Michael Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 1, September 1956

What lies beneath a sidewalk feud? Sometimes the roots are imbedded in fear sometimes in boredom, sometimes in crime gone awry, sometimes in jealousy for a teen-age tart. Between Buster and Irish, hatred grew from all four causes toward a night of terror that found death at their elbows. It was time to—

I

Randy and me go to the same school. All kind of kids go there, Irish, Spanish, Colored, even two Chinese. Me, I’m Irish.

Randy’s colored. First time I met him I didn’t like his guts, and he didn’t like mine. We almost had it out, but that’s history. Now we get along good. The fact is, he’s about the best guy I know.

When vacation rolls around, we don’t see each other. A couple of weeks go by, and I run into him. He’s out of his territory, I’m out of mine.

We slap hands and talk, mostly about what we’ve been doing. Nothing’s shaking in my neighborhood ’cause the cops are riding the streets too much.

“Yeah, we’re hitting the freight yards tonight,” Randy says. “Want to be in on it?”

That sounds like excitement and, before I know it, I agree.

“Okay, Irish. You come around tonight,” Randy says to me.

“Yeah, suppose your boys don’t like the idea?”

“What idea?”

“You know what I mean. Maybe they won’t go for it.”

“Hell, they got to go for it. You’re my friend, and if I say you come in, you come in. That’s all there is to it. There ain’t no ands, ifs and buts about it.”

“But did you tell them, Randy?”

Randy stares at me, gives me a funny look and works his mouth. “To tell the truth, I didn’t think about it, Irish. It just didn’t enter my mind, but that don’t make no difference.”

“Not with us, but maybe it will with them.”

“Hell, no. We just don’t favor punks and flunkies. They’re out, and it don’t matter what color they are. You ain’t a punk or a flunkie, so you’re acceptable. Skin don’t matter. ’Cause you’re white ain’t got nothing to do with it. So pick me up at nine. You hear?”

“Yeah, I hear you, Randy.”

“Good thing. Slap me five, man.”

We slap hands and Randy cuts for his neighborhood. I go back to my own. There’s nothing to do around, so I hang on the roof and wait it out till it’s time to move.

Eight-thirty rolls around fast, and I hit for the street. It’s just starting to get dark, the streets are kind of empty and quiet, shadows coming out of everywhere.

That always gives me a funny feeling, but it’s more than that now. Not that I’m scared, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe Randy’ll clear it, and maybe I’ll get my head handed to me on a platter.

It’s too late to back-track now. I keep walking, and that tight feeling gets worse in my belly. A lot of crazy ideas pop in my mind, but I push them away.

Only six more blocks to go. By the time I get to Randy’s neighborhood, everything’s changed. It’s dark now, the lights are on and things are kind of noisy.

A guy steps out of a doorway. “Hey, Irish, where you walking?” he says. “Don’t you know the number?”

I turn and see it’s Randy. He’s changed his clothes and is wearing dungarees and a sweatshirt.

“You ready to meet the boys?” he asks.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Good stuff. Let’s get on. They’re waiting on the corner.”

From where we are, I can see these guys on the corner. I don’t feel so good about that, but I don’t say anything.

Randy picks me up and says, “What’s wrong, man?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, you’re with me, so you’re in like I told you. If anybody got something to say, they got to deal with me.”

“Okay, Randy.”

“Good. Hold tight, we’re reaching them.”

We’re nearing the corner. I can hear these guys talking and laughing. Then they ain’t. They’re shut, and everybody’s looking. They’re staring at me and wondering what I’m doing around here with Randy.

Randy gives them a greeting as we come up. It’s like he’s talking to a wall. His boys are still staring at me. Especially this big guy with the round head.

Next thing, the big guy puts his hands on his hips and says, “Hey, who’s this cat, Randy? What garbage can did you find him in?”

The rest of them laugh but not Randy. He puts his hands on his hips and rocks at this big guy and says, “For your information, Mr. Buster Bophead, I didn’t find him. Furthermore, he ain’t from no garbage can like some of your family’s generations.”

“Hey, you’re sounding on my family, you square punk.”

“And you’re sounding on my friend, you four-square flunkie.”

The big guy turns to me now and gives me the up-and-down like I’m a hunk of dirt.

“This is the cat you was talking about, Randy?”

“Yeah, Buster.”

“He’s the one coming along to the yards?”

“He’s the one. I didn’t have no other in mind.”

“Yeah, but this motherjumper is a white stud. You didn’t tell us that.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Randy says. “Even blindfolded, he’s as good a thief as you any day.”

The others laugh at that. It kind of breaks the ice, and Buster gives me his hand.

“Okay, man, I just hope you’re all Randy says you are. It’ll be too bad if you ain’t.”

I don’t say anything to that, and Randy takes over. He introduces me to the others. I shake with them, and they all give me a kind of suspicious look. But that’s okay. It’s the same as when I moved into my own neighborhood and met the guys. It takes a little time to feel things out in any new situation.

Right now there’s no time. “Okay,” Buster says. “Everybody ready?”

Four guys step out of the crowd. Buster turns to me. “Know where we’re going?” he asks.

“The freight yards.”

“You ever bust into any freight cars before?”

“No.”

“Hell, I thought you was supposed to be a real thief?”

