Mitch whistled. “So you’re dating her?”
“Gee.” Crazy stopped swinging his key chain. “I kissed her on my roof tonight and she let me squeeze her bubs. She’s my girl. She said she was my girl and she liked me and she wasn’t going to go with anybody else because we’re going steady.”
“Fine,” Mitch said patiently. “What time you meeting her?”
“Nine o’clock.”
Mitch’s expression was one of disgust. “Stupid,” he said to Crazy, “you know it’s almost ten?”
Crazy looked at his watch. “Two more minutes,” he said defensively.
“You sure you made up to meet her here?”
“That’s what I thought, but I could swear by anything that we made up in front of the Pitkin.”
“Come on,” Mitch said, “she’s not gonna show up.”
“Maybe she got held up somewhere,” Crazy said.
“I wouldn’t wait for Hedy Lamarr more than fifteen minutes,” Mitch said. “Come on. We’ll go down the club.”
“No.”
“Bull’s bringing down Rosie Beanbags. You like her.”
Crazy compressed his lips stubbornly. “I’m waitin’ for my girl.”
“How long you gonna wait?”
“Till she comes.”
“All night?”
“She’ll be here soon. Go away, Mitch.” Crazy turned away from him.
“Rosie Beanbags,” Mitch said cajolingly, “and we’re gonna make her take all her clothes off.”
“No!”
Mitch straightened Crazy’s tie. “Hold it,” he ordered him, “your tie’s crooked.”
Crazy stood quietly while Mitch undid his tie and re-knotted it.
“Now”—Mitch patted the knot—“it looks better.”
“Thanks,” Crazy said. “I wish I could tie a tie like you can.”
“I’ll teach you,” Mitch said. “Are you coming down the club?”
Crazy looked into the crowd. “No. I’m waitin’.”
“Suit yourself.” Mitch walked away.
The little hand was on ten and the big hand was past three. What could be keeping her? She had promised to meet him, and in Crazy’s mind her promise was fixed and irrevocable, for he reasoned that if Fanny had not wanted to meet him she would not have made the appointment. When he told her he considered her his girl she had agreed. If only he knew where her friend lived. He crossed Pitkin Avenue and walked to Grafton Street and stopped. He didn’t know where to go. While he was looking for her she might arrive in front of the theater, not see him there, and leave. He retraced his steps and stood under the marquee, bewildered and feeling the meanness, which was always a part of him, become more and more pronounced. Two girls passed by, and one of them bumped him and he swore at her. The girls hurried on, astonished and ashamed at the filth that Crazy heaped upon them. Pacing in front of the marquee made him angrier, and the blurred, monotonous voice of the doorman who repeated that no seats were available until the midnight show annoyed him. His right hand gripped the spring knife, and he would have enjoyed cutting and stabbing Fanny. It was easy for him to see her pleading with him to leave her alone and the way her eyes blackened after he struck her. But why should he give her a pasting? Maybe she was sick or had been run over. Now he could see her in the hospital surrounded by tremendous wreaths of flowers he had bought for her. She would be lying in a white bed and smiling at him as she would tell him that she loved him and would be well soon and then he could take her rowing in Prospect Park and to the movies to see war pictures with lots of fighting. Fanny was still his girl. Something was keeping her, and he had to wait under the marquee until she came or until the messenger came and told him that she was in the hospital and calling for him.
At eleven o’clock Crazy became thirsty and went across the street to a candy store and bought a bottle of Pepsi-Cola. He drained the bottle quickly and went back to his station. Now the crowd became heavier as people left the theater and the doorman bawled that the midnight show would begin in an hour. Groups of people met under the marquee, laughing pleasantly as they waited for one of their group to purchase admission tickets to the theater. Crazy stared at them, trying to see Fanny in every slim pair of legs, every high pair of breasts, every laughing mouth. She would have to come soon; he couldn’t wait much longer. The minutes ticked by methodically, and Crazy knew that soon he would begin to cry. The dream of bringing his girl to the club, introducing her, faded and became less distinct. Only his anger grew, and his rage was impotent and without direction. Confused and unhappy, he scanned the face of every girl who passed by, and still he did not see Fanny.
