Young and Violent

by Packer, Vin

  Marie gives a glance toward the tables and tells Babe, “That’s what I mean, Baby-O. The Jungles do things big! Them Junglettes act like queens, don’t they? You don’t see no one walk up to their bunch and try to horn in for a dance. They’re labeled goods.”

  Babe wears a low-cut, off-the-shoulder sweater with rhinestones fastened all over it and no brassière under it. It is cherry-colored, and the silk skirt is full and black. Rhinestone combs hold her hair up on top of her head, and her ear lobes have dangling rhinestone earrings clipped to them. On her feet she wears her best Cuban-heeled, black patent leather shoes, and stockings, to signify the importance of the occasion. From her small, oval-shaped beaded purse, she takes a miniature bottle of cologne, and dabs some on the insides of her wrists with her fingers.

  “In a matter of time, Marie,” she says, “we will have no one to envy. You want some of this stuff for your wrists?”

  “Thanks.” Marie imitates Babe and hands the cologne back. Her get-up is not as fetching as Baby-O’s, though she has added falsies to her blue satin dress and pinned a paper gardenia in her hair. There is a dark spot near the neckline of the dress where she attempted to dry-clean a stew stain with a powder she bought at the drugstore down the street.

  “Word is around that Eyes de Jarro’s girl friend was pushed to death off a roof last night.” Marie says.

  Baby-O laughs. “It wouldn’t surprise me that Eyes was the one to push her. I can’t wait to get a load of Gober’s face when we pull the big scene on him.”

  “The Jungles sure got Gober coming and going, Baby-O. I mean, last night the Polack’s luncheonette, and today his other chick gets taken.”

  “Yeah, but my pleasure is that the rumble isn’t over the bust-up job, but over the fact Pontiac is making the play for me tonight. Gober is not one to let his temper cool. If the Polack had meant all that much, he would have gone for Flat Head long before this. Like this afternoon, Kings or no Kings. Gober is not one to run with the gang unless his mood is the same as theirs. Take it from me, I know.”

  “You would if anyone would, Baby-O!”

  “Gober I know like a book. He is not the one to go around long with a chick that doesn’t let him have what he wants. And Gober wants only one thing in this world from a chick! Well, he can rumble for it now that the Polack affair is cooled. May the best man win!”

  Marie eyes Babe Limon with surprise. “You would go back with that louse if he did win?”

  “I don’t say that. I just say I am giving Gober a taste of his medicine. Hey — brace yourself!” Baby-O says, nudging Marie in the side with her elbow and watching the entrance. “The fireworks are about to commence!”

  At each side of the wide inner doorway leading to the ballroom, a large plaster figure of a nude woman, reclining on a rug, greets the entrants. Before the one on the left, the social chairman of the Kings of the Earth stands surveying the room. Then he turns to the Kings behind him, and says, “All right, we’re first tonight. That’s as it should be. Now let’s make this the best fall-in we ever had, because we all look mighty sweet. Okay, Gobe?”

  “Okay, Flash.”

  Gober does indeed look sweet. Tonight he wears his coolest — the navy blue suit, the white-on-white shirt, the red string tie, the square-cornered handkerchief in the breast pocket, the blue suede shoes and red socks. His black hair is combed back neatly and parted evenly, and it is not lacquered.

  If there is one thing in this world Gober knows how to do it is how to fall in. Stepping just inside the entrance, he takes a stand there, turned slightly to the side, facing the refreshment stand and the tables along the wall. One knee is bent, and he casually pulls back his jacket and hooks his thumbs around his bright, wide red suspenders. His face is stony, save for the gradual raising of his right eyebrow, and the gentle poke his tongue takes at his cheek inside his mouth.

  A step behind him, the other Kings make a row. They match their leader’s disdain with various innovations of their own; leers, grimaces, and highly individual bodily contortions.

  Through closed teeth, Gober says, “Eyes ain’t here, huh?”

  “No,” Flash murmurs behind him. “I tell you that after what happened, I don’t think he’ll show.”

  “I bet my life he does show,” Gober says. “Eyes took his wife pretty seriously, I can see that now, and it is to his credit. But Eyes would not chicken on us. He’s a good King. It’s Tea I worry at now.”