“I’ve done other kinds of robbing.”

“Okay, let it pass. Now here’s the routine. You follow along and do what’s ordered. Behind that is the most important thing. Case you’re nabbed, you don’t talk, don’t give no names or nothing. It don’t matter how them cops beat you. Understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Good! ’Cause if you talk, you got us to deal with after, and nobody’ll ever know you when we get done chopping you up.”

“Okay, Buster,” Randy tells him. “You said your speech and my boy ain’t the talking type. So let’s go before they douse out the streetlamps.”

Buster turns away, and we start moving. I keep in step with Randy. Both of us fall a little back, and he pokes me.

“You don’t pay him too much mind,” he says. “Buster like to talk big, but he ain’t so much. Just keep it cool and show him the stuff.”

“Okay, Randy.”

“How do you feel?”

“Kind of nervous.”

“Me, too. Go out on something, and you always get that feeling. Don’t have it, and it’s no good. It’s protection.”

We keep moving, come to the park and pass through. It’s cooler now, darker here. A girl starts laughing somewhere, and Buster says out loud, “Somebody having his fun tonight.”

“Sounds like Carmen,” Randy says back.

“Who’s Carmen?” I ask Randy.

“That’s something tasty. One of them spitfire Spanish chicks. She hangs around with us.”

“Pretty?”

“Yeah, you interested?”

“I could be.”

“Okay, I’ll give you an introduction, and you can take it from there.”

We’re through the park now, moving faster. Nobody’s talking. Ahead of us, it’s real dark, but across the river, I can see lights shining, lights on the bridge and cars moving.

We come to a wall, and Buster puts up his hand. “Okay, chuck the butts,” he says. “We’re here.”

Everybody’s smoking. Next second the butts are ground out. I’m breathing a little hard, and my legs feel tight.

Buster leans over the wall and swings around. “Empty freight car just below. Okay, we jump one at a time. Anybody makes noise is going to suffer bad. When we catch what we want, we operate in twos. Two go in a car, two stay at the door for unloading and two watch at each end of the car for the yard bulls. Got it?”

Everybody’s got it. Buster vaults up on the wall, stands a second and jumps. There’s a soft thump, and the next guy goes up.

Me and Randy are last. “Hit it, boy,” Randy tells me. “I’ll follow you down.”

I hop up on the wall, look down and it’s all black. There’s like nothing below, then I make out a shadow. That’s the freight car.

“Man, hurry it,” Randy says behind me. “I hear somebody coming.”

I jump and land hard, knock my chin against my knees. A second later, Randy drops beside me.

“Hey, you like to wake up the world, Irish. What happened?”

“That drop was bigger than I thought.”

“Okay, let’s get down.”

We move along the top of the car to the back, climb down an iron ladder and drop to the roadbed.

The others are waiting. “Damn, you got to make all that noise, new boy?” Buster says. “You trying to get us caught?”

I don’t know what to say, but Randy comes in for me. “Hold your fat mouth,” he tells Buster. “That was me.”

“Yeah, you can’t jump better than that, balloon-head?”

“Shut your face, Buster. Somebody was coming, and I had to make a quick jump.”

Buster shuts. Nobody’s talking now, ’cause, up above, somebody’s making noise. We hear a girl laugh, and this guy yakking like he’s alone in the world.

“It ain’t the cops,” Buster says.

We start moving. Buster takes the lead, and we walk single file. It’s dark as hell down here, darker than in the park, and real quiet now.

I’m real tight in the belly, sweat’s making my clothes stick. We keep moving for maybe fifty yards, but it feels like a mile.

“Okay, this is it,” Buster says.

I don’t see anything, then I do. There’s a line of freight cars. They look like shadows.

Buster grabs my arm. “Move up to the end of the first car, Mick. Keep your eyes and ears open for the yard bulls and let’s know if they’re coming.”

He gives me a push, and I head for the end of the freight car. Somebody else takes the front end. I don’t see who. The others move in for the kill.

I’m standing alone in the dark. There’s a couple of shadows near the door of the freight car. A soft clicking starts, then a kind of rumble follows. Two shadows move, go up through the freight car door.

Seeing that is kind of scaring. But I’m not supposed to be looking at them. I turn the other way and watch. There’s nothing to see but shadows, and they make me jumpy. The sweat’s getting cold on me.

It’s quiet as hell, just a few little sounds come from the freight car. They must be unloading something good.

I still got my back turned when somebody touches me. I jump and get set to fly, but it’s Randy, and he holds me.

“Man, take it easy,” he tells me. “You’re hopped up.”

“Okay, then don’t sneak up like that.”

He laughs soft. “Just wanted to see how you was doing. The boys is catching a load of stuff. Keep an eye.”

Randy leaves me and goes back to his post. I swing around. Everything’s the same as before — all dark. Still, I could swear I saw a light flash. I’m not breathing now, not doing anything but staring and listening, but I can’t see anything, and all I hear is my goddam heart beating.

I’m scared, that’s all. I tell myself that, and then I hear this soft crunching sound like somebody’s walking on ashes. But when I look, I don’t see anything.

The noise stops. Then it starts again. I know it’s real now, and I look through the space between the freight cars.

A light flashes in my face and blinds me. I duck it, let out a yell and start running.

