The Amboy Dukes

by Irving Shulman

  “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.

  Moishe Perlman had joined Larry and Bull in the checkroom, and when Frank ducked under the counter there was little room for him.

  “I ain’t had a chance to talk to you all night,” he addressed Moishe. “It’s crowded here. You get out and I’ll help. I just broke up an argument between Meyer Oxenburg and your buddy Shimmy,” he said to Bull. “Shimmy was gonna get his head busted.”

  “I’ll be ready for the cleaners by the time tonight’s over,” Bull cursed.

  “Should I get out?” Moishe asked Larry.

  “Go ahead,” Larry said. “Try and keep things from getting outa hand.”

  “What about raffling the salamis?” Moishe asked him.

  Larry leaned across the counter, pushed someone in the face, and peered into the smoke-fogged room. “We’ll forget it and take the salamis home.”

  For an hour Frank helped Larry and Bull check and return hats, purses, and other articles. Crazy ducked under the counter and stood in a corner, ostensibly arranging the checked articles in neat piles, but actually rifling the purses of money and other articles which he fancied. He placed the loot in a cigar box, and Frank, Bull, and Larry maneuvered in front of Crazy to keep him from view of the crowd.

  Frank looked at his watch. It was a little past two and he wondered if he was going to get to Stan’s apartment that night. Betty had become angrier as the evening had progressed, and the whole affair had turned out to be a bust. No longer was there any semblance of order at the dance, only a cacophonous jumble of noise, shrieks, yells, shouts, curses, and confusion against the background of a band to which no one listened. The president of the Tigers had informed Larry that it would be best to close the dance, as their landlord had stormed into the clubroom threatening to call the police and dispossess them.

  “Wind it up,” Jackie begged Larry, “before you get us in a jam.”

  “Sure,” Bull said. “We can close up now. It’s a little past two.”

  “Whadd’ya say?” Larry asked Frank.

  “You askin’ me?” Frank said. “Sure. Close it up.”

  “Get Shimmy,” Larry said to Bull, “and tell him to start cleaning the place out and tell our guys to help him. Crazy”—he turned around—“get some of the boys outside and tell them not to let anyone else in. Then you come back.”

  Bull and Crazy ducked under the counter, and Larry cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted into the room that the dance was over and that everyone was to get his or her belongings from the checkroom and leave. Bull spoke to the band leader, and soon the strains of “Auld Lang Syne,” so syncopated and garbled that there was little of the original melody and lilt left, informed the dancers that they were to scram. Crazy, Mitch, Whitey Levine, and five other Dukes plunged past the entrance into the street to prevent anyone from entering the clubroom. Bull opened a path for himself by pulling people out of his way and rejoined Larry in the checkroom.

  “The band wants to get paid,” he panted.

  “Let’s get these people outa here,” Larry replied, “and then we’ll take care of them. Are they wise?”

  Bull grabbed checks and stacked hats and purses on the counter. “I don’t think so. Maybe we oughta pay them.”

  “Shut up,” Larry said. “Don’t tell me what we maybe oughta do.”

  Crazy returned for a last ransacking of the few purses that remained in the checkroom, and Frank wished he did not have to stay in the same little room with him. Crazy upset him, made him ill. He remembered the way Fanny Kane had looked and that she was only twelve, one year older than Alice, even though she was lots older in looks and experience. He knew that what he wanted to do more than anything else that night was to put Crazy out of commission. But it was best to ignore Crazy and to fade out of the Dukes. Then the break would be clean, and if Larry or Bull asked him why he didn’t come around any more he could say that it would have meant a violent battle with Crazy and he wanted to avoid it if he could.

  There were only a few people left before the checkroom, and Bull placed the remaining articles on the counter and told the guests to pick out their belongings. One girl began to yell that her purse was missing and that she was not leaving until she was compensated for its loss.

  “Get going,” Larry said. “We don’t know if you had a bag.”

  The girl thrust her check forward. “Don’t give me that!” she shouted. “I got my check! You jerks lost my purse and I want it!”

  “Take it easy,” Bull said. “You’ll strain your knockers.”

  “Who the hell’re you talkin’ to?” The girl’s li
ps were contorted with anger. “Get up my purse or pay me for it.”

  The girl’s escort jiggled her elbow. “Come on, Lucy,” he said. “They’ll give you nothin’.”

  Lucy shook off her escort’s arm. “Stop being so yellow,” she said, “and tell these apes to pay me for my bag.”

  “Sure”—Crazy grimaced at them—“you tell us to pay you, bud, and we’ll pay you off in the dark.”

