke said nothing. Brace said, "I'll show you. I'll be able to buy and sell you and all your soft friends. You'll see!"
"Lots of luck," Wells told him.
"I don't need luck. I've got guts!"
Brace turned and walked to the door. Wells followed, glass in hand. At the door he asked, "Did anyone see you come here?"
Nebraska snarled a reply, opened the door, and left. Wells watched him disappear, shook his head, and drained the brandy. He had once been a hot-headed kid too. But not so dumb. It was a shame. He went back into the living room and poured himself another drink. A little later he would call a woman....
Nebraska walked blindly down the street. He didn't know where he was going, but he walked rapidly. He was thinking about what a punk Wells had turned out to be, and how foolish it had been to look up to the man, when he himself was the real hard guy. He had guts. Duke Wells was soft and old and chicken, but Nebraska Brace had just killed a man and was running from the law. And they wouldn't get him either. Know why? Because he was hard and tough and didn't take any bull from anyone. That was why. He could make his own way in the world, he didn't need anyone. Except himself. And maybe the cold steel gun in his pocket....
Nebraska realized, suddenly, that he was talking to himself, aloud. He pressed his lips together tightly and walked on to the corner. He stopped there, by a telephone pole, and lit a cigarette. He wished that he had another glass of brandy. Or a few joints of reefer. But the hell with it, he had his guts, that was enough. Other men might need artificial courage, but he didn't.
He thought, standing with his back to the pole and looking off down the well-lighted street. And after a few minutes he knew where he was going, where he could hide out for a few days, until it was safe to leave town.
He started walking again, heading back downtown. He was going to Minnie's. That would be as safe as anywhere. Minnie was an alcoholic, and stupid, but she loved him. He would be able to trust her, he knew.
She lived on Hamilton Street. In half an hour he was in front of her apartment building on Hamilton Street. He looked around, saw no one, and went in and up the stairs to the third floor.
There was a good chance that she wouldn't be home. A very good chance. But as it turned out, she was, and reasonably sober. She answered the door, wearing an old flannel robe, and when she saw who was there her eyes grew wide with delight and she opened the door.
"Hon-nee! C'mon in."
He stepped in.
"Oh, Ba-bee! It's so good to see you."
Christ, she's disgusting, he thought. But what the hell, it was a place to stay.
He kissed her lightly on the mouth. She looked thinner than ever. The alcohol was starting to get her good. But she wasn't too drunk now, and she was glowing with pleasure because he had come.
"I thought that you didn't like me no more," she said. "I saw you with that white witch...."
"Aw, she's nothin'. You know I love you."
"Ohhh, Ba-bee...." I
"Fix me a drink."
"Sure, Daddy. Yes, sure. How long can you stay?"
"A week or two."
"Really? Oh!" She ran over and threw her arms around him, and he wondered whether he would be able to last two weeks with her. But that was better than twenty years in jail. He kissed her back....
She poured them each a glass of cheap blended whiskey, and settled beside him on the tattered remains of a couch, drinking and looking devotedly at Nebraska.
He swallowed half the whiskey in one gulp, and couldn't avoid a slight grimace. How in hell did she manage to drink so much of this stuff? But it was definitely starting to show it's effect on her, she was thinner than ever and her complexion seemed to have become a sort of transparent, waxy color. Nebraska thought that Minnie wouldn't last much longer, unless she stopped drinking so much.
She put her head on his shoulder.
"Minnie, I'm in trouble," he said. He had decided to level with her. He wasn't sure how trustworthy she would be-not intentionally, of course, but when she was drunk she tended to babble with a complete lack of discretion. But, on the other hand, if she didn't know that he was on the lam she probably would boast about the fact that he was living with her. The safest course was to tell her the truth and depend on his ability to keep her from getting drunk when she left the apartment.
He told her the story, while she looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Trouble with the law was nothing new to her, but there is a big difference between killing a man and any other crime. When he had finished she threw her arms around his neck.
