The Warriors (7 page)

The thing to do was to get down the hill, over the fence, across the street, across that highway and river, up that long lawn, through the barrier of apartment houses, onto the subway, and go home. That was one way of doing it. The other way was to phone their Youth Board Worker, Wallie, tell him they were in trouble, have him come up and get them in his car. Then, Hector told them, since that square, Wallie, was trying to get in good with the Dominators, he would think, ah, at last the time had come to do the Family a favor. They knew different, of course, because Wallie was an Other, so they might as well use him. They agreed with that. They would go down, near the subway, and call the joker and have him come. If he didn't come, they would take the train and make it home. They weren't sure where they were; they weren't sure where the train went; downtown and uptown; that was enough to know. The Junior was getting nervous about their hanging around here and tried to rush them to finish their cigarettes.

Lunkface asked who had Power? Who was packed? No one. Father Arnold had the .22 pistol-token to give to Ismael, but by now Arnold was probably in the paddy wagon. No one had come loaded because they had obeyed the truce instructions to the letter. It made the distance seem longer now; how could they go through all that territory without being equipped for any action? And what if the Youth Board square didn't come; what then? Hinton asked why they couldn't stay here just a little longer? They ignored him.

“Man, did you see that Ismael? He's not so big now. Choom. Right through the eye,” Lunkface said.

Hector said, “Ismael was a big man and he had the big idea.” He bowed his head in tribute.

Lunkface didn't think so; the idea wasn't so much; it was even obvious.

“We shouldn't desert. Arnold might come,” Hinton insisted.

“Man, even if he got away, how's he going to know where we're at?” Hector asked. “Use the head.” And then he said for them to get out their pins. They would wear signs; they were moving out as The Family.

Hinton asked if it was wise to walk around the city looking identified and for all the world to know who they were and what they were.

Hector got angry and said that they moved as a Family and that meant wearing their signs, or not at all. Hector thought it was just something Hinton might have said. Hinton was still new; in the neighborhood a short time; in the gang only about eight months. He looked at Hinton in the shadows: Hinton's face was cool enough, his head resting against the stone, looking almost bored by the whole thing, his eyes closed, his fingers making doodling motions on the marble. Well, it was probably just that Hinton didn't have enough sense of tradition and Family, Hector thought. He would get it in time. Lunkface said that if Hinton was chicken, he might stay here for the night and let some other gangs or the fuzz catch him, or, for that matter, the rats might mistake him for one of the corpses and finish him off. Hector told Lunkface that counsel should not be mistaken for cowardice and not to sound his younger brother that way, unless Lunkface wanted to deal with him. Lunkface said that this son was sorry, but there was an edge of mock in it. Hector accepted it as a complete apology to avoid trouble now.

Hinton said that it wasn't a matter of funk, but that they, the Other, would all know them.

“You're not that famous, son. You are not The Ismael, man.”

“But we got the marks of a gang . . .”

“How will they know what gang we are?”

“That's not the point, man. They're after all the gangs around this territory. After what they saw, they will pick you up if
you're between fourteen and twenty and look wrong. And tonight, everyone looks wrong.”

Hector said that they would wear the signs, and anyone who wouldn't, could make it back alone. Hinton understood that the discussion was over.

They took out the pins and gave them to Hector. They kneeled in front of Hector and he pinned the signs on their hats. Lunkface was furious because he had lost his hat and he wouldn't ruin his jacket with pin marks, but Dewey said that Lunkface could wear a handkerchief around his head and they would pin to that. Hector wore his sign in front of his hat; the others wore the pins on the sides of their hats.

Hector told them that if the Youth Board joker didn't make it, they might go as a war party, because it would mean that
all
truces were off, the shit was on, but good, and the police would be all over, coming down on them, and you wouldn't be able to trust your own mother and father. They all laughed; it was an old Family joke.

Hector told Hinton to leave their mark. Hinton took out the Magic Marker and put the family sign on the tomb, Dominators, LAMF, DTK and told The Junior, “I leave this for them ghosts.”