As he saw Mitch coming back up the avenue he wanted to run away, but then he might miss Fanny. He stood there, trying to be nonchalant and unconcerned, but Mitch saw instantly that Crazy was in one of his unpredictable and dangerous moods.
“I just left Bull Bronstein and Rosie Beanbags, and they were going to pick up a new friend of Rosie’s,” Mitch said casually. “So I told him that I was coming back to get you because you were waiting for me.”
“I’m not waiting for you, Mitch.”
“Oh.” Mitch opened his mouth as if he were surprised. “I thought we made up that I’d come back here for you.”
“Blow,” Crazy said abruptly.
“You want me to beat it?” Mitch asked him.
Crazy turned away from him. “Yeah, blow.”
“You sore at me?”
“No.” Crazy grasped Mitch’s sleeve. “I’m not sore at you. Where is she?” he asked desperately. “Why isn’t Fanny here? I’ve been waitin’ almost three hours!”
“She’s not comin’,” Mitch said kindly. “Come on, let’s go down the club. We’re gonna have us a time tonight. I’ll buy a pint if you hurry, and we’ll split it.”
“Fanny.” Crazy began to sob as he permitted Mitch to lead him. “Fanny. My girl.”
Mitch nudged him. “Cut it out. You’re a hard guy. Why’re you acting like a kid?”
In the darkness of Barrett Street, Crazy sobbed and did not reply. The tie and closed collar choked him, and in his rage he tore the tie loose and ripped the collar button from his shirt. He threw the tie into the street, but Mitch picked it up and placed it in Crazy’s jacket pocket. Walking and stumbling as if he were drunk, Crazy leaned against the iron railings before the tenements and cried violently, punching at the darkness as he called for Fanny. Mitch dragged him along, and when they reached Sutter Avenue Crazy refused to go any farther.
“I don’t want to go down the club.” He wiped his eyes. “I don’t want nothing to do with no hooer tonight.”
“That’s all Fanny is. Get wise to yourself.”
Crazy grabbed Mitch’s shoulder and drew back his fist. “Don’t you say that about my girl!”
“I’m sorry,” Mitch said. “I’m just burned up because she stood you up.”
“She didn’t stand me up. She’s been in an accident or maybe she’s kidnaped. Or maybe her mother or her baby brother are sick and she had to stay home and mind them. That’s what happened. Isn’t that what happened?”
“Sure,” Mitch agreed. “That’s it. I’m a dope for not thinking of it. Her mother must be sick.”
“Or maybe she was in an accident.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How about some guys kidnapin’ her?”
Mitch shook his head. “No. Her mother must be sick. Come on now”—he shook Crazy—“you don’t want to go down the club. So let’s go back to the candy store and I’ll buy you the biggest frappé they got. I’ll have Selma make you something special. And you know what, you jerk? In the ice cream I’ll tell her to put french fries and potato salad.”
“You’re nuts.” Crazy giggled with excitement. “Whoever heard of french fries and potato salad. Say, I’ll bet,” he said earnestly, “it must be good. Ice cream is good and french fries and potato salad is good, so why can’t they be good all together? Huh? Why not?”
“Cou
ld be,” Mitch agreed. “Wipe your face and we’ll go to the candy store.”
Benny was sitting at the counter twisting straws into the figure of a doll. He followed Mitch and Crazy to a booth and continued to twist and pinch the straws into an awkward caricature of a figure with disproportionate arms and legs.
“What’s eating you?” Mitch asked him. “I’m beginning to feel like a nurse.”
“I can’t find Frank.”
“You go down the club?”
“Yes. He left a message for me in the Winthrop that he was going away, and I don’t know where he went.”
“Fanny’s been in an accident,” Crazy said.
“Stop it,” Mitch said to him. “Crazy had a date with Fanny Kane,” Mitch said to Benny, and warned him with a gesture not to comment, “and she didn’t meet him. Someone must be sick in her family and she couldn’t come. So what does our boy here do? He waits in front of the Pitkin for her for almost three hours. So”—he turned to Crazy—“she’s not in no accident and she hasn’t been kidnaped. Chrissake, you gotta stop reading so many of them joke books. You’re becoming even whackier than you are.”
“I dreamed last week I was Captain Marvel,” Crazy said. “All I did was say ‘Shazam’ and I was changed into Captain Marvel. You know,” he said earnestly, “I wish I could say a word like ‘Shazam’ and change into a guy like Captain Marvel. Then I’d know what happened to Fanny.”