Everybody’s running now, and it’s all black. Somebody’s yelling behind for us to stop, but we don’t stop.

We reach the freight car near the wall, scramble to the top and boost each other up the wall. I’m last up. Randy hangs on the wall. I grab on to him and pull myself up, then help him.

Down below, a light’s playing around in the dark. We watch it till it goes out. Nobody talks for a while. Everybody’s sucking wind.

Buster catches his breath first. His hand comes out and grabs a fistful of my shirt.

“Man, why the hell did you holler out like that? I ought to throw you down to the yard bull and let him eat your head off.”

I grab Buster’s wrist so he don’t rip off my shirt and tell him, “What did you expect me to do? He was on us.”

“Yeah, cause you wasn’t watching.”

“The hell I wasn’t! He came from the other side of the cars.”

“That don’t matter. You didn’t do it cool.”

I’m about to answer that, but Randy comes in for me and says, “Okay, it’s over. Let’s drop it.”

Buster lets go of my shirt and turns to Randy. “Yeah, you’re the one I ought to bust. This paleface cat is your boy.”

“Yeah, he’s my boy, so start busting if you think you’re so bad,” Randy tells him, and he moves in.

But the others grab both of them now and break it up. One named Beaver says, “This ain’t the time and place to whale. Besides, them canteloupes is back under that freight car yet. Do we wait it out and go back for them, or don’t we?”

“Hell, the yard bull’ll be waiting around all night to shoot up somebody’s butt,” Buster says. “I ain’t for going back tonight.”

That’s the verdict. Nobody’s for going back, so we swing through the park and hit the sidewalks.

Buster starts blowing off about me again, and Randy and him have words. After that, we split. The others go one way, and me and Randy walk off by ourselves.

For a while we don’t talk, but I have to say something, and finally I get it out.

“You shouldn’t have asked me to come in on it. I blew the deal, Randy.”

“Yeah, that could happen to any one.”

“But it was me.”

“You shouldn’t have hollered, that’s all. We could have moved fast and quiet before the yard bull came up and got off with a load of stuff.”

“But he was up, and he threw that light right in my face from the other side of the car.”

“You didn’t hear him coming?”

“When it was too late.”

“Well, it’s done. It ain’t the first time we lost out, so don’t worry about it.”

“Your boys must be real sore.”

“Don’t worry about them, either,” said Randy.

“Maybe I better not come around any more.”

“Why not?”

“You heard Buster.”

“Don’t let that pale-face stuff bother you. He just don’t know any better, but he’ll learn.”

We keep walking, and when we get tired of that, we hop a truck, ride straight into my neighborhood and swing off around the corner from my house. Randy walks me to the door and takes off for home. I go upstairs.

Television’s on when I walk in. The Old Man is watching the fights and drinking beer.

“Where’ve you been all night?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“To the park. Where’s Mom?”

“At your aunt’s.”

That’s all. He lets it go at that, ’cause he’s too interested in the fights. I move off to my room, flop on the bed and stretch out. Half an hour later, the old lady comes in, opens my door and blasts me for laying on the bed in my clothes.

“Okay, okay,” I tell her. “You don’t have to holler.”

She slams the door and I take off my clothes, get back in bed and fall asleep listening to the sound of traffic from the avenue.

II

Next morning it’s boiling hot. A yellow light comes through the window. I turn away from it, face the wall. I lay still, close my eyes again and figure to get up about noon, ’cause there’s nothing to be done this morning.

Maybe ten minutes pass when I hear a whistle. Only one guy can whistle like that, but I tell myself it can’t be Randy.

The whistle sounds again, and I turn around and squint against the light. It’s Randy all right. Sounds like he’s on the roof, but he can’t be.

The hell he can’t. He gives another blast, and I have to get up and go to the window. But I don’t look out. I’m too tired to see him, so I go back to bed.

A few minutes later, Randy whacks me on the can. It’s a real stinger. I hop out of bed and curse him out.

Randy laughs. “Hey, watch your language, Irish.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“There ain’t nothing up that I know about.”

“How’d you get in?”

“By way of the fire escape and through the window. You described it good, and I thought I’d try it when you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, I was sleeping peacefully.”

“And now you ain’t. It’s after nine. Jump into your clothes, and we’ll hit the street.”

“What for?”

“Cause it’s today. Come on, man. Don’t be so lazy.”

My eyes are open wider now. Sleeping’s out. Randy ain’t going to leave, and there’s no use arguing the point.

“Okay,” I tell him, and I grab my pants and pull them on. “Nothing’s doing, Randy?”

“Nothing special.”

“I thought something was up.”

“You didn’t have enough last night?”

I remember that all right, and my face goes red. Randy notices and gives me a big grin.

“Yeah, you remember.”

“It was too close for comfort. That yard bull could have put his hand out and touched me.”

“If he got his hand on you, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Them guys don’t fool around when they catch you. And when they finish up, they turn you over to the cops, just for the fun of it.”

“That figures.”

Randy turns away, and I finish dressing. When I’m all set, he’s standing at the window.

“You ready to blow?” he asks.

“I didn’t have breakfast yet.”

“Yeah, neither did I, but I brought some stuff along. It’s on the roof.”

“Anything good?” I ask him.

