Last Exit to Brooklyn

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  The fire hoses were shut off and those who were injured too seriously to move unaided were helped to the sidewalk where they sat down and leaned against the buildings or were helped into one of the waiting ambulances or patrol cars and taken to the hospital.

  The street was still congested with men, cars, trucks, ambulances and onlookers. There were still hundreds of strikers standing in small groups talking, helping injured strikers, looking at the cops and waiting for the trucks to come out. Harry, who had carefully avoided the fight, moved from group to group, his shirt hanging out, hair mussed and face dirtied, cursing the bosses, the cops and those fuckin scabs, asking the men how they were and slapping them on the back.

  The police too were concerned about the trucks. Additional men had arrived and a barricade was setup to keep the strikers away from the runway and the hoses were placed in strategic positions. Again the voice told the strikers to breakitup and again the men said FUCKYOU and remained where they were: eyeing the cops, who stood behind the barricade, and the firemen with their hoses. The voice told them they didnt want to use force but, if they didnt disperse immediately, that force would be used. The men yelled and cursed and started spreading out getting ready to charge the barricade as soon as the trucks came up the runway. The voice told them they had exactly 60 seconds before the hoses would be turned on again and started counting. There were still 30 seconds left when the first truck was heard coming up the runway. The counting was stopped and the hoses were ordered turned on. The men had yet to take their first forward step when the water hit them. The hoses were used expertly and none of the strikers reached the barricade until the trucks were almost a block away and then they just stood yelling and cursing.

  When the trucks were out of sight the men backed away from the barricade, stood looking at the cops for a few minutes then slowly walked away, going home or back to the office. The police and firemen slowly gathered up their equipment and went back to their various stationhouses. 83 men were hospitalized.

  Some of the strikers going back to the office carried the remnants of signs, some helped others still bleeding or still dazed from the fight. The injured men were driven home, Harry telling them hed see that their books were marked that they got hurt; the others crowded into the office or hung around outside.

  The men in the office were still yelling and cursing, Harry passing out beer, telling them how he clobbered a cop—hoping no one had noticed he avoided the fight—or how he just missed getting hit with a club, but everyone was too angry to pay any attention to him just as they had been too busy to remember who was where during the fight. Harry eventually worked his way over to his desk and sat down with a beer, extremely conscious of the noise and wondering if there was something he could do. He leaned on the desk, sipped his beer, wishing a thought would pop into his head. It wasnt until he saw the President and a few other officials forcing their way through the crowd that he realized he should have called the union office. He leaped up and stumbled around his desk shouting that he had been trying to reach the office and everyone was yelling and crowding around the officials and they stood still and yelled for the men to be quiet, for krists sake. How can we find out what happened with everybody yelling. They all started yelling again and the officials waved their hands and the men started to quiet and Harry tried to force his way forward but one of the men placed himself in front of the President and told him hed tellem what happened. I was on the fine when the trucks came in. What trucks? All the men started answering and yelling and the officials waved their arms again and the man who had started talking yelled ta shuttup. I/ll tellem what happened. We was on the line when all ofasudden these 4 trucks come down 2nd avenue and turned down the runway to the loadin platform . . . When the entire story had been told the President asked if anyone saw the name of the trucking company and one of the men said he knewem. Ive seen those trucks in the neighborhood, and he gave the officials the name and told them where they were usually parked. Then the President told the men that everything would be taken care of and that no more trucks would pass the line and that they should go home and take it easy and that from now on there would be someone watching the street at all times and when anything, I mean anything and I dont give a fuck what it is, tries to pass the line that everybody was to haulass over to the line and block the joint. The men yelled, yeah, we/11 show the fucks. But dont hang around the plant or the copsll only start again. The law says you can only have so many men on the picket line and theyll use any excuse they can to split your skulls so dont givem the chance. Try and stay off the street as much as possible when youre not on the line and they cant do a thing.

  The President went over to the desk and made a phone call while the other officials shook hands with the men and patted them on the back as they walked them toward the door. The President was on the phone for some time, making arrangements to have more signs printed and making certain that they would definitely be in the strike office by 8 oclock in the morning; then spoke to a few other people in the union office and by the time he finished the office was empty except for the other officials and Harry, who had been standing behind him ever since he first picked up the phone.