"I'll help you get away," she said. "Don't worry, Honey, they won't find you here."
Nebraska smiled at her. The whiskey had calmed his nerves considerably, and made his chances look much brighter. It also made Minnie look more attractive to him, which was good, because if he was going to depend on her to help him escape from the cops, he knew that he would have to keep her satisfied. Otherwise, she would be out in the bars, get drunk, babble, give his secret away.
She made another drink and came back and sat close to him. Her head rested against his shoulder. After a while he twisted one hand in her hair and pulled her face up to his and kissed her. She began to breathe heavily immediately, and responded to his caresses with opened lips and darting tongue.
"Make love to me," she whispered.
He began to undo the buttons of her robe. She wore nothing under it, and when it fell open he began to run his hands up and down her naked flesh. She quivered in anticipation and her own fingers began to unfasten his clothing. He helped her, she shrugged the robe off, and they sat naked together on the couch.
His hands began to run along the smooth curves of slender, brown body, cupping her breasts, working up to pinch the nipples gently, sliding down the flat belly. Her thighs trembled at his touch....
She fell back and Brace followed, sliding down so that his lips traced a wet path from her neck, down her shoulder, ending at her breasts. He took the tips into his mouth one at a time and rolled them between his lips. Her hands held his head against her, and her body began to writhe in desire beneath him.
Sliding down from her breasts he kissed her navel, her belly. Her thighs parted for him, and she tugged at him urgently. Their nakedness rubbed together as he moved into position, and then they were poised for a second and he lunged forward with his hips.
"Ohhhhh," Minnie said.
Nebraska worked, pumping and lunging, increasing the speed. Minnie's fingernails dug into his' neck and back, and her teeth sank into his shoulder. Her legs quivered around him tightening and relaxing in the same rhythm as his lunging body.
"Oooooo," she said again, and Nebraska knew that he had satisfied her.
His own satisfaction followed in a second, building up to the peak of need and then bursting forth with explosive need, and the throbbing in his loins lessened to pulsation, and then to fulfillment.
"I'll take care of you," Minnie said, stroking his hair gently. "You can stay here with me forever and I'll take care of you."
Nebraska grunted. He was very tired. But it felt good to rest in this position, and he didn't move away from her. And soon her body began to move, easily, beneath him, and the soft pressure of her loins made him tense again. It had no urgency this time, but it felt very good, soft and easy, and he began to respond with the movement of his own body toward hers.
She sighed and settled into the rhythm, and as it increased Nebraska knew that he was keeping her very satisfied, and that this was important. With a woman like Minnie, if she was to be trusted, she must be satisfied.
He satisfied her three more times that night.
CHAPTER NINE
"Nebraska's nerves were shot.
He had been holed up in Minnie's dismal apartment for two weeks, and it was getting to him. If only he could have been alone some of the time it might not have been so bad, but he was afraid to let Minnie go out for any length of time. He knew that any trip farther away than the corner store would mean a stop for a shot of whiskey, and one shot would necessitate another, etc. And so he kept her there, and that made his confinement worse, because Minnie was not intelligent enough to carry on a conversation for more than a few minutes, after which it was either making love or sitting and staring at each other. The situation didn't seem to bother her, in fact she seemed very content and happy, but it was getting very bad as far as Nebraska was concerned. But there was nothing to do about it.
He read the papers every day. The news about the search for him had grown less and less, and finally was no longer mentioned. That was encouraging, although he had to admit that he had liked the publicity. It was less dangerous now, perhaps, but certainly more boring.
Once, when it had gotten too bad, he had called Dixie. He knew that he was taking a chance, that her phone might be tapped, etc., but he had felt that he would go crazy if he didn't speak with someone. He had gone out to the corner phone and called her one evening, and she had answered the call herself. It was very good to hear her voice, and he had almost been tempted to try and see her, despite the risk involved.