The cloud bank had moved a little nearer. Hector tapped Hinton on the shoulder. Hinton, knowing that Dewey was watching the area ahead for enemies, came out of the comforting shadow, bending low. He sped down the hill in short rushes till he disappeared in a shadow. Then Lunkface was tapped and moved out.

At the bottom of the hill, near the fence, the gravestones were set close together. Dewey said, “Man, they got them shoulder to shoulder here.”

Hector made The Junior rear guard to bug him: he crowded close and said, “Don't talk like that, man.” They moved on down. The Junior gave a little gasp when he had to step on a grave to keep from falling; his foot sank a little into the fresh soil. Crouching, they could move without having to rush from shadow to shadow, screened now by the tombstones.

Bimbo said, “Look at that.” In the faint light from the moon, they could see someone had spelled out
Spahis
across a long line of headstones, right above the R.I.P.'s.

The cemetery ended above a street. There was a drop of
about twelve feet. Hector sent Hinton along the fence line to see if there was a place where the Family could squeeze through without having to climb over. Hinton was being tested because he hadn't wanted to wear the insignia. Didn't they see how wrong it was, Hinton thought? He moved along the last line of gravestones, looking over them at the fence and the street below. The moonlight shone on railroad lines, a narrow river, and on the parkway and the long stretch of green lawn sloping up to the apartment houses. The elevated tracks were just beyond. Hinton had once lived around here; his family was always moving around, never staying in one place more than two years. Off to the left, about a half mile away, there was a bridge over the river.

Hinton couldn't find an opening in the fence; they would have to climb it. No one was walking along the street; only a few cars went by. If they jumped from higher up, people in the cars wouldn't notice them poised on the rampart. He found a likely place to climb over the fence. The drop here was about three times the height of a man, but seemed higher. He went back and reported to Hector.

Hinton led Hector and the men to the place.

“Why so high, man? We'll get hurt jumping.”

“If we jump from any lower, they could see us, Hector.”

“But we might get hurt. We can't carry any busted ankle home. Find the lowest place. Lower, man.”

“The way this son sees it . . .”

“. . . is not the way we'll do it,” Hector said.

“All right, Papa,” Hinton said, angry.

“Father knows best,” Hector intoned. “Am I right?” Hinton didn't answer. “Am I right?”

Hinton nodded and smiled.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you.”

Hinton looked at Hector.

“Smile better.”

Hinton smiled better.

“Don't let me see your back teeth when you smile, son.”

Hinton modified his smile.

They waited for about fifteen minutes; when the prowl car came and passed, Hinton was the first to go. Hector was still testing him and he knew that he couldn't show any signs of chicken or resentment; what if they were to leave him here? He went through it cool, taking great care to look unconcerned. The fence was easy; how many fences had he climbed, some of them as high as twenty feet? He stood balanced on about four inches of concrete ledge; he could almost feel the fence pushing outward on him. It seemed too far to jump, even though it was only about twelve feet high. So he didn't look, knowing when you were scared it was best to think of the thing you are going to do after. Balanced on the ledge, he looked up and down the long street till there were no cars. He turned toward the cemetery; the boys were hidden. He panicked for a second and thought they had run away, but he knew better. He lowered himself till he was hanging and let go. The drop knocked the wind out of him and he almost fell to his knees. He split the back of his right shoe, but it held together by the strip of binding leather at the top. He turned and ran across the street, skipping to keep from losing it. His thighs still ached from the long run. He ran into the shadows of sidewalk trees. Behind the trees, down a small hill, there was a big water tank casting big black shadows; beyond, at the bottom of the dip, next to the little river, he saw the rails.

Hinton turned back. He could see Lunkface posing on the wall, his back to the fence. Hinton stepped out of the shadows and waved. Lunkface didn't bother to lower himself. He grinned and jumped down and showboated across the street. They came one by one. The Junior was last; he jumped just before the signal because he was scared. They laughed. He landed and fell forward on his palms, scraping them; the comic book popped out
of his pocket. The jar also broke his watch. He began to run across the street but they all pointed at the comic book and shouted. He turned, saw it, hesitated in the middle of the street . . . and
had
to go back and get it. They began to point up to the cemetery and yell that the ghosts were coming, laughing at his terrified run, till Hector quieted them.

