The Amboy Dukes

by Irving Shulman

  After he left the principal’s office Frank had to lean against the wall while he pulled himself together, and it seemed as if his mother’s scolding and cursing came from a distance. Although he knew that she stood right next to him, her voice seemed to come through a fog and it did not bother him. The cops suspected nothing and would never find out who had knocked off Mr. Bannon. Not from him they wouldn’t. But what about Benny? Benny was still waiting to be questioned, and he didn’t know what Benny might do. If Benny were only smarter and not such a loudmouth. Look at the way he had started to tell the girls about the Dukes. And why hadn’t the cops asked him about where he had been and where he had gone after the class had been dismissed by Mr. Hayes? He didn’t know what to do about an alibi. Or maybe the best alibi was that they had gone from school to their clubroom to Davidson’s and back to their club until they had called the girls, eaten in the delicatessen, and taken them out in Sam’s car.

  That was the first bad break: Benny didn’t have a license. So what? Frank figured. Lots of guys drove without licenses, and the most that could happen would be another bawling out and then Sam would be fined. So it wasn’t so bad, and they would be just a couple of irresponsible kids who had gone on the hook and driven a car without a license. The only thing was Benny. If he became rattled they were goners, but the murder rap would make Benny careful. Look at the way he had encased the metal parts of the gun in the plaster of paris and had dropped it off the bridge between Brooklyn and Jacob Riis Park in Rockaway. There wasn’t an auto on the bridge when Frank had driven the car close to the rail, and Benny had heaved the package over so smoothly that the girls had seen nothing.

  They had an alibi, and now they were going to go to school, and he was going to start hanging around the Center a little. He was going to stop drinking and smoking reefers, and Benny was going to do the same. They would never be caught, but the fear did not leave him, and that was why he could not eat.

  “You know”—he kept his eyes on the plate as he spoke—“I’m sorry I caused you all this trouble, Mom. You too, Pop. Honest, it won’t happen again.”

  “How can I believe you?” his mother wailed. “You stay out late and don’t go to school and you’re going to get into more trouble and disgrace us!”

  “Rashke”—his father was exasperated—“please be good enough to stop. You’re making things worse than they are.”

  “Still, Meyer,” she said to her husband, “no one is asking you.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you. You don’t know when to stop.”

  “Let’s all go to the movies after supper,” Alice suggested.

  Frank smiled and winked at her. “Sure,” he said, “let’s. We’ll all feel better.”

  “I’m tired,” his mother said. “You can go to the movies, but I’ve got to work tomorrow. I lost enough today,” she reminded Frank. “Enough.”

  Frank approached his mother and forced himself to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom, believe me.”

  She would never know how sorry, he thought.

  Black Benny stood in front of the candy store on Amboy Street and wondered if he looked the same. Some of the boys had once said that as soon as you killed your first guy your appearance changed. He looked in the mirror of the gum-vending machine and didn’t see any change, except that maybe his eyes were frightened. If only he were certain of Frank, for something about Frank made him uneasy. What it was he couldn’t put his finger on, but maybe it was the moony, squeamish way of his, like when he didn’t want to line up on a babe or the way he felt about this new babe Betty. The trouble with Frank was that he was always dreaming and out of the world. Like when he had tanked Crazy for kidding around with his kid sister. It was Frank who had insisted that they go to school yesterday. If they would’ve stayed out of school it was certain they wouldn’t have knocked off Bannon.

  They did it. No matter how Frank figured it, they did it. If Frank would’ve been able to give Mr. Bannon a battle, then Benny wouldn’t have had to slug him with the gun butt and Bannon would be alive today. Bannon looked crazy when he was twisting his arm, as if he were trying to tear it right out of his shoulder. So what could he do? Bannon might have shot him, and he didn’t mean to pull the trigger, only Bannon was ripping out his arm and the pain had been running in hot white flashes up through his arm until he just had to break loose from the son of a bitch. So now he was dead and the gun was destroyed and there weren’t any clues, and still he didn’t feel safe. If Mitch or Bull or Larry or Moishe or any of the other guys in the Dukes, except Crazy, had been in on it, he would’ve felt safe, but Frank was an unknown quantity, like the x in algebra. Sometimes it meant a lot and sometimes it was nothing; there was no way of solving the equation. Real hard guys, when they worried about a guy squealing or ratting, knocked off the guy who might get them in trouble, but he was never going to do that again. Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Frank Tuesday night and got rid of his gun? Frank had wiped his fingerprints off his gun and dropped it down a sewer on their way to school Wednesday morning. But he had to be a hard guy, and now there was a feeling of pain in his chest whenever he thought of the look on Bannon’s face before he died. It was driving him nuts.

  The guys were leaving him alone because they knew he was feeling lousy, but now he wanted someone to talk to, and he went into the candy store and sat at a table with Larry Tunafish, Mitch, and Crazy.

  “Where’s Frank?” Larry asked him.

  “I’ve been waiting for him,” Benny replied.

  “I guess he’ll be around,” Mitch said.

  “He’s a rat,” Crazy said.

  Benny’s heart started to pound. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He’s just a rat. A regular rat.”