Dixie had been thrilled. The thought of having a boy friend who was wanted for murder was perfect; it fit exactly with her concept of herself and her place in society. They had whispered together for a while, and Nebraska had asked if she would wait for him if he went to jail. At the time he had been considering Duke Wells' advice in a different light, the light of two weeks with Minnie.
"But they won't get you," Dixie had told him. "I know they won't You're too smart for them, Nebraska.
And besides, I know they will never take you alive."
And that statement of faith, faith in his toughness and courage, had made the thought of surrender impossible to Nebraska. And it had even made the thought of staying with Minnie more bearable. He knew that his girl was waiting for him, that she loved him and knew that he was hard. It was important right then to have someone else have faith in how hard he was.
He had gone back to the dingy apartment feeling much better and much more determined to stick it out until it was safe to leave the city. Perhaps he would be able to take Dixie with him. Together they could go anywhere, his girl and his gun and his guts. Nothing and nobody was about to stop that combination.
Money had become a problem. Minnie wasn't able to hustle any, of course, since she wasn't going out. And the money that Nebraska had had was spent for food and the month's rent. It was necessary to have money in order to get away, and he didn't want to pull a robbery or anything of the sort yet, and certainly not in town. That would have made his escape all the harder. He decided that he would have to get money from his friends, at the last moment, just when he was ready to blow. That would be the safest way.
From reading the papers he knew that they had not been charged with anything. They had been questioned intensively, as had Stack's men, but none of them were held. It was Nebraska that the police wanted.
He felt slightly bitter about this. After all, they had all been in on it, why should he be the only one to be sought just because he had had more guts than the others? And still, at the same time, he would have wanted it to be no different, and was glad that his friends had not been arrested. It was a conflicting emotion. But he did feel that they owed him something. As much as they could possibly give him. For he was taking the rap, and they were obligated to him.
The thing that he needed right then was money. He figured that it was up to them to get it up, and he was sure that they would. But the question was, how did he contact them? He thought it all out and decided that he would have to trust Minnie to get through to them. The clubhouse was probably still being watched, although the papers had declared that the club had been disbanded. But he didn't know where else she might find the guys. He doubted that they had stopped meeting at the club, anyway, althought they probably had thrown away their club jackets. Perhaps they had been evicted by the owner of the building, but he knew that they would have refused, on principle, to abandon the building until the rent was up.
He told Minnie that she would have to go to the club and see the guys.
"Sure, honey," she said.
"Tell them that I need bread. All they can come up with. But don't tell them that I'm staying with you. Say I've got a place cross town or something. But make sure that they understand that I need the money, and fast. Okay? And find out when and where I can pick k up."
Minnie nodded, concentrating very hard so that she could get it right
"You might as well go there now."
"Okay, honey. I'll be back as soon as I see them."
Nebraska nodded and lit a cigarette. He felt nervous about sending her out.
Minnie went downstairs and out into the street. Nebraska was watching from the window. She looked up and saw him and gave a big smile and waved. He ducked back from the window cursing her stupidity. How could one be so goddamn stupid? He poured a drink and sat down to wait.
Very soon he noticed that he was sweating very much.
Minnie hurried down the street, anxious to do what her man had told her, very happy that he had entrusted her with such an important task. She was determined to do it right, and to return quickly.
She cut down Hawk Street to Hudson and began down the hill. That was a mistake, for it meant passing very close to the front entrance of The Point. It looked very enticing to her, but she was determined to carry out her instructions first. She mustn't stop....
And yet ... just one shot might help her. She knew that her mind always worked better when she wasn't completely sober. She never felt quite confident when she didn't have one drink in her. In fact, when she was sober, she never even felt quite real.
She didn't want to stop, she told herself, but it was the best thing to do. It was best for her man that she have just one shot.
"Where the hell you been?" Rose, the barmaid, asked. "I haven't seen you in weeks. You on the wagon?"
