«It’s been almost a year!»
They cluster around him as he walks slowly back toward the table. But no one touches him.
«What happened to ya?»
«You look … different, sort of.» The girl gestures vaguely.
«What’d they do to you? Where were you?»
Danny sits down. «It’s a long story. Somebody get me a coke, huh? Who’s been running things, Marco? Find him for me, I want to see him. And, Speed … get word to the Bloodhounds. I want to see their Prez … is it still Waslewski? And the one who shot me …»
«A war council?»
Danny smiles. «Sort of. Tell them that, if that’s what it’ll take to bring them here.»
Interior, the back of the store.
It is night. Danny sits at the table, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, watching the front door. Two boys flank him: Marco, slim and dark, his thin face very serious; and Speed, bigger, lighter, obviously excited but managing to keep it contained. Both boys are trying to hide their nervousness with cigarettes. The door opens, and a trio of youths enter. Their leader, Waslewski, is stocky, blond, intense. His eyes cover the whole store with a flick. Behind him is the skinny kid who shot Danny, and a burlier boy who’s trying to look cool and menacing.
«Come on in,» Danny calls from his chair. «Nobody’s going to hurt you.»
Waslewski fixes his eyes on Danny and marches to the table. He takes a chair. His cohorts remain standing behind him. «So you ain’t dead after all.»
«Not yet.»
«Guess you’re pretty lucky.»
Danny grins. «Luckier than you’ll ever know.» Nodding toward the boy who shot him, «What’s his name?»
«O’Banion.»
«All right, O’Banion. You put a bullet in me; I lived through it. You were doing your job for the Bloodhounds; I was doing my job for the Champions. Nothing personal and no hard feelings on my part.»
Waslewski’s eyes narrow. «What’re you pullin’? I thought this was gonna be a war council.»
«It is, but not the regular kind.» Danny leans forward, spreads his hands on the table. «Know where I’ve been the past ten months? In Washington, in a special school the government set up, just to handle jay-dees. They pump knowledge into you with a computer … just like opening your head and sticking a hose in it.»
The other boys, Bloodhounds and Champions alike, squirm a bit.
«You know what they taught me? They taught me we’re nuts to fight each other. That’s right … gangs fighting each other is strictly crazy. What’s it get us? Lumps, is all. And dead.»
Waslewski is obviously disgusted. «You gonna preach a sermon?»
«Damned right I am. You know why the gangs fight each other? Because they keep us up tight. They’ve got the money, they’ve got the power that runs this city, and they make sure we gangs stay down in the garbage. By fighting each other, we keep them sitting high and running the big show.»
«They? Who the hell’s they?»
«The people who run this city. The fat cats. The rich cats. The ones who’ve got limousines and broads with diamonds hanging from each tit. They own this city. They own the buildings and the people in the buildings. They own the cops. They own us.»
«Nobody owns me!» says the burly kid behind Waslewski.
«Shuddup.» Waslewski is frowning with thought now, trying to digest Danny’s words.
«Look,» Danny says. «This city is filled with money. It’s filled with broads and good food and everything a guy could want for the rest of his life. What do we get out of it? Shit, that’s what! And why? Because we let them run us, that’s why. We fight each other over a crummy piece of turf, a couple of blocks of lousy street, while they sit back in plush restaurants and penthouses with forty-two-inch broads bending over them.»
«So … whattaya expect us to do?»
«Stop fighting each other. Make the gangs work together to take over this city. We can do it! We can crack this city wide open, like a peanut. Instead of fighting each other, we can conquer this whole fucking city and run it for ourselves!»
Waslewski sags back in his seat. The other boys look at each other, amazed, unbelieving, yet obviously attracted by the idea.
«Great … real cool.» Waslewski’s voice and face exude sarcasm. «And what do the cops do? Sit back and let us take over? And what about the rest of the people? There’s millions of ’em.»
«Listen. We know how to fight. What we’ve got to do is get all the gangs together and fight together, like an army. It’s just a matter of using the right strategy, the right tactics. We can do it. But we’ve got to work together. Not just the Bloodhounds and the Champions, but all the gangs! All of us, together, striking all at once. We can rack up the fuzz and take this town in a single night. They’ll never know what hit them.»
Marco objects, «But Danny, we can’t …»
«Look, I know it’ll take a lot of work. I figure we’ll need two years, at least. We’ve got to get our guys spotted at key places all over the city: the power plants, all the radio and TV stations. We’ll need guys inside the National Guard armories, inside the precinct stations, if we can do it. It’ll mean a lot of guys will have to take jobs. Learn to work hard for a couple years. But in the end, we’ll have this city for ourselves!»
«You got it all figured out?»
«To the last inch.»
Waslewski unconsciously pushes his chair slightly back from the table. He glances at his two lieutenants; they are wide-eyed.
«I gotta think about this. I can’t say yes or no just like that.»
«Okay, you think about it. But don’t spill it to anybody except your top boys. And remember, I’m going to be talking to all the gangs around here … and then to the gangs in the rest of the city. They’ll go for it, I know. Don’t get yourself left out.»
Waslewski gets up slowly. «Okay. I’ll get back to you right away. I think you can count us in.» His aides nod agreement.
«Good. Now we’re rolling.» Danny gets up and sticks out his hand. Waslewski hesitates a beat, and then—acting rather stunned—shakes hands with Danny.
Montage of scenes. Background music: «The Army Caisson Song.»
Danny escorting Waslewski and two other boys into a Job Corps training-center office. CUT TO half-a-dozen boys sitting in a personnel office waiting room. CUT TO a boy signing up in a National Guard armory.
Interior, Brockhurst’s office.
Hansen is sitting on the front inch of the chair beside the desk, tense with excitement.
«It’s a brilliant idea. Romano is working out better than any of his classmates, and this idea simply proves it!»
Brockhurst looks wary, probing for the weak point. «Why’s he doing it? What’s the sense of having gang members formed into a police auxiliary?»
«Sense? It makes perfect sense. The boys can work hand-in-hand with the police, clue them in on trouble before it erupts into violence. The police can get to know the boys and the boys will get to know the police. Mutual exposure will breed mutual trust and confidence. Instead of working against each other, they’ll be working together. With violence between the gangs and the police dwindling, a major source of trouble will be eliminated.»
«It just doesn’t sound right to me. I can’t picture those young punks turning into volunteer cops.»
«But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? What do we have to lose?»
Brockhurst makes a sour face. «I suppose you’re right. It’s worth a try.»
Interior, a one-room apartment.
The room is small but neat. The bed in the corner is made up in military style. The walls are covered with street maps of the city, over which are colored markings showing the territory of each gang. Danny sits at the only table, together with five other boys. One is a black, two others are Puerto Rican. The table is heaped high with papers.