“Someone’s at the door to see you,” Benny said. “You sold him two ten o’clock tickets and it’s after twelve now and he first wants to get in.”
Frank stood up. “Who is it?”
“Go see.” Benny spun around and left him.
“I’ll be right back,” Frank said to Betty.
Since Shimmy and his gang were not on hand to urge the holders of eleven o’clock tickets to leave, the clubroom had become a milling jam of people, and the floor was so crowded that the dancing now consisted mainly of the dancers lifting their eyebrows in time to the music. Tediously Frank forced his way through the mob until he came to the checkroom.
“Frank”—Larry raised his hand over his head and urged him to hurry—“this guy says he couldn’t get here before and wants to come in.”
When Frank had sold two tickets to Stan Alberg he had never expected Stan to use them. Now Stan stood there smiling down at him, and beside him stood his wife.
“I couldn’t get here before,” Stan apologized. “I hope I’m not going to have to shell out another five bucks.”
“Let him in,” Frank said to Larry. “You know who he is. He’s the gym teacher at the Center.”
Larry nodded and ducked under the counter into the checkroom. “Check your things,” he said. “Twenty-five cents each.”
Stan picked fifty cents from the coins in his hand and gave them to Larry in exchange for the cardboard checking tags.
“Come in,” Frank invited them. “I never thought you’d come.”
“We didn’t either,” Reba replied, “but I changed Stan’s mind.”
“Where’re you sitting?” Stan coughed. “This place could stand some ventilation.”
“Over there.” Frank pointed and bit his lip. Fanny was sitting with Betty.
“Thanks for inviting us to join you,” Stan said sarcastically. “We’ll follow you.”
Frank looked back and saw Larry watching them. Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea, but at the time it was an easy way to get rid of two tickets. But really it didn’t make any difference because after tonight he was through with the Dukes.
Fanny was still huddled in Betty’s arms, and Stan and Reba were silent, waiting for an introduction and an explanation.
“Fanny had a little trouble,” Frank began lamely. “This is my girl, Betty. Mr. and Mrs. Alberg.”
“I’m glad to know you,” Reba said. “Can I help you?” she asked Betty.
Fanny shivered and Betty pressed her closer. “No,” she said, “not unless you got some pins with you. Her dress is ripped.”
Reba rummaged through her purse. “Just when you want them you can’t find them. Here”—she dug deeper into her purse—“I have some. I bought them for one of my neighbors who has a baby and I never gave them to her. Let me help you.” She knelt and took a pin from the card.
“It’s all right, Fanny,” Betty said to her. “This lady wants to help.”
Fanny kept her hands over her face, but even in the semidarkness Reba could see the swollen eyes and lips. But what astonished and upset her, made her want to strike out at the tough-faced boys and girls about her who accepted the sight of a beaten girl as a normal occurrence, was the apparent youth of the girl. Deftly she opened the pins and caught both sides of the torn dress and clipped them together.
“Stan”—she stood up—“I think we ought to take this girl home with us.”
“Some girls are going to take care of her,” Frank said.
“I think we oughta leave without them,” Betty said sharply.
“Too late.” Frank glanced toward the kitchen door, which had opened. “Here they come.”
Rosie shoved through the mob to them, her face set and grim. “All right,” she said to Betty, “how’s she been?”
“Crying,” Betty said.
“The bastards’ll get paid back for that, don’t worry,” Rosie said bitterly. “You ready to go?” she said to Lilly and Maybelle.
“We’re ready,” Maybelle replied. “Let’s get the hell outa here.”
“Where are you taking her?” Stan asked.
Rosie turned on him. “Who the hell wants to know?”
“Hold your water,” Frank warned. “This guy ‘n’ his wife are my friends and they wanta help her.”
“So why’re they lookin’ at us that way?” Rosie asked. “We ain’t poison.”
“I’m sorry,” Stan apologized.
“Ah,” Rosie grimaced, “guys like you make me sick. Don’t say anythin’”—she stopped him—“I know what you’re thinkin’. And you and your wife know what to do if you don’t like us.”
“Jesus,” Frank exploded, “is everyone going nuts? Listen, you”—he grasped Rosie’s arm and held her as she struggled to get loose—“Fanny’s hurt and you wanta help her. All right. These people’ll take her home and straighten her out, won’t you?” he appealed to Stan. “You got any place to take her except another club?” he asked Rosie.
Lilly looked at her friends. “We don’t know. You were gonna get her a dress, weren’t you, Miriam?”
“The name’s Maybelle.”
“I’m sorry, Maybelle. I just forgot. I’m all excited.”