"No."
"Here, have one on me." Rose poured a shotglass and pushed it over.
At the end of the bar a grey-faced, middle-aged man looked at her and wondered if he might be able to make her. It wouldn't hurt to try. He smiled to himself and called Rose over.
"Give her a drink," he said.
"Thanks, Hon-nee," Minnie, said smiling at him.
The man moved down the bar and took the seat next to her. She looked at his money on the bar, then smiled at him again, drinking her second shot down.
"Let's have another," he said.
Minnie was trying to remember something important, as she downed her third shot. She frowned. Well, eventually she would think of it....
Dixie was in her glory. The woman of a killer! It was too thrilling. And after Nebraska had called her, risking his life to talk with her for a few minutes, it had been better than ever.
However, wonderful as it was, it didn't keep her from being bored. Without the club to go to every day she had nothing to do. No one in Troy would speak to her now, which was fine because it proved her fame, or infamy-but it was also boring.
She stayed home for two weeks, and then it had become too much and she had to get out. She dressed in her sexiest slacks and tightest sweater, as befitting a gun moll, and walked down to the bus stop and caught the bus across the river. She would experience the thrill anew, she thought, by going to the place where it was known. She anticipated everyone pointing at her, staring, old women shaking their heads, old men noticing how the lines of her buttocks were drawn beneath the too-tight slacks. There she is, they would explain. She's the woman of that murderer who's on the loose. I'll bet that she knows where he's hiding out. Probably lives with him. And she would walk by, swinging her hips, and laugh at all the attention, arrogantly and proudly.
No one recognized her, however, as she walked up from the bus stop. The old fools! Well, she knew one place where she would be known, and thinking that she headed for the club house. They would be glad to see her. And it was never boring at the club....
Fred answered the door when she knocked. He didn't seem surprised to see her. Earl and Chino were both inside. Dixie took a seat on one of the cushions.
"Got a beer?" she asked.
"Naw. Can't. Can't tell when the fuzz might decide to bust in here," Fred told her.
"We've got a bottle of gin hidden away," Earl said. "I'll get that out."
"Yeah, and we gotta' move as soon as the month is up," Chino said. "The guy that owns this shack decided that we were undesirables."
"We're gonna' burn the building down, soon's the heat is off a little," Fred said.
Earl found the bottle and poured them all a glass of gin. Chino brought some ice from the kitchen. They all sat on the floor.
Dixie was dying to let them know that Nebraska had called her. She asked, "Has anyone heard from Nebraska?"
"Of course not."
"He called me last week."
Eyebrows raised. They could hardly believe that. After all, Dixie was just another girl to Brace. Why would he bother to call her, let alone take the risk-But she sounded very sincere about it
"How is he?" Fred asked.
"Fine. They're not gonna' catch him."
"Let's hope not."
"They won't. Nebraska is smart."
"Did he say when he was gonna' split?" Earl asked.
"Soon."
"He takin' you with him?"
"If he can."
"He must be in love with you."
"Sure he is. We're in love." Fred squinted at her. "Been faithful to him?" he asked, frowning. "Sure."
"That isn't like you, Dix."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You know ... a swingin' chick like you. I didn't think that you'd be sittin' home alone."
"Well...."
"I expected you to come over sooner than this."
"Why?"
"Because you're hip. Ya know?"
Fred had struck the right note. He didn't really believe that Nebraska loved Dixie, and he didn't want to see a good hunk go to waste. And even if Nebraska did love her, what harm would there be in making her. Nebraska would never know, anyway. Fred didn't want to take her away from his friend, he just wanted a little action with her. Since the killing most of the girls that they knew had been forced to avoid them, and Fred was feeling the tension of a prolonged period of celibacy.
"Well, yeah," Dixie said, slowly. Then, "What are you gettin' at?"
"You had anyone since Nebraska split?"
She shook her head.
"Then you must know what I mean. You must be as horny as I am." She smiled, "Right?"