They started walking north, toward the little bridge, trying to keep in shadows. It was further away than they thought and they walked for a long time till they came to the corner and turned right. Walking, the shoe didn't bother Hinton so much. They were on East 233rd Street; The Junior said that it was a long way from home. Hinton had once lived on 221st Street, but he couldn't remember if it had been in the Bronx, Manhattan, or Queens. He had lived all over.

Bimbo wanted to know if they shouldn't go on, one by one. Hector said they moved together. After all, if the police stopped them—well, they weren't doing anything, were they? But Hinton knew first thing Law would inspect their J.D. cards and how could they explain what they were doing so far from home? It was a little hotter down here—no wind cooled it like up in the cemetery. When they crossed the bridge, the strip of park and highway, and went up the hill, they came to two-story houses and the apartment buildings. A few blocks more and they were under the elevated tracks. The street was empty; all the stores were closed. There was a phone booth next to a shut-down newsstand on the corner. Hector said he was going in and call up Wallie, the Youth Board Worker.

Bimbo asked, “Is it smart, man? I mean, after tonight, they're not going to go along with us. I mean, man, this was the big one. Too much, and now they know they have something to be worried about.”

Lunkface was against calling up too: “What do we need him for?”

But Hinton thought that Wallie, the Worker recently assigned
to them, was a good man. “Wallie took a lot of lip, but he bore up,” Hinton said. Lunkface insisted that none of them were any good; the Family didn't need anyone at all. Hinton explained that with every cop and warrior surely on the alert, possibly with road blocks, check points, heavily guarded enemy turfs, they might have to fight their way through, fist alone because they had come unpacked, except for Arnold's Power and that was gone now. They had a whole city to march down till they got home. Hinton thought that the others didn't understand what was ahead. They would see. They weren't being smart; they were showboating, advertising. It was no shame to be smart, cautious, like Arnold. Hector was always trying to show what a bigger man than Lunkface he was. But Lunkface was the strongest; you never made a fool of him openly, not unless you were ready to bop. There weren't many men who could take out the Lunkface, so you outwitted him in other ways, like Arnold did. So Hinton only said that they had to phone to have an easy ride.

“We need Wallie because this younger brother don't feel like any two-hour ride in some hot subway, man. I like my style and I like my comfort. Besides, how's he going to rehabilitate us if we don't give him a chance to help and understand us?” Dewey asked.

Lunkface liked that. And Hinton added that Wallie was their man, almost one of the gang now, wasn't he? Hector was sure now he would telephone. He deposed the men in shadowed places.

Wallie didn't sound sleepy; that meant he was awake—as if he had been waiting for the call. That worried Hector, Wallie wanted to know where they were.

“We're in the Bronx, man,” Hector said.

“Hector, what are you doing in the Bronx?”

There was a lot of static on the phone. Hector felt hot, naked,
a sitting duck there under the booth lights; it was dark outside and they could see him so clearly. He opened the door and it felt a little cooler when the booth light went off. He wondered if the static meant that the conversation was being tapped. He read about taps in the newspapers; some kind of noise meant they were listening in, but he couldn't remember what kind of noise it was supposed to be. “We're out for an airing, man; like we just had to see the
country
tonight because it's so hot. It is always cooler up in the North, so we made it north.” It couldn't be a tap; how did they know he was going to call from just this booth?

“Were you up there in that big gang rumble? Were you mixed up in that, Hector? Where's Arnold?”

So they knew about the fight on the plain already. That wasn't good. He wondered if he should tell Wallie about Arnold. The Father, Hector thought, was probably sitting in a headbuster headquarters and they were giving him the old twenty questions which went, “Why did you . . .” and then, Pow with the back of the hand, and “You're not dealing with those bleeding hearts on the Youth Board now, you little black motherfucker.” Slap, slap, slap, keeping their hands in his face. Or they'd crowded Arnold into a bugcrawly pen and he had to fight for a little sleep-space. Hector decided not to tell Wallie. “We're on a street called two, three, three, man, up in the far-out end. I mean, like we would like a little sightsee through the city as we come home. Drive us?” They couldn't possibly know he would come to this booth.