The Blackjacks

By Norman Roberts

Tony Remo, growing up on the mean streets of Manhattan’s East Village during the War in Vietnam, has been enrolled in college for the past three years to escape the military draft. We meet him the crucial day of the December 1, 1969, draft lottery. His birth date, the 326th selection, guarantees he will not be drafted. Initially euphoric, his mood turns somber and introspective; will he remain in school and attempt to make it in the straight life he is contemptuous of, or quit to further pursue his gang related activities? Tony is president of the Blackjacks street gang.
The Blackjacks is the story of Tony Remo’s struggle out of the poverty of Manhattan’s East Village to the wealth and power of Fifth Avenue and Wall Street. His story is influenced by, and takes place during the decade of the War in Vietnam, one of the most interesting and eventful periods in the history of our nation. However, his success will come at great cost. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

The Blackjacks is character-driven, and comprised of a cast of well-developed, multi-dimensional, and introspective characters. It is also a story of relationships and how they develop and change over the course of the narrative. Make no assumptions, what you expect to happen, won’t, yet I assure you, the reader will not be disappointed or surprised by the outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norman Roberts
• Release date: Aug 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465966254

Norman Roberts

Dr. Norman Roberts is a retired dentist living in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. He is an avid reader, a former editor of New Scene Magazine, and author of The Blackjacks. A successful mortgage lender until the 2007 real estate crash, Dr. Roberts returned to investing in the market in August, 2008; and by March, 2009 had suffered an unrealized loss of $650,000. Although he claims no special investing expertise, luck, or insider knowledge, he developed a trading philosophy and trading strategies that converted that loss to a $600,000 gain by March of the following year, a remarkable $1.25 million turn-around. Knowledge he has since shared with friends and family, several of who urged that he write about it and share his knowledge with others. Consequently, he wrote and published The Dividend Investor's Guide in 2011. On March 2, 2016, Dr. Roberts wrote his first article as a Seeking Alpha contributor, exposing what he considered a legal attempt at extortion. He soon became a prolific, although mildly controversial contributor, and rapidly built a large base of followers and soon became the #1 contributor in Seeking Alpha's Dividend Strategy category. Based on his expertise and experience as a cumulative preferred dividend investor and the many articles he has since written on the subject, Dr. Roberts has recently published The Art & Science of Preferred Dividend Investing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The evening of December 1, 1969, the first national draft lottery in a generation was held.Tony Remo, born in 1950 and eligible for the draft, stayed home to view the na-tionally televised drawing. Mesmerized, he watched as the first of three hundred and sixty-six calendar dates was drawn from a large goldfish-type bowl. His breath caught as the announcer unfolded the first slip of paper selected. It read: September 14. Those poor slobs are up shits creek for sure,Tony muttered.

His mother, her eyes riveted to the screen, dry-spat and crossed herself. Tony, how many times I gotta tell you not to use them swear words. You use them words and it's gonna bring you bad luck.

Tony unconsciously crossed himself following his mother’s lead. I sure hope none of the guys was born on the fourteenth. If so, they better start packing their bags, they're gonna be spending next year in Nam. That's if they're lucky, he left unvoiced.He real-ized some might be returning home sooner, in body bags, or worse, as far as he was con-cerned, as cripples.

Three hundred twenty-five balls later, Tony's date of birth, May 22, was selected. He would not be drafted when he graduated the following year.

Thank you, Tricky Dick, he chanted, as he pranced around the living room,hug-ging his mother and sisters. President Richard Nixon, five days before, ordered the draw-ing shortly after Congressapproved the repeal of the 1967 prohibition against such a lot-tery. Henceforth, all males reaching nineteen would be entered in future lotteries held in the fall of each succeeding year to determine their order of selection into the army.

***

Tony finished brushing his hair, then ran his fingers through the thick black mass giving it the casual semi-combed appearance he preferred. Forcing a smile, he erased the sullen features he saw reflected in the faded medicine cabinet mirror. C'mon, asshole, lighten up, you made it, you lucked out last night, no way in the world are they gonna get your ass over to Nam.