“Milk and buns. I hooked it early this morning.”

“That sounds all right. Let’s get it before it’s gone.”

The quickest way is through the window and up the fire escape. We take that route, reach the tar, open the bag and dig in.

The milk is kind of warm, but the buns are fresh and tasty. We knock off the half a dozen each, then flip the empty milk bottle at a cat down in the yard.

There’s nothing to hold us now, and Randy says, “Let’s breeze, man. It’s empty up here.”

“Where do we go?”

“No place special. Let’s walk around and see the sights.”

We hit for the street, walk around and finally we’re back in Randy’s neighborhood. It’s kind of quiet, so we end up on his roof and look over his pigeons.

It’s a good coop and the birds are okay. They’re mostly Flights and Tumblers.

“I see you go for Flights, Randy.”

“That’s right. They’re the best on the wing.”

“Could be, but I like Tumblers most.”

“Why?” asked Randy.

“I like the way they flip over and do all that acrobatic stuff.”

“Yeah, they’re good like that. How come you ain’t got no birds?”

“There’s too many thieves around my block. You got a flock today and tomorrow they’re gone.”

“Thieves is all over, Irish. But I got a big lock on my coop and a heavy door. Behind that, I got an alarm that rings off in my bedroom. Somebody fools around with my coop, the alarm buzzes and I’m up the fire escape with a two-head axe. One time I caught a guy and near to throwed him off the roof.”

“How come you didn’t?”

“Hell, he was only a small stud, and he cried like a baby. I hung him over the side just to scare him, and kicked his butt good. Stuff like that gets around the neighborhood, and others ain’t too anxious to try to get my birds.”

“Yeah, you have to protect your property.”

We’re still talking about pigeons and stuff when the roof door slams open. Buster and the guys we were with last night step out on the tar.

“Hey, look who’s still around,” Buster says. “You slept with the pigeons last night, Irish?”

The others laugh, but Randy tells him, “Lay off. He’s got a home same as you.”

“You still sticking your nose in for him, Randy?”

“Yeah, all the way.”

“What for?”

“Cause four is after three and in front of five.”

Buster shakes his head. He don’t like me, and he don’t go for the idea of Randy being on my side. I can see that good. The others are on the fence.

Buster lights up, looks at me again and shakes his head. I figure it’s time to talk up, so I ask him what’s wrong.

“Lots is wrong, man. If you didn’t lose your nerve last night, we’d have pulled off the job okay.”

I can’t answer that, but Randy talks up for me. “Hell, it was his first time, Buster.”

“That ain’t got to do with it. First or last, he didn’t have no right to holler and run. That was the punk showing.”

“Yeah, who says he’s a punk?”

“You heard me talk.”

“Then how come you ran? Why did we all cut out?”

That stops Buster for a second, but he ain’t through. He’s ready to explode. “I still say he punked.”

He gets that out, but Randy tells him, “Then all of us did.”

“He don’t belong with us. I don’t want him along when we go out again.”

“That ain’t for you to say, Buster.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Buster and Randy stare at each other like they’re ready to jump, I hope they don’t clash, but I get a good feeling out of this, ’cause Randy’s standing up for me.

Buster can’t stare Randy down, so he turns to the others. “You guys want a punk along?” he asks.

The others look at me. They don’t seem too sure of anything, but I know they haven’t forgotten last night.

“He should have held,” Beaver says.

“Yeah, the way you did. You were first over the wall, I noticed,” Randy tells him.

We’re back on that again, and the fact is I was scared. Even Randy knows that, but he’s sticking up for me. That’s all right, but he’s hurting himself with the others.

I try to tell him that, and he won’t listen.

He waves his hand at me and says, “It was his first time, and he didn’t know the setup good as us.”

“All the more reason why he should have held ground,” Buster answers. “But he got scared and took off. Only punks take off.”

I don’t mind the others, but this Buster talks too much. There’s too much of that punk business from him, so I say, “I’m no punk like you think.”

He turns and grins at me. “Man, then why’d you run like a scared cat?”

“Because it just happened that way. I didn’t expect the yard bull to flash the light in my face.”

“Then you ain’t a punk. Is that right?”

“It’d take more than you to prove I am.”

“That sounds like big talk.”

“It ain’t talk!”

“Okay, it ain’t.” Buster gives me a big smile. “In that case, we can try you out and see. You want to take the test?”

He’s got me. I should have kept my mouth shut, but it’s too late now. I’m in the trap.

“What’s the test?” I ask him.

“The Arena.”

“What’s that?”

“A place we use for tests, to see who’s got guts and who ain’t.”

I look at Randy, but he’s got nothing to say now. The others are smiling.

“Yeah, to the Arena,” Beaver says, and the rest of them pick that up. They start chanting it.

Buster lifts his hand. “Okay, that’s enough on that stuff. This ain’t no time for entertainment.”

The others shut, and he turns to me. “You willing to take the test, Irish? Nobody’s forcing you or nothing like that. It’s a free choice you got. You can back out if you want.”

He says that easy, like he’s ready to give me out. But that’s bull. There’s no out. This is a challenge to see if I’ll punk out, and I can’t punk out. If I do, I know what’s going to happen.

I look him straight in the eye and say, “Okay, what’s the test?”