"Maybe."
"Well?"
She didn't answer.
"Do we make it together?"
Dixie still wanted to be a party girl. It was great to have a boy friend who was wanted by the law, but if she didn't get to see him, it was also frustrating. She imagined that a really hip chick would not be faithful to anyone when he wasn't around. And, since Fred had mentioned it-it was quite a while since she had slept with Nebraska last. She looked at Fred and decided that he looked very good, and smiled in a sexy-shy manner.
"Well?"
"ATI right," she said, and she could tell that the guys knew how hip she was.
Fred got up and came over to her. She started to rise, thinking that they would be going into the bedroom, but Fred knelt beside her on the cushion.
"A hip broad like you shouldn't mind bein' watched while you ball," he told her.
"I don't mind," she said, partly because she wasn't a square and partly because she didn't mind. It wouldn't be the first time that she had been watched, and she didn't suppose that it would be the last. Modesty had ceased to play any part toward directing her actions long before, as long before as any morals that she might have had had vanished without a trace, either gone completely from her or else so deeply buried beneath her idea of what she wanted to be that they would never help or hinder a decision that she had to make, or wanted to make, or made just for the hell of it.
Fred took her in his massive arms and pulled her close to him. She kissed him, her lips parting to allow his tongue to slide into her mouth. Her own tongue responded, moving back and forth against his. It was doubly exciting because Earl and Chino were sitting on the floor, very close, watching her in fascination. Her slender arms encircled Fred and the feverish rhythm of their lashing tongues increased, sending a gush of passion through them both, to the depths of her passion and the root of his.
Fred slid his hands under the top of her slacks. Dixie reached to her side and pulled the zipper down, her mouth never leaving his. His hands slid under the material, rough hands, fingers probing. Dixie did not wear panties. His touch was against her flesh, and thrilled her. He moved down until her buttocks were cupped in his grasp, his fingers digging into the ripe, soft flesh. Then he moved back to the top of the slacks and grasped the material, pulled it slowly down over her wide, sensual hips. She had her eyes closed and she smiled in animal pleasure as she heard a little gasp from Chino and the heavy breathing of Earl. She loved that. It was good to have men admire and want and need one, to hunger for one's body.
The slacks slid down, baring her flat belly first, then her rounded thighs. She opened her legs slightly and listened to hear if the men would pant or moan. They did. Fred pulled the slacks down to her feet and she kicked them off.
She took her arms from his wide shoulders now and pulled her sweater off. The bra came unfastened quickly and she tossed it aside. She was naked.
Fred, kneeling beside her, was taking his own clothing off. Dixie opened her eyes, still smiling, and watched him. She took as much pleasure in seeing him as they had taken in seeing her. She stretched out, lazily, like a cat, and looked.
"Ohhh," she exclaimed, softly. He was a real man! She felt very glad that she was letting him have her, and anticipation increased the stirrings in her body. She cupped her hands at her thighs and held herself, moving slightly, as she looked at Fred.
When he was naked he moved toward her. Her hands left herself and encircled him once more, pulling his hairy chest close to her. He let one hand trail along her leg, upward to where her own hands had been. His touch was like fire. She tightened her thighs on his forearm and let herself writhe against him.
Fred dropped his head to her breasts, caressing them with his tongue and lips. The nipples, already stiff, grew stiffer, standing straight up like hard rubber tips. His face slid down her, licking at her stomach, nipping at her belly, down to replace his hand for one long moment. It was almost too much to bear. She pressed "his head against her, feeling the flaming probe of his tongue, and looked at Earl and Chino, who were crouched very close, enchanted, breathless, watching as Fred worked on her.
"Take your clothes off," she whispered to Earl. She smiled at him, her face beaming with the ecstasy that Fred was bringing to her. She wanted everything right then, everything possible, everyone possible.