He exited the triple-locked front door of his apartment and slammed it shut. The heavy aroma of frying oils and liberally spiced foods, intermingling with the decaying smell of the poorly tended building, failed to mask the eye watering stench of urine that pervaded the hallway. If I ever catch the bastard who's been pissin’ on the radiator, I'll have his balls, he swore, as he bounded down the stairs. With graceful agility he quickly descended to the ground floor of his building.

Its entrance opened onto a stoop, which led to six gray limestone steps occupied by a number of the building's residents. Several, invariably seated in their precisely designated locations, which by habit and a sense of accepted possession, or squatters’ rights, had been vacated upon their arrival.

Hi, Tony, a girl one or two years younger than he greeted him from below.. Her broad smile displayed large even white teeth, highlighted by her smooth, cocoa-colored complexion. She winked suggestively.

Hi, Rosy.

Congratulations, you was born on May twenty-second, that makes you number three-twenty-six on the list. Bein’ smart enough to know what day to be born deserves some kinda reward. So's how about you and me doin’ a little celebratin’ tonight? Then I can give you your present. Her large brown eyes twinkled mischievously with sensuous promise.

Hey, Rosy, said a youth seated on a lower step, my birthday came up 350, do I get a reward too? His remark was greeted with mild laughter and other bawdy remarks.

Tony smiled, ignoring the banter. Sounds real nice, Rosy, but I already got plans. You understand, a man's got to spread the wealth around.

That Tony's one smart kid, Mr. Minnetti added as his 280 pound bulk heaved with good-natured laughter. Whatsamatta, Rosy, you losin’ your touch?

What’s it matter to you? You ain't never gonna get any of it anyhow.

The good natured laughter continued, accompanied by exaggerated oohs and aahs designed to encourage continued banter between Tony and Rosy and whomevercared to join the light-hearted conversation.

Tony liked Rosy, and regretting offending her, added, Honest, Rosy, I got some-thin’ planned, but I'll see if I can get out of it. If I can, I'll give you a call.

I may be busy by then.

Then I'll be out of luck.

Her voice softened. Try anyway, you never know, you might get lucky.

Will do. He nodded and threaded his way down the crowded stoop. His mood brightened appreciably. He was proud of the way he handled himself, scoring points with the crowd while keeping a line open to Rosy. He lied about having plans, notwanting to commit to her for the evening. However, it didn't mean he would feel the same way later. Thoughts of her lush body and special talents stirred him with a pleasant warmth and mild tightness.

He turned back. Rosy, I meant what I said about getting myself free for tonight. For the first time since the afterglow of his good fortune in the lottery had worn off, Tony's smile was unforced and genuine. His normally guarded countenance was momen-tarily transformed to one of boyish vulnerability and warmth.

Don't be too long. You know how I don't like bein' alone, She called after him.

Then I’ll be out of luck. Tony knew she would be waiting for his call and merely mouthed the words to soothe her wounded pride. He theatrically blew her a kiss, winked to the spectators, executed a respectable mock bow, pivoted smartly, and proceeded down the street.

It was unusually warm for the second day of December. The street was alive with the laughter and shouts of people, many congregating in front of buildings similar to Tony's, taking advantage of the mild late fall weather. They knew it wouldn't last long and they would soon be forced indoors to their dreary apartments.

Tony leaped high in the air to snag a well-hit pink-rubber ball curving foul onto the sidewalk. He fingered it lovingly for a few moments before throwing it back to the pitcher standing at the chalked mound in the middle of the gutter. The ball hooked sharply and the young boy, making a stabbing grab, caught it.

Not bad for an old man, he called to Tony. So how's about you and some of your faggot friends comin’ outta retirement and challengin’ us to a game of stickball?