  Harry offered him a cigarette then fumbled for a match, the President finally taking one out of his own pocket. Harry tried to tell him how he had tried to stop the trucks, but was interrupted by the other officials who started talking to the President. They formed a small huddle, talking low, Harry standing on the fringe, and Vinnie and Sal came in. Whattayasay Harry? I hear yahad a little trouble. Yeah man, I hear we missed a good rumble. They filled a couple of glasses with beer then rejoined Harry. Ya not gonna letem getaway with that shit, areya? Yabet yasweet ass we/re not. Dont worry, itll never happen again. If it wasnt for the fuckin cops they never wouldve got pastus. Shitman, theres other ways ta stopem. Yeah, smiling at each other and drinking their beer. Whattayamean? Shit, all yagotta do—the President came over and asked Harry who they were. Harry told him their names and said they were a couple of the guys from the neighborhood. This is the President of the union. Whattayasay. Had a little trouble, eh? Not too much. You boys have something on your minds? Just a little business proposition, eh Sal? Yeah. Like what? Like gettin ridda the trucks. Is it worth 200 taya ta get riddathem? Do you think you can do it without any trouble? Yeah. If theyre parked where that guy says they are itll be a slopeout. The President turned his back to the others, gave them $200, said goodbye to Harry and left with the other officials. Sal and Vinnie split the money, finished their beers and left. Another day of the strike had ended.

  The next day there were hundreds of men at the office by a few minutes after 8. By 8:30 they were spread throughout the office and the street drinking coffee, eating cake and drinking beer. The signs had been delivered a few minutes after Harry opened the office and the men rushed with firstdayofthestrike eagerness to grab them and set up the picket line. They joked, laughed and slapped each other on the back energetically, as they did that first day, but they werent relaxed as they were then, but were tensed and hopeful, hopeful of another fight but this time they would be expecting it and would be ready and each man could animate the dreams and thoughts of the night before where they stopped the trucks, pulled the drivers from the cabs and beat their skulls in, each man doing it singlehandedly or, at the most, with the help of a few friends; and when the cops tried to stop them they took their clubs from them and bashed their fuckinskullstoapulp then took the fire hoses and washed the rotten bastards down the fuckin sewer. They drank beer and coffee, continually looking toward the factory, slapping each other on the shoulder but, as they did they tensed their muscles wishing, and hoping takrist, that it was the face of one of the shiteatin cops or one of the scabbastard drivers that they were shovin their fist in ... or maybe one of the punk executives would givem some shit and they could beat his ass.

  But no one came to work that day and no trucks came within two blocks of the factory. Mr. Harrington told the others to stay home, it
was Friday and one day would not do any harm. The shipment went out and there was nothing left that they had to do; and by Monday the strikers would have gotten over their anger and everything would settle back into the routine of the days, months, preceding the fight. The men stayed all day, greeting each newcomer loudly, slapping briskly, but as the day moved and nothing happened they became tired of commenting on all the cops they had there now, must be over a hundred ofem, and how theyd like to break their fuckin skulls; and as the day slowly passed so did their enthusiasm, their frustration and anger increasing. Their cursing was more vehement but it not only lacked organization it also lacked direction. The cops were just standing there, saying nothing; there were no trucks trying to break the line and no wiseyoungpunkofapencilpusher trying to take the bread from their mouths.

  The sky remained cloudless all day and the sun bright. It was hot. Very hot. A perfect day for the beach, but none of them were in a mood to enjoy the beach yet they cursed those bastards, if it wasnt for them they could be down the beach now or sittin home with a can of beer watching the ball-game on t v. And they cursed those bastards to each other and by mid afternoon the 4 kegs of beer were empty and Harry ordered a few more and they were delivered righta-way, but some of the men were tired of drinking beer and they drifted, in small groups, into the bar next door to get something stronger, something more satisfying and by the time 5 oclock came, and the sun still had a few hours before it set, their anger was simply anger, no longer even attempting to direct it but just letting it grow until they went home and passed out or got in a fight in a neighborhood bar. When the men left Harry told them to be back bright and early Monday.

  Harry felt good sitting at his desk drinking beer and smoking. He had spent the day telling the men how the union wouldnt let them get away with that kindda shit, and wishing he could tell them what he had planned to do to the trucks. If only he could tell them. Then theyd really know how important he is. But whatthefuck, theyd know how important he was anyway. Yeah. He put his feet up on the desk and emptied his glass and leaned back thinking of how soon all the men would nod and say hello when he came by and hed really be respected and maybe he could get rid of that bitchofawife who was always breakin his balls and gettinhim so nervous he could hardly work sometimes and then that fuckinpencilpushinpunk wilson would shit when Harry Black came around and his smile almost became a smile and he refilled his glass, lit a cigarette, closed his eyes and watched wilson and some of the other punks cowering in fear.