Mitch looked at Benny with wonder and pity. “And you think you’ve got troubles. Selma,” he called, “you wanna sell us some ice cream?”
Selma took their order and scuffed to the counter.
“And if you got chocolate sprinkles,” Mitch called to her, “put them on Crazy’s sundae. Put everything you got on it. I’m treating.”
“I heard you the first time,” Selma said crossly.
“Mitch said that he was gonna have Selma put french fries and potato salad in my frappé,” Crazy said to Benny.
“It might be good,” Benny said.
“Why didn’t you stick around down the club?” Crazy asked him. “Bull was bringin’ Rosie Beanbags down. Mitch wanted me to go, but I was waitin’ for my girl.”
Benny squashed the doll he made in his fist. “The guys told me she was coming down, but I was looking for Frank.”
“So you couldn’t find him, so what?” Mitch said. “I can’t figure you guys out. You’re supposed to meet someone and he doesn’t show up. So you wait around for a while and then you blow. There’s plenty of things to do. We coulda gone down the club and had ourselves a time or we coulda crashed a party or something. So instead you two guys are moping and you break up my Saturday. I’m disgusted.”
Benny scooped the ice cream into his mouth. “I didn’t ask your advice.”
“So I’m telling you anyway,” Mitch continued. “Hell, you ‘n’ Frank had a rough week in school. So suppose you think maybe his old man doesn’t want him hanging around with us or something. Or maybe he’s got a date.”
“He’s got no date,” Benny said. “His babe and mine went to a party in the Bronx. The bitches.”
“My girl didn’t meet me either,” Crazy added gravely.
“Figure it out, Benny.” Mitch attempted to reason with Benny, whose face was a mirror of anger. “Frank told me that his folks want to move outa here and that he’s gonna look for an apartment in East Flatbush.”
“He didn’t tell me,” Benny said.
“So he didn’t,” Mitch said patiently. “Maybe he didn’t think of it or maybe—Say, what the hell, Benny, must he tell you everything, like when he goes to the can too?”
“I tell Mitch everything,” Crazy said, “and I don’t tell him that. Do I, Mitch?”
“All right,” Benny said. “Let’s finish our frappés and stand on the corner. I don’t feel like going home yet.”
“You think maybe the guys are still down the club with Rosie?” Crazy licked the dish with his tongue.
“It’s after one,” Mitch said. “I don’t think so. And I’m too tired to get laid now.”
“Me too,” Crazy said. “You think Fanny’s brother or mother died?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch paid their bill. “Come on. Good night, Selma.”
Pitkin Avenue was dark except for the street lights and the bunking traffic signals. Up toward Saratoga Avenue they could see the large neon sign in front of Davidson’s Restaurant and the pearl light shining through the large plate-glass windows. Couples strolled slowly along the avenue, and occasionally the stillness would be broken by a sharp burst of laughter. In one of the chop suey joints the band was playing a waltz, and the sharp, yapping, staccato bark of the newsboy on Douglass and Pitkin calling the morning’s headlines could be heard distinctly.
Mitch wanted to go home, but Crazy and Benny insisted that he stay with them.
“It’s too early to go home,” Benny said.
“I’m tired,” Mitch insisted. “I’ve been taking care of Crazy all night.” He looked at Crazy. “What a character! Look at that zoot.”
“This is my best suit,” Crazy insisted. “Fanny woulda liked me in this suit. Say”—he turned to Benny—“what’s the matter with you?”
“Shut up,” Benny said sharply. “I think I see Frank coming down Amboy Street. He’s across the street there. Wait till he gets to the next street light.”
They walked to the curb and waited. They saw two figures approach the street light, and as they passed beneath it they could see it was Frank with a girl.
“It’s Frank all right,” Mitch said. “Who’s the babe with him?”
“Let’s cross the street and see,” Crazy suggested.
They crossed and waited on the corner for Frank to approach them, and when he was approximately twenty feet away Mitch grabbed Crazy and held him.
“It’s Fanny!” Crazy choked and struggled to break free. “Fanny! She stood me up for that bastard!”
“Hold him, Benny,” Mitch said as he tightened his grip on Crazy and Fanny shrank closer to Frank.