  Larry wanted to get rid of her. “How much was the bag worth?”

  “Five bucks. And I had a buck in change in there and a new dollar-and-a-quarter lipstick and a good compact and I only bought it about a week ago and—”

  “So here’s three bucks”—Larry held out three dollar bills—“and we’ll call it even. Don’t open your mouth,” he warned her, “or all you’ll get is loose teeth. Now take the three bucks and blow. We wanta close up.”

  “Yeah, blow,” Crazy said. “I’d-a given you nothin’. Oh, wait.” He reached into a cardboard carton and withdrew a salami. “Here’s a wurst for you. Don’t say we never gave you nothin’.”

  “Slam the door on your way out,” Frank suggested.

  Larry took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead. “Boy”—he fanned himself—“whadda night. We sure worked for our dough.”

  “But we got it,” Bull said. “How much we get, Larry?”

  Larry added some figures on the whitewashed wall of the checkroom. “Start counting what Crazy put in the cigar box,” he said to Frank.

  “Girls are cheap,” Crazy complained. “Only one babe had more than a buck. Some of them had nothin’.”

  “Bull”—Larry was still adding—“what did we make on checkin’?”

  “Don’t you snitch anything else in that box,” Crazy warned Frank. “The other stuff is mine.”

  “You can shove this junk,” Frank replied. “I wouldn’t have any of it. Crazy collected a little over thirty-one bucks,” he said to Larry.

  Larry winked approvingly at Crazy. “Good work. Say,” he asked him, “how’d that Fanny kid get down here? Did you sell her a ticket?”

  “I gave her one,” Frank answered. “I had one left and I thought I’d give it to the kid. Don’t worry,” he forestalled their question, “I paid for it. Though I’m sorry I gave it to her, seeing as what happened.”

  Crazy’s eyes began to glitter angrily. “Who told her to fight like she did? She got what was comin’ to her, and you will too!” he threatened Frank.

  Frank looked him over from head to foot. “Jerk.”

  “Almost two hundred bucks,” Bull finished counting. “Geez, this change is heavy.”

  “We sold all the tickets,” Larry said, “plus we got some extras. Twenty-five hundred and fifty bucks. Not bad.”

  There was awe in Bull’s voice. “Almost twenty-eight hundred bucks! We sure did it!”

  “You think with all that dough that we oughta stick the band for a lousy fifty bucks?” Frank suggested.

  Bull nodded in agreement with Frank and waited for Larry to speak.

  Larry hesitated.

  “Give them a stiff,” Crazy said. “You want me to throw ’em out?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Larry,” Frank said. “It isn’t worth it. We got enough dough, and this way we’re windin’ up the dance like square guys.”

  Crazy lunged at Frank, but Bull stepped between them. “You don’t wanna fight for the Dukes!” Flecks of spittle bubbled from the corners of Crazy’s mouth. “You’re a yellow bastard! You don’t wanna fight for the Dukes! Don’t give the band nothin’,” he pleaded with Larry.

  “Am I president?” Larry asked sternly.

  Crazy relaxed and hung his head. “Yeah,” he whispered.

  “So cut it out. Go find Mitch and go home with him.”

  “All right, Larry. I’m doin’ it for you. Only for you.”

  Larry laughed and embraced Crazy. “What a nut you are,” he said. “You’re sure the world’s prize screwball. Go on”—he shoved him gently—“find Mitch and go home with him. And listen,” he said seriously, “maybe you better watch out that Fanny don’t go to the cops. You shouldn’t’ve done it.”

  “You can say that again,” Frank said.

  “If you’re goin’ up this guy’s house, Frank, you’ll see the kid and tell her to keep her mouth shut.”

  “For him?” Frank pointed to Crazy.

  Larry stepped up to Frank. “For us,” he said with emphasis. “You know what a rape rap’ll mean to the Dukes? Bull”—he turned to him—“take fifty bucks and give it to the band. Crazy, I thought I told you to beat it. Get Mitch and go home.”

  “I’m goin’.” Crazy raised the counter and held it for Bull. “So long. Say, can I have one of my wursts?”

  “Take one,” Larry said. “So long. Wait a minute,” he said to Frank after Bull left to pay the band. “I wanta talk to you.”

  “I wanta call up Alberg and tell him I’m comin’,” Frank said. “It’s almost three o’clock, and I gotta go to Ninety-eighth Street for a phone.”

  “I’m going with you,” Larry replied. “But what I gotta say is only goin’ to take a minute. What do you and Benny know about your teacher being knocked off?” he asked suddenly.