C'mon, throw the fuckin' ball, the batter yelled. Don't waste your breath talkin' to him. He's afraid he'd get his ass kicked in a game with us. Him and his team ain't nothin' but a bunch of has-beens.

Tony smiled, realizing they were trying to goad him into a game. It had been almost three years since he played stickball. His team, The Lucky Seventh, earned its reputa-tion by challenging and consistently beating teams representing other blocks in the neighborhood. Now, only three of the original five-man roster remained: Louie had been sent home from Vietnam wearing a toe tag and Sally was doing three to five in Attica for armed robbery.

Tony was tempted to accept the challenge, wondering if he still had the touch. The Blackjacks had several good ball players and he toyed with the idea of enlisting a few. He called, Okay, you little shits, I'll see what I can do about setting up a game. It's about time you got taught some respect. He waved and continued up the street.

Seventh Street, bounded by avenues B and C, was nestled in the heart of Manhattan's East Village. It was typical of the urban blight plaguing the city. Decaying buildings, many scarred by fire and neglect, lined its eroded pavement. Some were occupied, others vacant, all carried violations sufficient for condemnation had the city the desire or money to relocate its inhabitants. Interspersed between these rotting human warehouses lay va-cant lots, little more than wastelands of rubble strewn with broken furniture, litter, and garbage.

Tony reached down and picked up an empty wine bottle and hurled it over a recently erected fence, which enclosed a debris filled lot. It crashed and exploded into thousands of fragments coming to rest among shards of red brick and gray masonry, remnants of the shattered buildings that had once stood there. Only the fence is new, Tony reflected sourly, everything else in this damned neighborhood is going to hell, including me if I get stuck here like my old man did.He finally confronted the disturbing thoughts that plagued him since waking that morning. The war in Vietnam had been in its sixth year when he graduated from high school. His lack of patriotic illusion combined with the daily and ever mounting casualty reports nurtured his determination to avoid induction. Although his high school grades had been mediocre, he scored well on his SATs and earned admittance to Hunter College, one of the tuition-free city universities. He was now in his junior year. What initially had been little more than a vehicle to escape the draft was now a potential stepping-stone for his climb out of poverty. Nevertheless, the idea of becoming part of the system he disliked, distrusted, and whenever possible avoided, was repugnant to him. He’d often vowed he'd quit school if it weren't for Viet-nam. Now that the opportunity presented itself, he was no longer certain. This indecision, he realized, was the reason for his foul mood.

Again, he forced the disturbing thoughts from his mind as he approached Avenue B. He walked north for a block and a half before crossing to the opposite side of the street where he entered a tiny park. Known as a vest-pocket park, and called the Arm-pit by Tony’s friends, it had been one of Mayor Lindsay's feeble attempts at beautifying the city. What remained was little more than a constricted area of cement containing a few scarred benches, some broken swings, and a hideous sculpture - some architect's version of monkey bars.

Chapter 2

Tony, my man, what’s you doin' here all by your lonesome?A tall, slender black youth called as he approached.Mmm, mm, sure smells like somthin's burnin’. You must be thinkin' up a storm.

Tony, seated on one of the few vest-pocket park’s benches that retained all its slats, was roused from his musings.Hey, man, what's happenin’?He responded with-out enthusiasm.

Man, you look down. Uh, oh, don't tell me your number done come up wrong?

Shit, this is Tony you're talkin’ to. I told you I had connections.Number three-twenty-six.Those bastards ain't never gonna get me.

Leroy laughed and raised his hand in a black power salute. Right-on blood.

Tony slapped downward against his friend's open palm. How'd you do, Lee?

Not good man, number ninety-two. I guess it ain't gonna be long before I is shovelin’ shit in the army.

Sorry to hear that. What're you goin’ ta do?"