“You’ll find out when you get there. You ready to take it?”

For a second I’m kind of scared. Anything can happen. Maybe they’ve got a pistol, and it’s going to be Russian roulette. That’s one way I don’t intend to die.

Maybe Randy’ll give me a sign. I turn to him, but he don’t say anything. His face is blank, but I know he’s waiting like the others. The decision is up to me.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say.

“Good,” Buster says. “Let’s go.”

We move down from the roof and head for the corner. A candy store is there, and some girls are hanging around outside.

As soon as they see us, they stop talking and watch. We come on. Buster’s walking ahead with Switch. They both stop in front of the candy store and wait for me to come up.

“Want to get a last drink before the test?” Buster asks me. “You’re going to do a lot of sweating.”

That’s a play to scare me. I know that, but I take him up anyhow. We move into the candy store. The girls are staring. Nobody gives them a tumble.

They’re strange to me, I’m strange to them, so all eyes are on me. A couple are real dogs, some are pretty. Two are Spanish. One is a real looker.

We find stools inside and order up. Nobody inside’s talking, but outside I can hear the girls yakking.

Next thing, this Spanish one comes in, and Buster turns on her. “What do you want, nosey?” he asks her.

She shrugs her shoulders. Her eyes go to me and back to Buster.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing for you to know, so take yourself a walk out to the front.”

She just smiles, looks at me again and goes out, shaking her can behind her.

“That’s Carmen,” Randy says to me. “It looks like she’s got eyes for you already.”

“Yeah,” Buster comes in with, “you’re the handsome type. But maybe you won’t be around for her to look at after the test.”

I don’t answer that. It’s best not to. Buster’s burned already, and the way Carmen looked me over ain’t helping the matter.

We finish our drinks and blow out of the candy store. The girls are waiting. Carmen’s leaning back against the paper-stand with a cigarette in her mouth. She takes it out, blows smoke in my face as I pass and one of the ugly ones says, “Hey, he’s a pretty boy.”

We’re twenty paces away, and another chick calls out, “If you’re taking him for the test, bring him back in one piece.”

There’s laughing behind us then. I fall back, keep in step with Randy and say, “Where’re we heading?”

“We’re going to the bridge.”

“What’s the Arena?” I ask him.

“That’s under the bridge — a beam. You got to cross it.”

“What’s so tough about that?”

“You’ll see when you get there, Irish. Not that it’s so hard to cross, but if you ain’t used to it, it can scare hell out of you.”

That cools me, ’cause if Randy thinks the Arena is tough, then it’s got to be.

“But why do they call it the Arena?” I ask him.

“It’s like this. Sometimes, two of the guys have it out. I mean, when they really want to put the buzz on each other. They go up on the beam and fight it out with leather belts. It don’t happen much, I can tell you that, ’cause it’s easy to get yourself killed if you fall.”

“That sounds crazy.”

“It is, man. It’s real crazy.”

“Anybody ever get killed?”

“Not yet. But a year ago, a guy who ain’t around here no more almost had it. He slipped on the beam. That took all the fight out of him. He quit the crowd after that and didn’t come around no more.”

That’s enough to hear. I don’t ask any more questions. We’re halfway to the bridge, and nobody’s talking now.

No one says anything till we reach the bridge. Then Buster holds up his hand.

“Everybody keep shut from here on in,” he says. “We don’t want the copper on the bridge to bust this up.”

We swing around to the side of the bridge now and come to a wall. That’s easy to scale. We’re over it in a second and standing on ground that slopes to the river.

Next to us is the bridge. Traffic’s moving on it. I look up, then out. That bridge is big, and that’s a real jump it makes across the river.

We move along a concrete wall and come to this rope that’s dangling from above. Buster reaches it first, grabs hold and starts pulling himself up. The others follow. I’m last.

I reach the top and find myself under the belly of the bridge. There’s no sun now. Everything’s shadow and kind of cool. Traffic’s moving overhead. I hear it, and all kind of echoes go bouncing around. Everything else is gone. Up here is like a separate world from the outside.

We’re fifteen feet above the bank, standing on this concrete that’s like a walk. Buster waves us on, and we move out along the walk, come to the end and stop.

Ahead, are thick girders laying crosswise. They go out as far as the river and meet two big columns.

I’m looking out. Then I drop my eyes and catch my breath. It’s about seven stories down, maybe a little more.

I look away fast and catch Buster’s face. He’s watching me and grinning. “Okay, Irish, this is it. You ready to begin?”

I still don’t know exactly what’s expected of me. But I don’t have long to find out. Buster raises his hand and points out at a crossbeam. “You go out to it and walk across it. That’s all.”

I’m shaking now, sorry I came along, but I’ve got no choice. There’s no going back, so I brace myself. It don’t do much good, ’cause my heart’s beating like anything.

“Don’t let it throw you, Irish,” Randy says behind me. “But if you can’t do it, don’t try. Don’t take the chance.”

I don’t answer. The fact is, I can’t, but I ain’t punking out either. The trouble is, I can’t move now, ’cause I know where I am, and what can happen if I fall.

It feels kind of cold around me. The shadows are greyer. A cool wind touches me. It makes a weird sound. Then I hear these echoes. They’re from above. Traffic’s still moving up there. The noise bothers me.