  Next to Flash, Braden speaks up. “Tea is probably cold-turkeyed right now.”

  “That’s what I hate to imagine,” Gober says.

  “Well, Gobe, there’s Baby-O over there, and I see she’s let them out of their cages for the event. I see them bobbing around inside that sweater every time she says something to Easy Marie.” Flash says. “You see her, Gobe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And look beyond at the chicks of the Jungles, with posies in their hair, and little Bo-peep bags. Ain’t that a picture of Spring in the Rockies if you ever seen one?”

  “That’s a picture, all right.” Gober says. He straightens and flips a cigarette from a package he pulls from his pocket. Braden is quick to scratch a match and lean forward with a light.

  “Okay,” Gober says in hushed tones. “We proceed as planned. After the bit by Pontiac, the formalities are over. We let on like they’re not for half an hour or so, one by one gradually leaving and hiking it over to the clubhouse to change gear and get ammunition. We come on like we’re sort of falling apart at the seams, like we can’t handle the insult, like we’re going to light out and lick our wounds in the bushes — and pull a rumble tomorrow. Don’t forget to pretend we plan to get them tomorrow. Kings, we’re going to jap these horny Jungles so as they can’t move — but Pontiac is mine.”

  “You gonna use the piece on him, Gobe?”

  “I didn’t polish it for a display window,” Gober snaps.

  Behind the Kings, a huge, swarthy man wearing a white coat and black pants, says, “You guys in line for a bus or something? Move inta the ballroom and let others get by.”

  “Watch your tone, man,” Two Heads Pigaro says back, “or you’ll insult us paying customers.”

  “I sell some other tickets besides to youse guys,” the bouncer snarls, “and I got the phone number of the police any time you don’t believe me.”

  “Yeah, squeal and die young, fatso!”

  “Remember,” the man warns, “I told you once to get on inta the room and don’t block passage.”

  “C’mon,” Gober says after the bouncer is out of sight. “Let’s open the curtain.”

  As Gober strolls leisurely across the shining waxed floor of the ballroom, the other Kings follow him pridefully. Gober lets his cigarette dangle from his lips, his arms at his sides, his fingers snapping in time with his step. He heads straight for the refreshment table, where Babe Limon stands slightly in front of the rest in that cluster. At the tables along the wall, the Junglettes watch, fascinated.

  Directly in front of Baby-O, the cigarette still hanging in his mouth, Gober comes to an abrupt stop. The smoke curls up past his handsome features, and momentarily he simply looks at her through his dark, bright eyes. Baby-O looks back at him, steadily. Baby-O is no amateur at playing this game.

  “I need a fresh smoke,” Gober tells her.

  You have to give Baby-O credit for being smooth.

  Her hand reaches up to Gober’s cigarette and takes it from between his lips. She brings it to her own lips, draws in on it, and then drops it to the floor. Gober crushes it with his shoe. Out of the side of her mouth, Baby-O blows smoke slowly, opening her bag and producing a fresh cigarette. This she puts in her mouth. Gober snaps a match in flame with his fingernail. She lights it and hands the cigarette to Gober.

  Arrogantly Gober smiles. He flips it to the floor without smoking it. Baby-O comes on like no other chick in the world can. She steps on the red ash of the cigarette.

  Then Gober says, “Ask!”

  Baby-O mo
ves closer to him. She stands with her round breasts pushing into him from under the sweater. Gober’s grin broadens to an even more arrogant one than the original. He takes her by the arm, pulls her close in a dancing embrace, and whips her away from the ring of people gathered around to witness the production.

  Flash sighs with awe for his leader. “You know something?” he tells Braden. “I was skeptical before we got here. You know that?”

  Braden says, “Last night didn’t hurt none at all. Gober needed to see the dawn again, that’s all. He’s behaving like a King again.”

  Flash says, “Naw, I mean, I was wondering if maybe Baby-O would pull something, like not come on the way she did. But she knows whose property she is.”

  Two Heads Pigaro says, “Yeah, lookit them out there. Wait till Pontiac gets here. What a kick! He’s gonna be a two-time loser t’night!”