Now don't you go worryin’ about me, white boy.I be lookin’ out for myself in this jungle for a long time now. Sheet!Nam ain't gonna be so bad. I'm jes gonna haul ass over there and kill me some gooks.Who knows, might even win me a medal. His voice echoed with false bravado. Besides, I hear they got some real good shit over there, all you want.They say it grows all over the place.I'm gonna spend my hitch fuuucked uup, he drew out the words. Treat me right, white boy, and I just might send some back for ya'll ta taste.

In place of a handshake, they stroked palms and executed an intricate hand ballet.

Hey, Tony, if the army ain't gonna get you, then what's eatin’ ya?

I don't know, man, I just got a lot of things on my mind. Changing the subject, he asked, Hey, Lee, you goin’ to the party tonight?

Sheet, when you ever hear about no nigga missin’ a party?

Tony laughed.Especially since it's goin’ to be a going away party for you suck-ers with the low numbers.

You is cold.You is one cold mutha.

They both laughed.

Several moments passed with both boys engrossed in their own private thoughts before Leroy said, Guess it's time I be movin’ along.Gottapickupmy threadsfromthe cleaners and get myself ready to do somehard partyin’ tonight. Later, man. He mockingly army-saluted Tony and strutted out of the park.

Tony sat idly observing the pedestrian traffic as it passed by.Although he recog-nized but a few, he guessed most lived in the neighborhood and were returning home from work.It was not the kind of neighborhood a stranger casually strolled through, he reflected sourly. Henoticed many walkedwithheads bowedand backs bent, as if they were searching the groundfor something they'd lost. Most rarely lifted their heads even to acknowledgetheexistenceofothers passingby. Shit, they’re afraid to even look each other in the eye, he thought. Losers, losers and burn-outs. As far as he was con-cerned, they had been kickedin the ass all their lives by the system and were too stupid, or scared,to do anything but bitch about it at the local bar, or to their wives, who were usually too tired to care or listen.

He watched children playing in the park.How different they appeared, running and jumping, immersed in their own carefree worlds of adventure and fantasy. He envied them. That's the ticket, have a ball now because it won't be long before you grow up and become like all the other fucking losers around here.Well not me...His thoughts were interrupted by a young woman striding purposefully past the park.She was modestly dressed, wearing a white blouse, pleated skirt, and penny loafers. Nothing expensive, yet she radiated an elegance and self-confidence in obvious contrast to those moving about her.

Tony sprung to his feet and waved. Hey, Laura.

She broke stride, hesitated, then glanced in Tony's direction.For a brief moment her eyes locked with his before she turned away, her pace quickening.

He bounded after her.Hey, slow down, he said as he came abreast of her.Why are you rushing off without even saying hello?

Hello. Now please go away and stop bothering me. She continued walking.

Tony increased his stride to match hers.Hey, Laura, what's wrong with me any-how?How come I'm not good enough for you to talk to anymore?It used to be pretty good between us. So how come the cold shoulder now?

She stopped and faced him.The familiar empty feeling after their break-up re-turned as he gazed into her cool gray eyes. Usually large, they were now constricted in anger.

Because you're a bum, Tony. Look at you in that silly jacket, proclaiming to the whole world you're a proud member of the Blackjacks. Her lips curled into an ugly sneer as she mouthed the words. If you really want to know why I don't want to have anything to do with you, it's because I know you'll never amount to anything.Everybody knows you're in college just to stay out of the army.All you're really doing is taking space from someone who might really want an education.

Tony flushed.You got that right. I'm not going to let the system use me up and get rid of me when there's nothing left. Wise up, Laura, you got eyes.Look at what they're doing in Nam. Sending all the poor dumb slobs over there to get their asses shot off.For what?I'll tell you for what. So the fat cats who run this country can make a few extra lousy bucks.Well fuck 'em!They're not going to use me.

That's right, and you can go on being the president of the mighty Blackjacks.Now, if you don't mind..." She continued walking.

Bitch, he said, without conviction, as he watched her stride off down the street, her long shining black hair cascading about her shoulders.