I look down again. It’s marshy below. A couple of dead pigeons are laying there.

“Hey, don’t be looking down,” Randy tells me. “You’re going to be scaring yourself.”

I don’t answer. A truck backfires overhead, and I jump. The others start laughing, and more echoes start bouncing around me.

Buster’s kept his mouth shut, but now he says, “What’s wrong, Irish? You ain’t got the guts?”

I know he’s giving me the needle to throw me, but it don’t happen that way. I’m burned instead.

“Don’t let him bug you,” Randy says.

I look behind at him and nod my head. He’s for me all the way, and that’s a good feeling. But words ain’t going to take me where I have to go.

Buster comes in with another crack, and I start moving out toward the beam.

“Don’t look down, Irish.”

That’s Randy again, and that’s all. Nobody else talks and it gets real quiet. They’re watching to see what happens.

It’s not too much getting out to the beam. A couple of seconds, and I’m there.

I glance back at the others. That’s the wrong thing to do, ’cause they seem so safe and far away. All of them have the same kind of face, and none of them say anything. That’s how I know I’m in danger.

And that makes me look down again. This time it’s different. Standing on the beam does that. It makes the drop seem worse. I get a sick feeling in my belly, and I’m icy all over.

The others are waiting to see if I’ll chicken out. I feel chicken, real scared, but I can’t go back.

I got my eyes glued on the beam now, and it looks narrower than before. If I keep looking maybe it’ll get skinnier yet, so I take a step.

It’s no good. I’m shaking like a leaf. I can’t trust myself. Jelly’s inside me. I’m numb all over and ready to quit.

“Yeah, he’s scared, ready to punk out.”

That’s Buster talking, and he’s right. I am scared, but what he says holds me there. I got to show him I can cross the beam, but I know I can’t walk it.

That’s out. I bend down, sit on the beam and get my legs around it. Next, I swing my legs up and lay out with my hands holding the steel.

Maybe the others didn’t expect this, but they don’t say anything, and finally I start crawling.

I crawl on my belly like a worm. The steel’s hard, sweat’s running, and my heart’s thumping.

That’s the worst of it, hearing that sound growing louder and louder. Next, I hear the echo and it’s like somebody’s beating a bass-drum over my head.

It’s so real, I stop crawling and look around. Soon as I do that I realize where I am — halfway across the beam and seven stories up.

I shut my eyes quick, hold tight and start crawling again. Now my insides are twisting up. I feel all bruised, and I’m telling myself I’m never going to make it.

While I’m saying that, there’s a yell and somebody grabs me. I open my eyes, look up and see Randy.

“Steady. You made it, Irish.”

I try to smile and can’t. Randy helps me to my feet.

“Follow me. You can do it easy, man.”

I follow him, but I don’t feel safe till I step on the concrete walk. Everybody’s around then, shaking my hand. All except Buster.

“Hell, he didn’t do it,” he says.

“What do you mean, he didn’t?”

“He didn’t walk. He crawled on his goddam belly like a worm.”

“So what? He crossed it, and that’s the test.”

Buster looks around for support, but the others side with Randy. That gets him wild, and he keeps talking. When he don’t get nowhere, he swings around and walks off by himself.

“Yeah, let him go. He’s a hothead,” Randy says. “You passed the test, Irish.”

Maybe so, but I’m wondering about that. I didn’t walk the beam. I crawled on my belly.

“Okay, let’s get out of this,” Randy says. “The show is over.”

There’s nothing to keep us, so we start back along the concrete walk, reach the place where the rope’s hanging and go down it to the bank. From there we move to the street and stop.

“Who’s for the freight yards?” Randy says.

Everybody is but me. I shake my head, and Randy asks me what’s wrong.

“I’m pooped and my guts hurt from crawling on the beam. I’m going home.”

It’s a good enough excuse. Nobody kicks, and the others head for the freight yards. I walk off alone, stop and look back. Randy and the others are out of sight already. I wait there, my mind made up. Then I start back for the bridge.

A few minutes later I’m at the end of the concrete walk under the bridge. It’s quieter now without the others, the grey light weird. That wind sounds stronger.

I don’t have to do this, that’s what I know. Maybe I’m nuts, I tell myself. But I think of what Buster said.

He’s right. I crawled on my belly like a worm. But I don’t have to. I got to show him that.

Yeah. I look down below and shiver. If I fall, nobody’s going to know, I tell myself.

Thinking like that is bad, and I’m ready to take a powder. I even start back the way I came, then catch myself.

It’s too late again. I’m here, and I can’t go back.

Don’t look down — that’s the idea. What Randy said.

Seconds later I’m out on the beam. Sweat’s running again. I don’t look down this time, don’t think of anything.

One step starts it, and I keep going till I’m across the beam. Hey, I’m laughing! A little scared, but laughing, ’cause that was easy.

Hell, I got it beat. Wait till next time, and I’ll show them.

A pigeon flaps in under the bridge and settles on the side of a girder. That means a nest is there.

I walk out and the pigeon flaps off. There’s a nest all right. A couple of eggs in it. I let them be and go back to the concrete walk just as two more pigeons swoop in under the bridge. There must be plenty around. I keep that in mind, light a cigarette and start back for home.