Earl and Chino tore their clothes off. Dixie watched, her hands running over Fred's body. He quivered as she touched at the center of his gigantic passion. He was throbbing in need now, and she could feel the pulsation in her hand as she stroked him.
Fred moved up, between her thighs, but she stopped him as he drew close.
"Wait, baby," she whispered. "Let me do it for you." She twisted beneath him, and he fell back to the floor as her mouth found him, engulfed him in its warmth and damp, tingling bliss.
Fred moaned and trembled. Dixie slid forward and back, her tongue darting out, her lips tightening as her head rose. She kept her eyes open. She was watching Earl and Chino, and seeing the impact that what she was doing for Fred was having on them. She loved to see that.
She raised her face, murmured, "Touch me," and then lowered her mouth to Fred once more.
Earl came to her, from behind. She was kneeling, and she felt him press against her, his arms encircling her waist, his loins pressing forward and upward. She was ready for it, and they slid together easily, effortlessly, and yet with a fiery sensation, a red hot burning that filled her longing. She gasped, without taking her mouth from Fred, and she began to move her head in the same rhythm that was being built up in her loins.
Chino pressed close to her side. She touched him with one hand, and his own hands grasped her breasts, squeezing the bursting ripeness.
They clustered together for long seconds of agony and bliss. And then Earl's body jerked, he lunged wildly with the last stroke, and relaxed behind her, his breath tearing from his opened mouth.
And Fred heaved up, the pressure unbearable now, the throbbing in his body so great that it threatened to burst from him.
Dixie leaned away from him, and he took her around the waist with both arms and crushed, lifting her from the floor as he stood up. She wrapped her legs around him, entertwining them with his own, and her arms gripped his thick neck. He set his feet and raised her into position, then settled her slowly down, filling her completely with all of his bursting desire.
"O my God," she cried. And then. "God o-God ohh, do it to me, baby, ohhh." She clung blindly to him and let him lift her and plunge her down. Together they staggered about the room, rocking and weaving and moaning. At the bottom of every stroke it felt as though she were going to be ripped apart, impaled. But it was wonderful....
And then she knew that she was ripped apart. But it was only her own passion that tore through her, as never before, racing downward through her loins and tumbling out in release, leaving her limp and helpless.
Fred collapsed on the couch, all his great strength gone, all of his power having seeped from him, and into her. They lay together, heaving their breath out, sweating and exhausted and completely fulfilled.
"God," she said, after a while. Her voice sounded strange to her, high and empty, like her body.
"O my God," she said again.
When Dixie left she could hardly walk. But she was completely happy. Fred had been so good, so wonderful, and she knew that she had found something for which she had been blindly searching for years. Complete fulfillment. And she knew that she had given him the same thing. He was sleeping, exhausted, on the couch, and a smile was playing about the corners of his mouth. She had kissed him good-bye, gently, so as not to awaken him, and left.
Outside the day was bright. Sunlight glanced blindingly from the western sides of the red brick buildings, and she squinted down the street. It was hot and dusty, but she didn't mind. She was too happy to care about anything.
She started down the street, smiling as she realized how shaky her legs were. She was dimly aware of the woman walking toward her, walking as unsteadily as she, but from a different cause. The woman was obviously very drunk. But Dixie scarcely glanced at her, did not notice the determination with which the woman was walking.
As though she had something important to do.
And then they were abreast of one another, and Dixie glanced sideways at the same time as the other woman looked at her, and they recognized each other simultaneously.
Dixie half-smiled and stepped past. She could fed no malice for anyone right then. But Minnie's eyes opened wide and she stared for a second at Dixie's back. Then she knew who it was, and she knew that the girl was trying to take Nebraska from her.
She knew that she must stop her!
Dixie heard Minnie rush up behind her, and turned around slowly. Then she saw the knife, poised, but it was too late, and she was too weak from love. Her lips parted to scream, but she never managed it. Minnie plunged the blade between Dixie's lush breasts with all the force of her fragile arm, and it slid deeply in, severing the life that pulsed there with the first stroke.