  * * *

  Sale and Vinnie left the Greeks a little after 11, stole a car, got a few cans of gasoline and drove to the small lot where the trucks were parked. They stopped for a moment, looked around, then drove around the block a few times, then the neighborhood for about 10 minutes or so making sure there were no streets closed for any reason or cops in the vicinity, then drove back to the lot and parked the car. The trucks were old models with gas tanks on the side. They tossed gasoline over the trucks, opened the gas tanks, soaked rags in gasoline and put them in the tank openings letting them hang to the ground, then poured a line of gasoline from one rag to the other, all the lines connecting and leading toward the exit. They put the empty gas cans back in the car then lit the stream of gas and ran to the car. They waited until they saw the first trucks catch fire then drove away, turning left on 3rd avenue and speeding as fast as they could for a few blocks then turned down to 2nd avenue which was completely deserted. About a minute after they left the lot they heard an explosion and saw a red glow in the sky. There goes the first one Vin. Yeah. Looks kindda pretty, eh? Yeah. Itll look even better when the others go too. Yeah, and they laughed. They were half way back to the Greeks when they heard more explosions, muffled but still identifiable, and the glow in the sky was brighter. Pretty good job, eh? Yeah. I guess we gavem their moneys worth. You know Sal, we could go in business if the strike lasts long enough. Yeah, laughing. They ditched the car, first dumping the gas cans, and went back to the Greeks.

  Harry was standing on the sidewalk looking down 2nd avenue toward the glow in the sky. Harry laughed his laugh when he saw Sal and Vinnie. Whaddayause a hand grenade? hahaha. Whattayasay Harry? Whattayadoin here? I came ta watch the fireworks, haha. Ya guys sure know how ta blow things up, haha. Take it easy, eh man. Yeah, dont talk so fuckin loud. Dont worry. We/re not, but youd betta get home. If the law comes around they/ll drag yaass in. Yeah, turning away from the creep and going into the Greeks. I/ll seeya, laughing his laugh and going home.

  Harry had a long lovely sleep. When he awoke, late in the morning, he lit a cigarette and looked at the ceiling, closing his eyes from time to time, hearing, but not paying attention to, the sounds Mary made, as she walked around the apartment, and his son, as he played on the living room floor. He thought of that lovely red glow in the sky and how hed like to go up to wilson and the boss and tell them ta watch out or theyd get their asses blown up too, just like those fuckin scab trucks ya sent out. Ya may think youre a big wheel or somethin, but dont fuck with me or youll be sorry, yahear? Dont fuck with Harry Black, Shop Steward of Local 392 so watch it buddy, youre not fuckin with a nobody. Im on the union payroll now and dontya forget it because I pull weight around here and I get my money every week no matter how long the strike lasts and what Mary dont know wont hurt her, I could use the extra money myself anyway, Im the fuckin boss around here and she/d betta not fuck with me either or I throw her ass out in the street. Id be betta off withouter the way shes always breakin my balls . . .

  Harry stayed in bed for a couple of hours, looking at the ceiling, closing his eyes, smoking, his face twisting occasionally into an almost smile. When he got up he dressed and went up to the Greeks. He had a couple of cups of coffee and something to eat and sat around for a while then told the counterman to tell Sal and Vinnie, or any of the guys that come in, that he was across the street in his office.

  He filled a pitcher with beer, grabbed a glass and sat at his desk, rolling the chair back and forth a few times. He sat at the desk for a few minutes then jumped up and went next door to the bar and asked the bartender if he had todays paper. Yeah, theres one on the table in the back. Takeit if yawant. Harry took the paper and left the bar waving to the bartender. Seeya lateta. He spread the paper out on his desk, after looking at the front page, and looked at the centerfold. There was a small picture of a few trucks burning. The caption said that the trucks were parked in the lot for the night and had mysteriously burst into flames and exploded. No one was injured. Harry guzzled some beer, licked his lips and stared at the picture, almost smiling, for many minutes, then called the union office. I see in the paper that a couplea trucks got burned last night, hahaha. Yes, the police have been here already. No shit? what happened? Nothing. They asked some questions and we told them that we knew nothing about it. Fuckem, the pricks. Right, and the conversation was ended.