“Yeah,” Maybelle replied. “If we’ll only get started I’ll go home now and get it. You’ll give me your address, mister?” she asked Stan.
Stan took out a notebook and fountain pen. “I’ll write it down for you. Crown Street,” he said as he wrote, “near Albany. You know how to get there?”
“Sure.” Maybelle squinted at the name and address. “You come with me, Lilly. We’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Get our things,” Betty said to Frank. “You have anything checked?” she asked Fanny.
Fanny reached into her bosom and shook her head. “I lost the check,” she whispered. “It was nothin’. Only my lipstick and a dime in a blue change purse.”
“I’ll try and get it for you,” Frank said. “You coming, Stan?”
Stan nodded, and they wormed through the mob. Shimmy and his gang were again busy weeding out the dancers who had stayed beyond their allotted time. The press around the checkroom added to the confusion, and they could hear Larry and Bull cursing at people and telling them to take it easy.
Frank held out his hand. “Gimme your checks and I’ll get our things.”
“Think you’ll manage?” Stan smiled. “That’s like the rush hour in the subway.”
“I will,” Frank said. “Larry!” he shouted. “Let me through, you jerks!” He charged into the mob and shoved people to the right and left of him. “Larry, I’m comin’ through.” Frank ducked under the counter and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “Wow,” he breathed heavily, “how the hell’re you guys standin’ it?”
“Whadd’ya want?” Bull asked him as he shoved a hat across the counter. “Two bits!” he yelled to the boy who took the hat.
“I paid you once,” the boy said.
“Then scram,” Bull said, “you’re blockin’ traffic.”
Frank juggled the checks. “How about giving me my stuff and Fanny Kane’s? She lost her check. She said it was a little blue pocketbook.”
“I want you to hang around.” Larry took the checks from him. “You ain’t done nothin’ but take it easy all night except when you were fightin’ with Mitch, Shimmy, Benny, and Crazy. You must think you’re a hard character”—he gave Betty’s purse to Frank—“but you’re taking on an awful load.”
“You guys bother me.”
“We can’t figure you out,” Larry went on. “You usta be a nice guy and now you just go around fightin’ with Benny and Crazy. I still think you and Benny got somethin’ worrying you, but if you don’t wanta talk about it, that’s all right with me.”
“I’m waiting for our stuff,” Frank interrupted him.
“I’m gettin’ your things,” Larry said. “But you’re staying here. We got some work for you.”
“I was takin’ Fanny over to Mr. Alberg’s.”
“So you won’t. Why the hell are you getting mixed up in that? You know”—Larry paused—“if you wouldn’t’ve given Crazy a lousing that time the kid wouldn’ta been hurt now. How’s she look?”
“Like I’d like Crazy to look. Are you kidding about me hangin’ around?”
“If he is, I’m not,” Bull answered. “You gotta help us. I hardly been outa this room all night.”
“They’re waiting for me,” Frank protested. “Stan Alberg, his wife, and everyone.”
“That’s another thing.” Bull matched two checks and threw a hat to Larry. “What was the idea of selling tickets to him?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because he’s down at that lousy Center, and all they do down there is go to the cops so they can sponsor clubs together. And I don’t like the way he looks. And I don’t like cops.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like the way you look.”
Bull was reaching for another hat but paused. “Listen, wise guy”—he shoved Frank against the wall—“you watch what you’re saying or I’ll start busting you around. You’ve been shootin’ your mouth off all night, and I’m one guy who knows that he can kick the crap outa you. Now you’re staying. If they wanta wait for you it’s all right, or you can meet them when the dance is over. But you’re staying.”
Frank remembered Shimmy and the way he controlled himself, and instead of yelling at them that after tonight he was through with the Dukes he remained silent until he felt that neither by word nor action would he betray to Bull and Larry how he felt. Two weeks ago he had been glad that the Dukes apparently were willing to reinstate him as a member in good standing, but now he was determined to break with them. After what had happened this night he knew he could drop them gracefully, leave them without regret. The only thing they would say about him would be that he was a rat, but it did not worry him.
When he spoke his voice was composed and nonchalant. “All right, guys,” he said, “I’ll give them their stuff and I’ll be back in a coupla minutes.”
Larry took a small blue purse from a corner of one of the shelves and handed it to Frank. “Is this Fanny’s?” he asked him.
Frank opened the purse and nodded. “She said she only had a lipstick and a dime.” He collected the hats and purses and asked Larry to raise the counter. “Help me get through here,” he said.
Larry forced a path through the crowd, and Frank repeated that he would return in a minute.