  “Shut your hole.” Larry slapped Crazy across the back of the head. “You’re always talking.”

  Benny tried to ask casually, “Is Frank a rat?” He wondered if the guys could hear his heart pounding.

  “Are you becoming like Crazy too?” Larry laughed. “Don’t listen to the jerk. Listen, Crazy”—he squirmed sideways in the booth—“I don’t like to hear that kind of talk about one of our guys. Frank and Benny are in a jam and—”

  “I’m in no jam!” Benny moved suddenly and tipped over his water glass. “You jerk,” he said to Crazy, “now look what you made me do!”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you!”

  “Cut it out, guys,” Mitch said. “Hey, Selma,” he called to the girl behind the counter, “wipe up this table, will you?”

  “In a minute,” she called back.

  “Everyone picks on me,” Crazy went on. “All I’ve got to do is say something and everyone picks on me. Next time you guys want some steaks you know what you can do.”

  “No one’s picking on you,” Larry said to him. “But you can’t go around talking like that about our guys. You don’t like Frank; that’s all right with me, but don’t go shouting your mouth off about him being a rat. He’s got some good friends in the Dukes, ain’t he, Benny?”

  “You’re damned right.” Benny wished he were sure of it. “Frank is an all-right guy.”

  “I’m not saying anything any more.” Crazy pursed his lips together. “See? I’m a dummy.”

  “You sure are,” Mitch said kindly. “But we all like you.”

  “You know”—Larry sucked on his coke—“I wonder who did knock off your teacher, Benny.”

  “How the hell should I know!”

  “Say,” Larry said quickly, “what the hell is the matter with you?”

  Benny drummed nervously with his fingers on the table. “Nothing.”

  “You in trouble?” Mitch asked him.

  “No!”

  “Listen,” Larry said, “what’s the matter? You’re jumpy.”

  “I know,” Benny agreed. “I must’ve eaten something.”

  “You want a reefer?” Crazy asked him.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then I’ll smoke one.” Crazy took a
cigarette from his case.

  “You’re smoking too many of them,” Larry said. “You’re high now.”

  “I like them.” Crazy sucked in his breath and exhaled. “Boy, I sure feel wonderful when I’m smokin’.”

  “He’s becoming a regular hophead,” Benny said.

  Selma approached their booth, and they were silent as she wiped the table. As she turned around to walk away Crazy goosed her.

  “You bastard!” She whirled about. “Someday I’ll cut your fingers off for that!”

  “You know you like it.” Crazy leered at her.

  “From you?” she sniffed. “Now I know you’re crazy!”

  Crazy stood up in the booth, but Mitch pulled him back to the seat.

  “Go on, Selma,” Mitch told her. “Don’t mind him.”

  “Yeah,” Crazy said to her, “go on. Beat it. Now I’m not gonna get you the present I promised.”

  “Stick your present up your you know what,” Selma spit at him, and went back to the counter.

  “What were you gonna get her?” Larry asked Crazy.

  “Somethin’ nice. A flask that fits over her bubs. I saw a nice one on Nassau Street that a guy in the store was gonna swap me for a roast. Now I won’t get it for her.”

  “You’re right,” Mitch agreed, and looked meaningly at Larry and Benny, “she’s not good enough for you.”

  “You’re my friend.” Crazy turned to him. “You’re the only guy in our gang that I like.”

  “Don’t you like us?” Larry asked him.

  “Sure, but not like I like Mitch. Mitch, you know who I think I’m gonna make my new girl?”

  “Who?”

  “Fanny Kane.”

  “Her?” Black Benny laughed. “She’s only about twelve. Crazy, you’ll be saying good morning to a judge.”

  “You’d better stay away from her,” Larry agreed.

  “I like her,” Crazy insisted stubbornly. “She’s young but put together.”

  “Does she like you?” Mitch asked him.

  “Sure she does. When I say hello to her she says hello to me.”

  “I guess she likes you then.” Mitch winked at him. “You’re just a sharp article with the women, Crazy.”

  “Come on, Benny, snap out of it,” Larry said suddenly. “Say, I wanta ask you something.”

  “What?” Benny squirmed and wondered where Frank was. Maybe Crazy was right.

  Larry leaned across the table and whispered, “Do you know who knocked off your teacher?”

  Benny fought to keep himself seated. “No”—he shook his head slowly—“I don’t.”

  “Then why in hell are you so nervous?” Larry asked him.

  Benny bit his lips to keep from screaming and he picked up Mitch’s water glass and drank because his lips were dry and thick. “Because I can’t get it out of my mind that if Frank ‘n’ me hadn’t horsed around that morning maybe Bannon would be alive today. He wasn’t such a bad guy, and I don’t know why anyone’d want to knock him off. Now Frank ‘n’ me got our pictures in the paper, and my old man would’ve given me a shellacking if Sam didn’t stop him. And cops make me nervous.”

  “I don’t like cops,” Crazy said solemnly.

  “If you don’t stop cutting guys up like you did on Monday you’re gonna see cops every day,” Mitch warned him.