***

For as long as Tony could remember, even before he had been consciously aware of her presence, Laura was there, riding in a baby carriage beside his. Their families occu-pied identical apartments, her's two floors directly below his. Their mothers were close friends who spent many hours together watching their children at play.Tony and Laura had rarely been apart and were inseparable until they began elementary school. There, Tony entered the exclusive world of young boys, practically forgetting Laura existed. Af-ter they began dating, Laura confessed she’d been hurt by his sudden rejection, and for a while, even believed she hated him. He recalled her blushing as she described how she’d gotten over her anger andreplaced it with a secret school girl's crush. She asked him if he had ever noticed her watching him. He admitted he hadn’t and had viewed her as little more than a sisterly friend until the eventful night of their grade school prom.

Feeling stiff and somewhat foolish in his rented tuxedo, Tony descended the two flights of stairs to Laura's apartment. He knocked.

Her mother opened the door. Oh, Tony, how nice you look. She ushered him into the living room and gestured he sit on the plastic covered couch.Laura, your date is here; she called, and he's brought you the most beautiful corsage to wear.

Tony often visited Laura's apartment, yet somehow tonight everything seemed different. The difference became apparent when Laura's mother referred to him, not as Tony, but as her date.The sudden realization startled him into a nervous sweat.What did I get myself into, he thought. He asked Laura to go with him because most of his friends were bringing girls.Shit, I hope she don't expect me to get all gooey and lovey-dovey and stay with her the whole night. I promised the guys...

Laura's entrance interrupted his thoughts. She wore a white lace dress cut high at the neck, its hem falling just below her knees.Tony blinked back a stare.He couldn't help but notice that her thin legs, now sheathed in sheer nylon and contoured by high heeled shoes, were indeed shapely.

As if shocked by an electrified sofa, Tony sprang from his seat and nervously handed Laura the corsage, still in its see-through plastic container. I, I got this for you ta wear tonight. I hope you like it. Actually, his mother had purchased the corsage against his will. He was now grateful she had.

A warm smile illuminated Laura's face.Oh, thank you, Tony! It's beautiful. With trembling hands she carefully removed the corsage from its container and handed it to her mother.Can you pin it on for me?

Unabashedly, Tony studied Laura as her mother adjusted and fastened the cor-sage. Her hair, black like his, was piled high on her head and held in place with ribbons and decorative pins. Her enormous gray eyes brimmed with tears.He believed she was about to cry.He couldn't understand why.Would he ever understand girls?Dabs of rouge highlighted her alabaster skin. Her lips were now colored a deep red.His child-hood friend, the little girl he had taken for granted for so long, was suddenly transformed into a desirable stranger.

Tony swallowed. Gee, Laura, you sure didn't look like this when I saw you at school this afternoon.

She blushed at his open and frank admiration.Thank you, Tony.You look nice too. I just love your suit.

The corsage attached, Mrs. Jacobs stepped back to get a better look at the young couple.She too was misty-eyed.I don't know where the time's gone.It seems like only yesterday your mother and I were wheeling you side by side in your carriages.Now look at you, you're practically all grown up. She brushed away a tear streaking down her cheek. Go on get out of here before I start blubbering and make a fool of myself.

Laura rushed to her mother and hugged her.Then she turned and grabbed Tony's hand, and was about to lead him from the apartment when her mother asked them to wait. She hurried to the bedroom and returned holding an inexpensive Brownie camera.

Mother!

Her mother, ignoring Laura's plea, peremptorily arranged the fidgety pair for a picture.C'mon, Tony, don't act so stiff, put your arm around Laura. She's not gonna bite. Smile.The camera clicked and flashed.Now that wasn't so bad.Okay, get out of here and have a good time, she commanded in a husky, emotion-filled, voice.

As they hurried from the apartment she called after them, Laura, don't forget, I expect you home no later than eleven.