Dixie was dead before she slumped to the sidewalk. The policeman, walking his beat on Madison, saw the murder from the corner. He rushed down the street, his gun out. But Minnie made no effort to escape. She stood looking at the body, the handle of the knife protruding from Dixie's chest, quivering just a little. Minnie was very, very drunk, even for her, but she could still reason, she knew. She could still see that what she had done had been justified and necessary, and that she had nothing to fear from her actions. She tried to explain this to the policeman, being very patient, for Nebraska had told her how stupid cops were and how hard it was to explain anything to them. She was very patient and didn't scream or swear at all until he put the handcuffs on her and cuffed her to the pole. Then she swore a little and passed out before the car arrived.
The detectives were going to let her sober up before they questioned her. She was obviously incoherent in her present condition. There was one, however, who was suspicious because of the nearness to the club house at which Nebraska Brace had hung out, and on a hunch he decided to put a couple questions to her before she was locked up.
This detective's name was Van Alstyne, and he was one of the singularly unintelligent cops whose hunches have paid off enough so that many people are of the opinion that lack of intelligence is a necessity in a policeman. And there may be something to that, or at least the people who select the cops seem to think so. But, be that as it may, this time the hunch was right.
Van Alstyne leaned over Minnie. He knew who she was, for she had been booked several times for prostitution. He spoke to her in his gentlest voice, and tried to look like a friend, which would have been hard-he had beaten her whenever she had been arrested, being careful that no bruises showed-had she not been so blkidly drunk.
"Why did you kill her, Minnie?" he asked, in a friendly tone. In his face there was a look that was almost human. Like a moray eel.
"Tryn' steal ... man...." Minnie said, being helpful, her head bobbing from side to side. "Fix a' witch...."
"Who's your man, Minnie?"
She smiled through her stupor. She was very proud of her man. Her lips moved but she didn't speak.
"Who?" The spark of humanity went out. He very much resembled The Fly.
"'braska Brace," she mumbled, and passed out Fate can hinge on such. One more shot of cheap whiskey at The Point. Dixie might have lived, Nebraska. Or even one shot less, whiskey is like that. And so is fate. They have a great deal in common. Like cops and ignorance.
"Find her address!" Van Alstyne roared triumphantly, sensing that he was close to a kill. His jaws worked and he moistened his lips. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his trouser legs. He looked like an iguana....
Where in hell is that stupid louse?
It was the most gracious thought that Nebraska could have been expected to have, under the circumstances.
He sat in the window, peering out through a crack in the shade, looking both ways up and down the street. He was chain smoking and biting his nails.
That stupid witch! There was not telling what she had done, where she had gone. He knew that there was a very good chance that she was merely passed out in some bar, but he couldn't be sure. As the minutes ticked by he began to think more and more about leaving. It was dangerous on the street, but perhaps it would be more dangerous here. That depended on Minnie, on whom nothing could reasonably depend. She might have done anything, if she had gotten a few shots in her belly....
Fifteen minutes more, he decided, looking at his watch. Fifteen minutes and then I'm makin' it. I'll take my own chances on the street rather than take a chance on her any longer than that.
Fifteen minutes was too long.
Ten minutes later he saw the first car pull up in front, and panic seized his bowels in a taloned grip.
Nebraska recognized the brown Buick very well. He still had a slight hope-it was a rough neighborhood, they might be on a call anywhere in the block. But then the black Buick blocked the end of the street, and he knew that this was a serious call.
He stepped back from the window and felt his gun shift beneath his belt. He took it out and saw that it was loaded and ready, but the touch of the cool steel was not as reassuring as he might have supposed. It felt alien and hard and brittle in his mind.
He returned to the window, clutching at the last of his hope, and then that too was gone, for he saw that they were looking up at the window, and that several of them had entered the building. One can always recognize a plainclothes cop, and Nebraska knew....