III

Next morning, I run over to Randy’s and catch him on the roof flying his pigeons. It’s hot already, so he sends them for a short run and brings them in.

After that we sit and light up. Talk gets around to yesterday and he asks me how my belly is.

I give him a grin and say, “Fine.”

“Yeah, what’s the grin for?”

“I went back.”

“What are you talking?” Randy says.

“Yesterday after you guys went to the freight yards I went back on the bridge.”

“What for? You didn’t have enough?”

“Maybe not. Maybe it was crazy, but I had to prove something.”

“You already proved.”

“Not to myself.”

“You walked the beam?”

“Right. As long as I didn’t look down it was okay. Now it’s like nothing. I mean it’s kind of exciting. You know what else?”

“What?”

“There must be a million pigeons up under that bridge.”

“Yeah, all dirty old clinkers,” Randy says. “You can’t fly them bums, but there’s some change to be made selling them.”

“I could use some money. But how do we sell them?”

“Easy. I got customers lined up. Chinese laundry men are best. A couple of old ladies also is regular buyers on my route.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing, but let me get a box to carry the clinkers.”

Randy gets the box, and we go down on the street.

Carmen’s standing at the candy store, leaning against the paper stand. This time she’s alone. Our eyes meet. She keeps staring, takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blows smoke and puts it back.

“Introduce me,” I say to Randy.

He accommodates when we reach her. She plays it cool now and keeps the cigarette in her mouth.

I snap it out, drop it and step on it.

“What’s that for?” she asks me.

“For blowing smoke in my face yesterday. Remember?”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I don’t let any dame get away with that.”

Carmen smiles, takes out her pack, puts another cigarette in her mouth and lifts her face.

“Got a light, Irish?”

“Sure.”

I lighted her up and ask her how come she knows my name.

“The boys were talking about you. I heard you passed the test.”

“You know about that?”

“Sure. I suppose you’re going to be around from now on?”

“That’s right. How about you?”

“I’m always around.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you.”

“Maybe.” Carmen says that with a smile, takes a puff on her cigarette and blows smoke in my face again.

This time I don’t mind. I let it pass, and Randy tugs on my arm.

“Man, we got business. Let’s get with it.”

We leave Carmen and head for the avenue to look up customers. While we’re walking Randy says, “You made a fast play for that.”

“Make it fast or not at all. That’s my motto.”

“She liked that.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Randy says. “That was a good play, when you chucked her cigarette and stomped it. Somebody else’d be patching up scratch-marks on his face.”

“She’s cute but wild. Is that it?”

“You really interested in her, Irish?”

“I might be.”

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t get involved.”

“Why?”

“She’s too easy. Know what I mean? Them too easy kind ain’t never any good.”

“Hell, I’m not going to marry her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Randy says.

He switches the subject then and we come to this laundry. The Chinaman is ironing and looks up as we walk in. He’s a fat guy with a round face that lights up when he spots Randy.

“Want any pigeons today?” Randy asks.

The Chinaman holds up three fingers. We move on out and pick up some more orders, enough to put money in our pockets. Then we head for the bridge.

The rest is easy. There’s pigeons all over the bridge, nests on the sides of girders and in the corners where they meet. One place in a groove along the concrete wall is lousy with them.

We scale down a pipe and grab what we want, tie their feet together and drop them to the ground below. Young ones can’t fly. They’re just soft and lumpy.

When we get enough we go down the rope, put them in the box and hike for the payoff.

First stop is the fat Chinaman. He throws us a buck, and we’re outside. That’s when Randy says, “There’s another thing I forgot to tell you, Irish.”

“What’s that?”

“Buster kind of likes Carmen.”

“He owns her?”

“Not exactly,” Randy says.

“So what, then?”

“You might find yourself clashing head on.”

“That’s okay with me. Everybody else is all right in your clique, but Buster don’t go down.”

“I just wanted to let you know the score. That’s all.”

“Thanks, Randy.”

We go on, deliver the rest of the pigeons, split the money, then ride downtown to Times Square and take in a big show.

Night time, after supper, I’m back in Randy’s neighborhood. We sit on his stoop and smoke and talk.

Things liven up after a while. Guys and girls gather at the corner. We move that way. The juke’s squalling in the candy store.

We drift inside. Some kids are dancing in the back. We have a coke and watch.

A few minutes later, Carmen comes bouncing in. She’s wearing tight dungarees, a tighter sweater. I get a hello and that’s all.

She moves to the back, and I turn to Randy, look at him.

“What’s that action?”

“You don’t know, Irish?”

“You know her better than I do.”

“Okay, she wants you to come in the back.”

“Anything doing back there?”

“Not too much,” Randy says, “but you can make the play and take it from there.”

“It’s easy as that?”

“Yeah, it ain’t hard. But like I told you, watch out for Buster.”

“He don’t bother me at all.”

Randy gets up from the stool. “Okay, it’s all yours. I’ll give you a tip. Get a couple of cans of beer. She goes for that stuff like a pig.”

“Then what?”

“My roof’s a good place. Behind the coop. The pigeons don’t mind.”

“Where do I get the beer?”

“See the man behind the counter. He always got a supply in the back at thirty-five cents a throw. See you later, champ.”