P.S.41, built in 1925, was stereotypical of the New York City public school buildings erected during the 1920's. Its fortress-like red-brick facade was trimmed with gray cement and broken by large multi-paned windows, which were protected by metal mesh grills, installed in the fifties in response to the ever-increasing incidence of vandal-ism.AJimi Hendrix song reverberated throughout the school's inadequately sized gym-nasium.Ill-placed, yet necessary white tile covered structural support columns, sectioned and further limited the expanse of play area. The rough stone floor was painted an institu-tional gray, which matched the drab, muddy-colored green walls that were brightened for the prom by balloons, streamers, and signs trimmed in blue and gold — the school colors.

Laura and Tony, holding paper cups filled with a noxious brew of non-alcoholic punch, stood off to the side and watched the frenzied gyrations of the dancers in the mid-dle of the floor as Frank Faretti approached.

Hey, Tony.How ya doin', Laura. He greeted the couple and whispered to Tony, We meet in the bathroom in ten minutes. He winked and drifted off into the crowd.

What's that all about?

Just something me and a coupla the guys been working on.No big deal.

The tempo of the music changed, replaced by a love balladA Certain Smile.

Oh, I just love Johnny Mathis. Would you like to dance, Tony?

Never having danced before, Tony reluctanty, however, allowed himself to be led onto the floor after Laura assured him it was easy and would be fun once he got the hang of it. After several awkward and tentative stiff-kneed, wooden-legged steps, Tony relaxed his concentration enough to be affected by Laura’s nearness.Reflexively, his right arm, which Laura positioned on the small of her back, tightened and drew her closer.She of-fered no resistance, resting her head on his shoulder.The faint aroma of her perfume or shampoo, he couldn't tell which, drifted up and intoxicated him. Tentatively, he released his left hand from hers and placed it on her back drawing her closer. His eyes closed, he drifted along to the music. Tony was stunned by, and reveled in, the feelings awakening within him. Nothing in his limited experience compared with it.He was certain she could hear his heart thudding in his chest and feel the shivers that vibrated throughout his body. Somehow, it didn't matter.He could barely breathe, his legs felt rubbery and weak, yet he prayed the song would never end. Suddenly, his reason for being there and his co-conspirators awaiting him in the men's room seemed unimportant and childish. He re-fused to be torn from Laura's arms.

What began that night grew into love during the summer.That September they en-tered high school. Tony somehow arranged for them to be together in almost all their classes. He even joked about joining her gym class.Academically, both excelled, how-ever, she was favored by their teachers while Tony earned the reputation of a trouble-making prankster. Ironically, Laura was the cause of his paradoxical success and failure. To impress her, he worked hard to keep his grades high, and for the same reason, repeat-edly disrupted their classes by calling out answers.

However, their romance sailed into troubled waters shortly after the formation of the Blackjacks.In mid-October, not too long after the Blackjack's decisive defeat of Los Diablos, they were locked in the bloody struggle with another neighborhood gang, the Apaches. With casualties mounting on both sides, Tony, now the Blackjack's president, struggled to keep his fledging gang from falling apart while resisting Laura's continued urging that he quit the gang.

Tony and his councilors: Vinny, Jerry, and Tommy sat on a bench in the vest-pocket park discussing potential defensive and retaliatory strategies they could employ against the Apaches when Jerry, spotting Laura, gestured to Tony, who turned in time to see her enter the park.

Her features were set in grim determination.Ignoring the others, she addressed Tony, I've made a decision, Tony. I think we ought to talk about it.

Tony frowned.Can't we discuss it later? I'm all tied up right now.He still smarted from the vehement argument they had less than two hours before and wanted to avoid a repeat performance.

No, it can't wait. Don't worry, I won't take up much of your friend's precious time.

Tony followed her to a deserted bench.

She sat facing him, yet avoided his eyes.Tony, I don't think we ought to see each other any more.Her voice trembled as if she were on the verge of crying.

Although he had been expecting this for the past few weeks, her words struck him a numbing, almost physical, blow.An empty feeling traveled down his chest and settled in the pit of his stomach.He struggled to control his voice and keep it from faltering. What's that supposed to mean?