  “And Frank was grilled today before I was, and I don’t know what they asked him and I just gotta know, and the jerk isn’t here or anyplace. I’d like to kick him right in the ass.”

  “Maybe his old man and lady are keeping him home,” Larry suggested.

  “Maybe,” Mitch agreed.

  “Well, he ought to get out someway,” Benny insisted.

  “He’s a rat,” Crazy said again.

  “Shut up,” Larry said.

  “He’s a rat,” Crazy repeated. “A rat. A rat. A rat. Frank is a rat. Watch out for him, Benny. I’m warning you.” There was mockery and cunning in Crazy’s voice as he leaned across the table and whispered to Benny.

  Benny looked at Crazy and said nothing.

  Chapter 6

  Frank sat next to Benny on the uncomfortable high-backed bench in the anteroom of the Liberty Avenue police station and traced the crack in the green paint from the baseboard to the ceiling. The crack went across the ceiling, but it was uncomfortable leaning back to see how far it went, and he shut his eyes and tried to recite the alphabet backward. He squirmed and was uncomfortable and wondered whether their alibi would stick. He saw no holes in it. For two hours now the detectives had been quizzing the boys in his official class, and the cops had brought in for questioning the boys who had been troublemakers in Mr. Bannon’s other classes.

  The boys slouched on the benches. Some rested their heads against the backs and balanced their hats on their foreheads and noses, pretending to be asleep and indifferent to the questioning, while others tried to read newspapers and magazines, smoked, or conversed in hushed voices. They hated cops impersonally and because cop-hating was the tough, right thing to do. If they walked along the streets and talked of innocent things they would instinctively break off the conversation as they passed a policeman or a scout car. Now they were waiting to be questioned and each one wanted to be tough, to tell the cops that he wasn’t going to talk without his lawyer, even if they gave him a workout, and baffle the cops by his silence and hardness. Somewhere among them was the killer, and by sitting in close proximity to him they derived a vicarious thrill. They wouldn’t tell the cops anything, and by being un-co-operative, vague, and ambiguous, they would be helping the guy who knocked off their teacher, sharing in the crime and putting one over on the cops, who were no good, who were always raiding their poolrooms and breaking up their crap games.

  The door opened and one of the boys walked out. They looked at him and were disappointed, for he had not been beaten.

  “You”—the policeman pointed to one of the boys at random—“come in.”

  They watched the boy swagger defiantly into the room, and then the door closed and again they relaxed to wait their turn.

  Benny nudged Frank. “How much longer before they call us?”

  Frank followed the crack to the ceiling before he replied: “I don’t know.”

  “What d’ya think they’ll ask us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Must we tell them about the car?”

  Frank nodded affirmatively.

  “Sam’s sore already.”

  “We’ve got to tell them if they ask us. Now shut up.”

  “You’re a hell of a guy,” Benny whispered. “Going to the movies with your sister last night while I’m sweating it out on the corner with the guys.”

  “I had to do it. Stop worrying, Benny, and stop talking. You’ll get us in a jam if you don’t shut up. Relax.”

  Benny sighed, tipped his hat over his eyes, and slid down on the bench.

  When the door opened again and the policeman ordered Frank and Benny to come in together there was an electric stir along the benches, an undercurrent of movement and quickened interest, for until now the boys had been interrogated individually, and taking the two of them together meant something.

  “Sit down, boys.” Detective Macon motioned to the chairs. He held out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

  “No. Thanks,” they said in unison.

  Macon waved his match to extinguish the flame. “Sorry to keep you kids waiting, but things like this take time.”

  “Sure,” Benny replied.

  “Now let me see,” Macon said. “Which one of you is Benjamin Semmel?”

  Benny gulped. “I am.”

  “Then you’re Frank Goldfarb?”

  “Right.”

  “My name is Macon. Louis Macon. And I want you boys to feel that I’m a friend of yours. I know you don’t believe that”—he laughed shortly—“and I guess you don’t like dicks. But we aren’t bad guys, and when you get to know me you’ll know that I’m regular. Now”—Macon loosened his belt buckle
—“I’ll have to ask you some questions, and Miss Reid here”—he flicked his thumb toward the stenographer—“is going to take our conversation.”

  “Shoot,” Frank said.

  “Fine. Do you know who shot Mr. Bannon?”

  “No,” Frank replied.

  “And you?” Macon turned to Benny.

  Benny could feel his voice leaving him. “No.”

  “Did you shoot him, Frank?”

  “No.”

  “Benjamin—say, do the guys call you that?”

  “They call me Benny.”

  “That’s what I thought. Did you shoot him, Benny?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. You kids don’t look like killers.”

  Frank did not reply. The trap was too obvious. If this was the way it was going to be they would have to step carefully if they expected to stay in the clear. For this dick was just playing dumb. He would have to be careful. Even though he had been getting the beating and Benny had shot Bannon, he would have to be careful. Careful for himself and careful for Benny. He knew that Benny was sore at him, but what could he do? He had to take care of himself, and the sooner he could cut himself loose from Benny, the better. Though any way he figured it he didn’t see an out. He was stuck, and so long as he was stuck he had to be careful.