  Frank recoiled. “Nothing.”

  “Walk away,” Larry ordered one of the Dukes who approached the checkroom, “we’re talkin’ private.” Then he turned to Frank. “Stop kidding me.” Larry spoke in a low voice. “I saw it tonight when I heard you ‘n’ Benny had a fight. He called you a rat, didn’t he? Now I get it why he was always lookin’ for you and he’d be jumpy as hell when you weren’t around. Now I know why you don’t smoke reefers no more, don’t hardly take a drink, don’t carry no knife, don’t—” He stopped suddenly and pointed a forefinger at Frank, who cringed against the wall, his face the color of paste. “You ‘n’ Benny done it! You knocked off your teacher!” His voice trickled to a wisp of sound.

  Frank felt the desire to vomit leave him. “You’re getting to be like Crazy,” he said. He felt better as he spoke.

  “You guys knocked him off,” Larry repeated. “Who shot him? What did you do with the gat?”

  Frank opened his mouth and gulped. “You’re trying to frame me!” He glared. “Me ‘n’ Benny. We didn’t do nothing! You wanta go to Alberg’s house you can go alone! A fine bunch of guys you are! Let me outa here!” He lifted the counter. “I’m getting Benny and telling him what you said.”

  “Benny’s” drunk,” Larry informed him. “He’s laying on a blanket in the kitchen.”

  “So I’m gonna take him home,” Frank replied. “The next thing I know, if I leave him here you’ll be sweating him.”

  “Sure,” Larry agreed. “Take him home. But remember, Frank”—he paused to pass Frank his hat—“that Benny’s worrying and drinking because he thinks you’re gonna give him away. And when a guy’s drinking he ain’t much good. So you better get him home and go over to see him tomorrow and tell him that he don’t have to worry. That’s what you better do. And another thing, you don’t have to worry about us. You’re a Duke and we’re Dukes. You play square with the boys and you got nothin’ to worry about. Understand?”

  Each word Larry uttered was like the stroke of a bell, booming, decisive, and final. Frank ran his hands nervously around the welted edge of his summer-weight felt hat. There was no quitting the Dukes now. At least not until the end of June.

  Chapter 11

  As the bus rumbled to another uneven stop Frank’s stomach rose and he felt as if he were going to puke. Why Alice doted on these damned Fifth Avenue bus rides was beyond him, but he had promised to take the kid out and now he was stuck.

  “Let’s get off at the next stop,” he said, “and walk a couple of blocks. I feel lousy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Alice grasped his hand. “Sure. I like to walk on Fifth Avenue.”

  As they descended from the bus and the nausea left him he remembered that he was glad Alice had awakened him at seven-thirty.
He had not slept well, as he had reconstructed the dance in his overtired and taxed mind and seen every scene in its true tawdriness. If only he could have taken Betty home, left the dance before he had seen Fanny’s battered face, before he had given Larry the opportunity to tear open his secret and Benny’s, before he had seen the look of resignation on Stan Alberg’s face as Stan realized how strong his allegiance to the Dukes was. How could he explain that he was caged, that Benny’s drunkenness was as dangerous as a runaway automobile without brakes, that his only safety lay in ostensibly staying away from Benny while he remained close enough to him to keep Benny from doing something dangerous or rash, something that would bring disaster to them?

  “Frank,” Alice began hesitantly, “you got something on your mind?”

  His head snapped back. “Why?”

  Alice fidgeted with her hat and small leather shoulder bag. “I don’t know. You look so worried. You know what I heard this morning when I went to the grocery?”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Kaplan was telling the grocery lady and some other ladies that Fanny Kane came home early in the morning all beaten up. Mr. Alberg from the Center took her home, and Mrs. Kaplan who lives in her house said that she could hear Mrs. Kane screaming that she was going to kill Fanny for staying out late and becoming a bum.” Alice hesitated at the last word.

  “So what the hell do I care?” Frank asked her.

  “Nothing,” Alice continued slowly, “only she told my girl friend Gladys yesterday that she was going to the dance your club was having.”

  Alice winced as Frank squeezed her upper arm. “You talk too much and hear too much,” he told her. “You just stay away from Fanny if you know what’s good for you.”

  “She told Gladys and me that you gave her the ticket,” Alice persisted. “She even told me once that you took her out. You didn’t do anything to her yesterday?”

  “No! Shut up!”

  “Who did it?” she asked him.

  “Shut up!” Frank ignored her question and clutched at his stomach. “Stop asking me so many damn-fool questions!”