Her eyes locked with his. Just what it sounds like. You and I are quits!

Don't you think we should talk it over?

Her anger subsided. Only defeat echoed in her words.Oh, Tony, we already dis-cussed it a million times. You had to choose between me and your gang. It's obvious you didn't choose me.

You're wrong, Laura, I never chose them over you.There's just nothing I can do about it.The guys are depending on me.I just can't let them down.'Specially now, with the trouble with the Apaches.

Oh, Tony, can't you see that after the Apaches it'll be someone or something else.I'm sorry. She choked back a sob. You have to do what you have to do and so do I.She turned and fled the park.

Tony, watching her leave, inhaled deeply, and returned to his friends.

Laura remained true to her word, their relationship ended. Tony consequentlylostinterestinschool andhisgrades plummetedashebecamemore deeplyenmeshed in his gang's activities.

***

Recalling their history and eventual break-up, Tony aimlessly drifted back to the small park. It was sandwiched between two buildings whose red-brick walls were de-faced by graffiti and the bold insignia proclaiming it Blackjack territory. Weather permit-ting, it served as the outdoor headquarters of Tony's gang. Ironic, he thought, how this sad excuse for a park played such an important role in his life. It was here, a little over three years ago, where events shaped and catapulted the Blackjacks into existence.

Chapter 3

Tony, for the better part of an hour, had been oiling and working the stiffness out of his glove in preparation for his team's first baseball practice of the year. Hearing his name shouted, he looked up and spotted Angelo Martelli racing towards him.

Tony... The youth gasped and swallowed trying to control his voice. They're gonna kill him! Ya gotta get down ta the armpit before it's too late.

Whoa, slow down, Angie. Who's killin' who?

Los Diablos...Me and Franky...

Before Angelo could complete the sentence, Tony dropped his glove and raced off in the direction of the park. Angelo, close at his heels, called, There's four of them, and they got chains and antennas. Shit! We didn't have a chance.

At the corner, Tony spun to his right and dashed across the street barely avoiding a car, which came to a sudden stop, its horn blaring the driver's anger. Tony continued run-ning, snapping an antenna off a parked car he passed. Within two minutes of Angelo's frantic summons, Tony shouldered his way through the gawking crowd at the park's pe-rimeter. He was too late. The fight had ended. The attackers were gone. Only Frank re-mained, lying on his side doubled over in pain. Tony knelt beside his friend and gently rolled him onto his back, recoiling at the sight of Frank's battered face, a distorted mass of red, his eyes swollen shut, his nose smashed and bloody.

Aargh. Frank moaned. His split lips, drawn back in pain, exposed jagged broken teeth.He gulped for air. Can’t breath, hurt so bad. He pulled his legs closer to his stomach as he rolled back on to his side.

Hold on, Franky... Tony's voice faltered. It's going to be all right. The crowd pushed closer. Tony's anger flared. Why don't you ghouls go on and get the fuck outta here!he screamed and jumped to his feet, pushing those nearest him. Go on, you heard me, get out of here! Give him some room to breathe. This ain't no side show.

Angelo fought his way through the thinning crowd. Tony, an ambulance is on its way. Somebody must have called the cops. As if on cue, a droning siren signaled its ar-rival.

***

Angie, from the beginning, I want to know what went down.Several hours had passed since the incident. Tony, having returned from the hospital, sat on a worn sofa in Angelo's living room. Vinny Scarfo, swarthy and overpoweringly large youth, sat beside him staring balefully at the diminutive Angelo, who paced the room.

Angelo was on the verge of crying. Me and Franky was just clownin’ aroun’ when the spics showed up an told us to get our asses out of the park, sayin’ how it now was part of their turf. I knew they was lookin' for trouble andtried to get Franky to leave with me, but he only laughed and told them to go get fucked. Four of them with chains and antennas and only two ofus, and Franky tells them ta go get fucked.