  Blitz Gianonni rubs his hands together, glancing around at the other girls near the refreshment booth. “Refreshments, anybody?” he chortles….

  Gober holds Babe Limon possessively, his eyes cold, the smile gone from his mouth, his expression reverted to the same cool one he affected for the fall-in. He mamboes expertly, his body moving against hers in the necessary hot rhythm of the music. She says nothing, assuming the same disposition. The blue lights dance over the shadows of their faces. When Gober finally does concede to talk to her, he says, “Your style’s up to par tonight, Babe. Keep it that way.”

  “Really?”

  “I have a great big score to settle with the Jungles tonight, and in particular with Flat Head.”

  “Would I let you down, Gober?”

  “You would not. But tonight I want it extra special. When you brush him, brush him!”

  “Did you think I would do otherwise?”

  “Chicks are funny, Baby. This afternoon I don’t know how to figure it. Maybe you are pulling a fast one, I think. But when the votes are in, there is a fact about this sort of thing. And that is people stick by what they know.”

  “True. True.”

  “What do you know about Flat Head Pontiac, you’d let him cut me out? That is something about you, Baby, I learned just a second ago. You play by the rules of the game, and you play hard. Your style was never better than just then.”

  “That’s because my heart is always in it, Gober. Like you.”

  Gober says, “If you can’t stick by what you know, you got nothing else!”

  About thirteen Jungles are gathered on a corner near the Aphrodite Ballroom, when Pontiac’s sleek Buick convertible draws up to the curb.

  “Here’s our boy!” Blackie Buttoni shouts. “Right on the nose!”

  They stand waiting as Flat Head eases himself from behind the driver’s seat, and steps out of the car. Bull Rossi slides under the wheel. Pontiac checks the back seat. Sweaters and khaki pants and sneaks are piled there, and sitting mutely beside them, Tea Bag Perrez smokes a cigarette and stares straight ahead of him.

  “Okay, Bull!” Pontiac says. “You got your orders straight?”

  Bull tells Pontiac, “I’ll be parked at the side entrance. We’ll change on the way down, them that’s driving down. The others change ahead of time, coming out one by one, and head off in the same direction. Perrez is about four hours from hell now, and he don’t get any birdie powder till he works for it.”

  “Good cat!” Pontiac says. “Take it!”

  Stepping backward from the car, he raises his hand in a salute which Bull returns as he starts the motor and pulls away.

  “Citizens, citizens,” Jeep exclaims, “dig the outfit that is the most!”

  Pontiac pretends to ignore the compliment. He sports a powder-blue linen suit, a light-blue silk shirt, a narrow white silk tie, and white buff shoes. In the lapel of his suit jacket is a white carnation. His black hair is newly brush-cut. He smells faintly of pine lotion.

  “Jungles!” he says, “we got a full night and I am anxious to get started. Only one last word. The Junglette who is carrying your ammunition is the one to stay closest to. Keep your eye on her bag at all times, and by no means goof and try to take your weapon from her in plain sight of everyone. The best way is to make it look like you and her going to take a walk toward the end of the evening. Then tell her to vamoose, and you get changed.”

  The Jungles murmur their approval of this plan, and follow after Pontiac as he leads the way toward the Aphrodite….

  It is intermission when the Jungles stage their fall-in. The band has left the stand, and everyone is standing around in groups talking, pouring shots of whisky from hip-pocket bottles into Cokes and ginger ale, and waiting for just what happens then.

  Gober is sitting at a table with Baby-O, Braden and Marie, when Pontiac suddenly strolls between the plaster nudes, and steps to the head of the ballroom. For the event Pontiac sports a blue cigar holder, and as he stands there he reaches in his pocket for a gold nail and a cigar and punctures the end of the cigar with the nail in a studied air of sophistication; then he lights the cigar, and rocks back and forth on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Whatta pig!” Braden exclaims.

  “I been waiting for this,” Gober says. He grabs a hold of Baby-O’s hand and grasps it tightly, masterfully, in his lap.