He moves out, and I go to the back. Carmen’s sitting in a booth, waiting with an unlit cigarette. I light her up and start dealing, figuring on a little resistance.

There’s none. Ten minutes later we’re up on Randy’s roof behind the pigeon coop. Half an hour later we’re down again.

Randy’s leaning against the paper stand when we come up. A girl is with him. Switch walks out of the store with a chick on his arm.

In two seconds, I’m introduced to the girls and invited to go to Coney Island.

It’s a pretty long trip this late. I mention that, and Switch says, “Don’t let it worry you. We got a fast car tonight.”

“Yeah, whose is it?”

“Don’t ask no questions, and you get no lies told to you,” Randy answers.

I don’t say any more, and we all move around the corner and up the block a way, where this flashy job is parked.

Switch opens the doors. We climb in like it’s bought and paid for.

It’s Tally-ho then, and we’re off for Coney...

Next day, I don’t show in Randy’s neighborhood till late in the afternoon. A stickball game is going on. Buster’s at bat. Girls are sitting on car mudguards and watching.

I breeze up and Carmen bounces off a car and throws her arms around me. That kind of breaks up the game.

Everybody’s laughing, but not Buster. He comes charging at me. I push Carmen aside, and we lock head on, get a few licks in.

The guys break it up quick. But that don’t stop Buster from talking. It’s all about me cutting in on him with Carmen.

That figures, but I don’t give a crap and tell him so.

“Yeah, talk don’t change things. We’re going to have it out,” he says.

“Name the time and place.”

“You want to go to the Arena?”

I’m not expecting that, but I can’t back away.

“Okay, the Arena, Buster.”

It’s done then. Everybody’s excited but two guys, Randy and Beaver. They start trying to talk us out of it.

It’s no dice. We’re both hot. Talking don’t do any good, so everything is set. Short rubber hoses are brought instead of belts.

Only four of us can go to the Arena. Me, Buster, Randy and Beaver. We take off in pairs.

All the way there Randy keeps saying, “You sure you want to go through with this?”

I want to, I tell him, but I’m scared, and that’s what I don’t tell him.

When we reach the bridge, Randy says, “I warned you about this, Irish, but you was stupid. You fell for it.”

“Fell for what?”

“Hell, why do you think Carmen threw her arms around you? That was the come-on for both of you to fight over the bitch. She thinks that’s romantic. Don’t go through with it.”

“It’s too late, Randy.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

We jump the wall and go to the rope, climb up on the bridge. Buster’s ahead of me. Taps on his shoes click on the concrete walk.

We go all the way to the end. Randy hands us the rubber hoses and we’re set.

Buster goes out first on the beam. I follow. We’re facing each other.

“You ready, you bastard?” he says.

“Yeah, any time you are.”

That starts it. We move across the beam and close in. I’m scared, shaking, twisted in the guts and all screwed up. Everything inside me moves.

Neither of us make a move. We just stand there, watch each other and wait.

“Swing out, motherjumper,” Buster finally says.

“Yeah, you swing. You swung first before.”

We keep it up like that, but nobody makes a move till Beaver talks up and says, “Who’s going to start it? There ain’t all day.”

“I’m waiting for the punk.”

I’m still scared, but when Buster says that I make a move, catch him on the leg with the hose, and then across the belly.

That’s all. He gives a yell, goes down, hits the beam and grabs.

I move in fast to help, hold him and Randy comes out to give a hand. When we go to pull him he lets out a yell that it hurts.

“What the hell, you want us to leave you out here? Get up and shut up,” Randy tells him. “You want the cop upstairs to hear?”

Buster stays shut now, and we get him up. Randy guides him back to the concrete walk and then he dives on it, hits it flat and starts crying.

We pull him aside, let him lay a while. Randy has a look at his leg then. There’s a big scrape and he’s bleeding a bit.

Getting him down the rope is tough, but we make it and take him back to his house. That’s as far as we go. He’s got to climb upstairs by himself and make his own excuses.

I’m still scared when it’s all over, too shaky to hang around or even light a butt.

“Got to go,” I tell Randy.

“You’re shook up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around, Irish.”

It’s three days before I show up in Randy’s block again. A stickball game is going on. Buster’s playing with a limp.

“How’s the leg?” I say.

“Coming along, Irish.”

“I’m sorry that had to happen.”

“That’s okay. It had to be one of us.”

He smiles and puts out his hand. We shake, and it’s all over for good. Buster gets up to bat, and I step in to run bases for him till the game is finished.

We move into the candy store for cokes then, and Randy shows up.

He’s got a funny look on his face, so I call him on it, and he turns to Buster.

“You’re both tight now?” he asks him.

“Real tight.”

“Okay, should I tell him?”

“Tell him.”

Randy turns to me. “It’s about that Carmen bitch. You fought for nothing, both of you.”

“Say what you mean, Randy.”

“She’s going out with another stud, and you’re both out in the cold.”

I look at Buster, and he looks at me. Neither of us say anything till later, and we set it up. Both of us know what we got to do.

Eleven o’clock rolls around, and we’re both standing in front of Carmen’s stoop when she rolls down the street alone.

That’s the ticket. I grab her arm and twist her around when she tries to go past. Buster drops a garbage can over her head and we both start punching.

We punch her out, leave her crying on the sidewalk and walk away fast.