  Harry had almost finished his second pitcher of beer when Sal, Vinnie, a few of the other guys and the fairy that had been in the bar, came in. Harry got up and waved to the guys, whattayasay, looking at the fairy, watching her walk daintily across the floor toward him. The guys grabbed glasses. Howd yalike that little job we did? Not bad, eh? and someone handed the fairy a glass. She eyed it disdainfully, I hope you dont expect me to drink from this filthy thing . . . really! Theres a sink in the back. Go washit. What the fuck ya bitchin about? youve had worse than that in ya mouth, and the guys laughed. Any meat I put in my mouth honey has the government stamp of approval, and she sauntered to the sink and carefully washed the glass, Harry watching her until she came back then he turned to Vinnie. Yeah, that was a good job. Theres a picha in the paper. Here. They looked at the picture and laughed. Man, whatta night. What a fuckin ball. Yeah. Weve been gobblin bennies all night man and we/re highern a motherfucka. Hey, how about some music, and the radio was turned on. Hey, this kegs almost empty man. That one over theres full. Tapit. Hey Harry, this heres Ginger, a real sweet kid, chuckling, but dont fuck witer man. She use ta be a brick la
yer. Yeah, now shes a prick layer. The guys laughed and Harry leered at her. Hey, dont yaknow how ta tap a fuckin keg? the fuckin beers goin all over. Whattaya want from me? its warm as piss. Harry said hello and Ginger curtsied. Go next door and get some ice from Al. Its too fuckin hot ta drink warm beer. No shitman, she really use ta be a bricklayer. Yeah, shoim ya muscle Ginger. She smiled and rolled up her sleeve and exhibited a large appleshaped muscle. Aint that some shit? But she got some lovely chips, snapping his fingers and making a chirping sound. You can look but dont touch. Thats it man, pack the sonofabitch with ice. I like cold beer. Tell me Harold, are you in charge of this establishment. Hey, watch yalanguage. Harry sat down, pushed his chair back and drank some beer. Yeah. Im in charge a the strike, wiping his mouth with his hand, still staring. Ginger smiled and almost told him he looked ludicrous, but could not be bothered putting the freak down. My, that must be quite a task. Yeah, its a bitch of a job, but I get it done. Im pretty big in the union yaknow. Yes, I can well imagine, her stomach twitching from swallowed giggles. Whattayamean its not cold enough yet. Im dyin a thirst. How inthefuck can yadrink warm beer. Wit my mouth, what thefuck yathink. You know, I'm hungry. Why dont one of you gentlemen get me something to eat. Here, I got ya supppa, swingin, and they laughed. Im sorry honey, but I dont like moldy worm eaten meat. Save it for your Mother ... if you have one. Hahaha, youre my motha, come an getit. Hey Harry, how about callin up some joint and havin some food sent down here. Ya can sign the bill. O, can you do that Harold? Sure. I can get anythin yawant. I just send the bills to the union. I got a expense sheet. Id just love a barbecued chicken. How the fuck canya eat afta all those bennies. I couldnt go near any food. All I wanna do is drink. Im driernhell. O you novices. Really! Order me a barbecued chicken Harold and get a chocolate layer cake, waving her hand majestically and nodding her head to indicate that she had given an irrevocable order. Yeah, get some chickens, a couplea cakes—and a gallon a ice cream. Man could I go for some ice cream. And how about some potato salad and pickles? Yeah, and—call up Kramers delicatessen on 5th avenue. They got all that shit up there. Harry got on the phone and they continued to shout orders at him and he relayed them to Mr. Kramer. When he finished ordering he sat back and took another gulp of beer and watched Ginger as she danced lightly around the room, the excitement that had started when he awoke and increased as he looked at the picture and continued to grow when he called the union office and when the guys and Ginger came in, continued to increase and he leaned forward in his chair slightly as Ginger whirled around the room shaking the tight cheeks of her ass and Harry caressed his beer glass and licked his lips not knowing exactly what he was doing, his body reacting and tingling, aware of nothing but a lightness, almost a giddiness, and a fascination. And a feeling of power and strength. Things would be different now. He was Harry Black. On the payroll of local 392.