Shimmy and his boys were slowly losing their control over the crowd. The Dukes had sold tickets to clubs and gangs who prided themselves on not backing down for anyone, and against one wall of the room the Thatford Giants had isolated two of Shimmy’s gang and were slapping them around. Shimmy struggled to break through the ring of Giants but stopped when one of the Giants, a six-foot boy with a broken nose and a scar that extended from his left temple to the chin, brandished an iron poker in his hand and invited Shimmy to step forward and have his head split open.
“You want me to plug him?” one of the squat gangsters asked Shimmy.
Shimmy shook his head. “They’ll murder us if you do. Why don’t you cut it out?” he asked the Giant. “We don’t want no trouble.”
“We’re not shellin’ out no two and a half bucks to hang around here for an hour,” the Giant said. “We don’t take that crap from no one, least from a stinker like you. Who’d you ever kill?” The Giant swung the poker threateningly. “I never seen your picture in no post office.”
Frank grinned as he heard the Giant telling off Shimmy.
“Here”—he gave Stan his hat and Reba’s purse—“you go ahead and I’ll try and get away soon.”
“You’re not coming?” Betty asked him.
“I gotta stay,” he apologized. “We’re liable to have trouble and I gotta hang around.”
Rosie snatched Fanny’s purse from his hand. “He’s like the rest of them sons of bitches. He must be hangin’ around because they’re gonna line up some other babes.”
“Watch your mouth!” Frank warned her.
“Son of a bitch!” Rosie turned away from him to help Fanny,
Frank appealed to Stan. “I gotta stay if I don’t wanta get in trouble,” he explained. “I’ll try to get away as soon as I can, but if I’m not over your place by”—he looked at his watch—“it’s almost one, say three o’clock, then you’ll call a cab for Betty?” He took out his wallet and began to remove some bills.
Stan pushed the bills aside. “I’ll drive her home. My doorman is going to go crazy when he sees you.” He had to laugh.
“I’m packin’ these guys in,” Frank said. “Honest,” he insisted as he noticed Stan’s quizzical smile. “After what they done tonight I see that I’d be a dummy to hang on. I gotta pack them in. For my own sake.”
“Then maybe we’ll see you later.” Stan did not care to continue the conversation. “Looks like somebody is being worked on.” He motioned to the knot of Thatford Giants surrounding Shimmy’s boys.
“We’ll have to break that up,” Frank said. “I’ll see you later, Betty.” He kissed her. “You’re not sore?”
“No.”
“Help me with her,” Rosie said to Betty.
Frank watched Stan push ahead while Rosie and Betty supported Fanny between them. This was definitely no good. He crossed to the other side of the room where the Giant was still inviting Shimmy to step forward so he could fracture his skull.
“Hey, Meyer,” he called to the Giant, “how about breakin’ it up? You’re spoiling the dance.”
“When I get good and ready to.”
“Come on.” Frank approached him. “We don’t want the cops here. You gave them a shellacking already,” he said softly. “So let the bastards go. Later, if you want to, get them outside and beat the crap outa them. You’re screwing things up.” He raised his voice.
“We’re not leaving.” Meyer looked down at him.
“So stick around,” Frank said cajolingly, “and we’ll put you to work. Just let them alone.”
“Hey, guys,” Meyer shouted, “we’re stayin’. Let the jerks go.”
The Thatford Giants shoved Shimmy’s boys into the center of the dance floor. Their right hands went to their hip pockets, but Shimmy shook his head negatively.
Meyer grabbed Shimmy by the back of the collar and twisted. “You tell your guys that if they do that again they’ll be found tomorrow on an empty lot in Canarsie.”
“Let go,” Shimmy said quietly. “I want to talk to you. I think me ‘n’ you can get together.”
Meyer pushed Shimmy away and laughed. “Who the hell cares about getting together with a rat like you? G’wan, blow, before I beat your brains out.”
Shimmy said nothing and placed a restraining hand on the arm of one of his boys. He looked steadily at Meyer, memorizing each of his features, for Meyer was marked to die, and soon, a day, two days, a week, a month, but soon Meyer’s body would be found in a vacant lot in Canarsie or floating in the river. The eyes in Shimmy’s head shone like bright sparks and he smiled, for he would still be alive when Meyer’s head would be blown off his shoulders. There was no alternative; no lesser punishment would appease Shimmy; he was going to prove to other would-be hard guys that shoving Shimmy around was a quick way of inviting death. And as Meyer stood there brandishing the poker, cursing and full of fight, he did not know that soon his parents and sister would be sitting
shive
for him.