  Filing past Pontiac now in a single line are the Jungles. They amble blithely across the middle of the dance floor and over to the tables, where sit the smiling Junglettes. Before each one takes his place beside a Junglette, he bows exaggeratedly from the waist.

  “Now ain’t that just too too hoity-toity for words,” Braden smirks.

  “Looks like a pansy fall-in,” Two Heads Pigaro says from the next table.

  Then the room is tense. Pontiac is moving directly toward the table Gober and Baby-O occupy. His steps are deliberate, each one emphasized by a puff of cigar smoke.

  “Give him a real brush, Baby,” Gober says.

  Baby-O answers, “You know me.”

  Then Pontiac stands with his shoulders thrown back, looking down at them.

  “If the smell of my cigar is offensive,” he states, “please say so.”

  Braden says, “It stinks, but you stink worse!” Gober remains sullen, feigning oblivion to Pontiac’s presence.

  “I am directing my question to the ladies, dad.”

  “I like it, personally,” Marie Lorenzi says.

  Gober thinks he should have known better than to trust that box, but wait until Baby-O sounds. Gober believes it is beneath his dignity as King of Kings to notice Pontiac at all.

  “I’ve been thinking, Marie,” Pontiac says, “that maybe you would be more comfortable at another table.” “Maybe you’re right,” Marie says. “Big loss!” Braden croaks.

  Pontiac puts his hands on the back of Marie’s chair. “May I?”

  Two Heads Pigaro says, “Why not? Everybody else has.” Pontiac holds the chair back while Marie slips out of it. smoothing her blue dress with her hands, flushing excitedly, but nervously too. Baby-O seems not to be aware of any change taking place. She smokes a cigarette and stares at it wordlessly. But just wait, Gober thinks. Pontiac is taking something from his pocket. It is a piece of cellophane with a white carnation inside.

  “Real flowers for a real chick!” he says elegantly.

  “From a real lily!” Braden snickers.

  Marie takes the flower and Pontiac points toward the Junglettes table. “Be our guest,” he says.

  “Thanks,” Marie murmurs, walking rather awkwardly toward the seat which Blackie Buttoni leaps up to offer to her. Almost everyone in the Aphrodite Ballroom is watching the scene with intense fascination.

  “And now,” Flat Head Pontiac drawls, “Miss Limon, Would you care to dance?”

  “Did you bring your own band too, Flat Head?” Braden says, but Gober punches him on the knee under the table. Gober wants Baby-O to turn it on Pontiac now.

  Baby-O comes alive then. She turns halfway in her chair, her hand stubbing out the cigarette she is smoking. Her tee
th flash in a wide, warm smile. Gober is dumfounded to hear her say, “I would.”

  He stays frozen to his chair while Pontiac debonairly pulls Babe’s chair out, and gives her the bow-from-the-waist routine. His eyes watch dully as Pontiac takes from his lapel the carnation he wears, and hands it to Baby-O. Then, to the horrified amazement of the Kings of The Earth and the triumphant pleasure of the Jungles, Baby-O and Pontiac take to the dance floor and waltz there by themselves, without any music….

  • • •

  It’s a good thing he don’t have to sit down to git where he’s goin’ because he couldn’t if he wanted to, and that’s a fact. Four times he was on the point of giving his mother the slip when the eyes she got in the back of her head seen him, and he got his behind wasted.

  Now he’s made the scene and he’s headin’ towards 102nd Street, jet-propelled.

  When he sees Gober, has he got news!

  XIV

  This talk about juvenile delinquency running riot in asphalt jungles and blackboard jungles crops up in the news every five years or so. Each time it sounds as though the world just isn’t a safe place for decent people to raise children. Well, I’m one who is a little fed up with newspaper sensationalism! A few kids go off half-cocked and make trouble — is that a jungle? Let’s be realistic! There aren’t any real jungles! They exist in the minds of our hungry authors and journalists!

  — FROM A TELECAST OF J.P. RALEIGH’S “INSPIRATION HOUR.”

  ONE THING I know,” Braden says as he buckles his Sam Browne belt around his waist, “is that them Jungles are gonna get the surprise of their rotten lives about one hour from now.”