“You bastard!” Crazy cursed as his face became contorted and insane. “You little bitch! You stood me up for that bastard! Let me go!” He strove to get free from Mitch, who had twisted his arms behind his back while Benny held his shoulders. “I’ll cut your hearts out for this!”
“Shut your mouth before I kick you in the teeth.” Frank laughed at him. “Come on, Fanny,” he said to her. “You see the kind of a guy you almost dated?”
“I’ll kill you yet! I’ll kill you! I swear by my mother that I’ll kill you for this!”
“Beat it, Frank,” Mitch said to him. “Crazy’s in a bad way.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Frank said. “Fanny’s a good piece,” he shouted tauntingly at Crazy. “Too damn good for you!”
Suddenly all the fight left Crazy and he went to pieces and began to sob again. Mitch talked to him soothingly, trying to make him believe that he was too nice a guy for Fanny and that he would find him a girl who would make Fanny look sick. Benny said nothing. Now he didn’t know how he felt about Frank, for a guy who would take something away from Crazy was pretty much of a rat.
“Let’s take him upstairs to his door,” Benny suggested.
Crazy gulped. “I can go home alone.”
“No,” Mitch said. “We’re taking you home.”
Silently they walked along Amboy Street past the tenement in which Frank lived and up the steps of the next tenement. Benny waited downstairs while Mitch went up with Crazy. When Mitch came down they walked back to Pitkin Avenue.
“Frank better watch out,” Mitch broke the silence. “Crazy’s one guy I wouldn’t want to hate me.”
“I know,” Benny agreed.
“Crazy’s liable to kill him someday.”
“I know,” Benny said. Maybe Crazy would kill Frank. That would be the best way out for him.
Chapter 8
The hum of conversation ceased as Detective Lieutenant Macon walked into the conference room at the Li
berty Avenue police station. There were approximately ten uniformed policemen and thirty-five detectives in the room, and they filed into the straight rows of seats as Detective Macon slid into his chair behind the desk on the raised platform. Behind him on the blackboards were two chalk drawings of the New Lots Vocational High School. One drawing was an aerial view of the ground plan of the school, showing the schoolyards and the entrances to the school. The other drawing was a floor plan of the second floor of the school.
“All right, men,” Macon began the discussion, “you know why we’re here. The mayor and police commissioner have given us orders to break this case or else. And”—he cleared his throat—“I don’t want to think about that or else while pounding a beat in Staten Island.”
Macon waited for the movement of laughter to subside before he continued. “Now what’ve we got? One tough high school and one murdered teacher and plenty of motives for killing him. The kids in his classes were tough—I know, I’ve talked to them—and he had a time keeping order. But so did the other teachers in the school. I’ve talked to them too. But this guy Bannon had trouble with his official class the day he got it, and since”—he referred to one of the cards he had on the desk—“there are thirty-seven students in the class, we only get thirty-seven first-class suspects.”
Macon silenced the groan. “I know, it’s tough. The mayor wants the killer. And we’ve got to find him. And we haven’t much time. School lets out the end of June, and then we’ll really be in a spot. So that’s why”—Macon gestured with one hand—“the commissioner has assigned you men to the case. We’ve got to find the killer. Probably a kid that’s been in here, that we talked to, and hasn’t even got a record. We talked to about two hundred and fifty kids, and”—again he referred to his cards—“there were only fourteen who’ve been in a reformatory or before the juvenile court. So now you know what the newspapers know, and we’ll go on from there.”
“Can we ask questions?” one of the policemen asked Macon.
“Any time.” Macon nodded. “Just get my attention. Now let’s see.” Macon stood up and went to the board. “The teacher was killed by one bullet, a .22. Our ballistics people say that there weren’t any regular rifle marks on the slug, and so we know that it must’ve been fired by one of those homemade pistols. We fired some slugs with some of those pistols, and they looked like the bullet that killed Bannon. So we’re pretty sure that he was killed by some kid. Nothing was taken out of his pockets and his clothing wasn’t disturbed, so we’re pretty sure that robbery wasn’t the motive. Bannon had been in a fight. Before we go on, see if there’s a reporter snooping around outside,” Macon ordered one of the detectives in the last row of seats.
The Amboy Dukes Page 13