He jumped back from the window and stood in the center of the room. He had no idea what to do. His heart was jumping in his chest, banging to get out. His mouth was open and his eyes wide. He felt very dry, and the foremost thought for an instant was how nice it would be to have a beer, a nice cold beer.
And then he was calm. For Nebraska Brace did, after all-and despite his persistent need to prove it-have guts. He took a cigarette from his pocket and fit it, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke curl out through the corners of his mouth. His eyes narrowed and he tightened his jaws.
He was thinking of Dixie. It would have been easy to give himself up, now that he was cornered ... except for Dixie. But she had faith in him, she knew that he would never be taken alive. He was hard, and tough, like men used to be. The thought of having Dixie read in the papers that he had surrendered was terrible.
But to read that he had been killed while shooting it out! Or even escaped, through a hail of bullets! He could imagine how good she would feel. And that was important to him, as he stood in the center of Minnie's dismal room with the gun in his hand.
He moved then, running to the door and opening it. Two policeman were coming up the stairs, and he darted down the hall and started up to the next story. If he could make it to the roof....
"He's got a gun!" Van Alstyne shouted.
Nebraska glanced down, as he ran up the stairs.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" Van Alstyne shouted, just a second after he shot Nebraska in the back.
Nebraska slumped over the railing. He felt the gun slide from his fingers and was sorry for that. He wished that he had managed to fire at least once, one shot at the injustice of the world, one last defiant blow at the great American lie and at the circumstances that had made him and guided him and brought him to this....
The gun clattered noisily on the floor below, and Van Alstyne shot him once more, through the shoulder. Nebraska spun around like a top and tumbled down the stairs. He was not quite dead when he fell. He was very dead by the time he landed at the bottom. In the meantime he thought that Dixie would be very proud of him, and he thought that while he lived he had been lucky to have a girl like Dixie, who believed in him and who was faithful to him, and he thought that, since he was dying young, it was a lucky thing that he had lived life fast.
He didn't have time to feel sad.
EPILOGUE
They stand on the corners-Madison and Green, Hudson and State-looking insolent and sneering at the passers-by. This is a new generation. Times have changed. A new governor, new laws. The old bars are gone, The Point is torn down, the club house condemned. But they are the same, the eternal youths who rebel without the knowledge to say why, the rebels without causes, the instinctive ones. They still have the heavy lidded look, the defiance, the refusal to obey and to accept.
They jeer at most of the older men who pass by. Sometimes they don't. Once in a while a huge, sad faced man goes by, and he is too big to insult. And besides, there is something in his face that is very black with hatred, a tragic face, as though perhaps he has seen things that they can not conceive of, in their youth. Sometimes he has a girl with him, clinging to his arm, looking with love into his sad eyes. The girl calls him
Fred. Although he wears a business suit it never seems to fit quite right across his enormous shoulders, and it is rumored among the gangs that he was once a very bad man. They don't bother him.
There is another man who passes by more frequently, on his way to the office where he works. A small fellow with red hair. Sometimes he has his wife with him. He isn't big enough to be afraid of, and sometimes they make remarks to him, which he ignores. Once, when he walked by with his wife, they made a remark to her, and they were very surprised to see how pale he became. He hurried on, and from the back they could see that his shoulders twitched violently. They looked at one another, laughed and shrugged their shoulders and promptly forgot about it.
But this man continues to pass everyday. It is as though he is compelled to walk by them, as though there is something that he has to prove to himself. Or maybe it was that he is waiting to find out something. Or prove that he had once, long before, made the right decision. He is a very timid man, but his wife is quite lovely and poised as she holds his arm. It seems as though she is the protector. She calls him Irving, whenever she speaks.
This man, for them, sums up all the evil and weakness and ridiculousness of society.
And so they stand on the corners and their lives are swept forward on the tide of time, helplessly drowning in the way that things are....