It looks to me like it was only one of him, Vinny said.

Angelo blanched.I tried to help him, honest, but they had chains and antennas, and they started whippin’ us. He extended his arm, displaying an angry red welt. Okay, I was scared and I ran. His voice cracked. I ran damnit! I ran. He brushed a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. Franky could have run for it too, but he just stood their swingin’. Why didn't he run, Tony?

Tony ruffled the slightly built youth's hair.It's okay, Angie, no one's blaming you. You ain't done nothin’ wrong. No use both of you endin’ up in the hospital. You know Franky's too stupid to run from anythin’.

Angelo relaxed.

How is he? Vinny asked. His hands were tightly clenched into balled, white-knuckled fists, an indication of his distress or anger, which cautioned those who knew him to tread softly around this otherwise gentle giant.

His face is pretty busted up, but the doc said he'd be all right. He also got a coupla busted ribs and was in a lot of pain until they gave him a shot to put him out. He won't be gettin’ out of bed for about a week. Tony turned back to Angelo. Did you recognize any of ‘em?

Yeah, Julio Ramirez and that scumbag Felix he's always hangin’ aroun’ with. I seen the other two guys around too, but I don't know their names.

Vinny shook his head. That Ramirez is one mean son-of-a-bitch. I seen him slice some guy across his face with a razor like it wasn't nothin’.All because the dumb ass bumped into him by accident and didn't say he was sorry. Ramirez has been needin’ to get his ass kicked for a long time, just no one around with the balls to mix it up with him, not as long as he got that gang of his hangin’ around.

Relieved by Vinny's redirected anger, Angelo added, Yeah, the Devils have been comin’ into the neighborhood and tryin’ to take over ever since the city built the Armpit. Ramirez is always braggin’ about how it's now Diablo turf.

They beat up a mullenyan outside Manny's a coupla weeks ago. Told him they didn't want no niggers hanging around in their turf, Vinny added.

Tony's eyes hardened, appearing as chips of green agate. I heard they're gettin’ paid protection money from the stores over on A, all the way down to Sixth. And none of the store owners got the balls to go to the cops.

Shit!Vinny responded, What's the cops gonna do? They don't give a shit about none of us as long as we ain't botherin’ them.

Ain't that the truth, Angelo agreed.

Several moments passed before Tony broke the silence. Listen, I want you to make sure to spread the word that nobody miss practice Saturday morning.Make it plain, I ex-pect everybody to be there.

***

Hey, man, throw the ball. Will you throw the fuckin' ball! shouted a tall gangly youth standing several steps to the right of home plate. A baseball bat with a chipped handle rested lightly on his shoulder. He shouted at a chubby, pimple-faced boy, standing in the general location of where the pitcher's mound should be, nonchalantly tossing a ball into the air and catching it in his glove.

Fuck you, Stretch, the pitcher retorted. Who said you could be batter anyhow? You know you can't hit worth a shit.

One of the group of boys standing along the chain-link fence bordering the field hooted and called, That's it, Blimpie, show him who's boss.

Approximately a dozen teenagers occupied the field and were arrayed in a motley collection of faded, dirty, and ripped jeans. Several wore T-shirts with numbers centered on their back below the bold black letters that spelled, MANNY'S.The boys blended well with the poorly tended field, little more than patches of sparse grass and weeds, dot-ted with spent bottles, cans, and assorted litter. Laid out before them was the bedraggled semblance of a baseball diamond, its base paths well worn, with first base and part of home plate partially submerged in water.

Here comes Tony, one of the boys called, and the general horseplay subsided.

Okay, shit head, now we'll see if I'm batter or not, Stretch said as he ambled toward Tony.

Tony had been unanimously chosen team captain, although he hadn't sought the position. He had reluctantly accepted after all the players grudgingly agreed to abide by his decisions without argument. He proved himself a capable manager, displaying no fa-voritism and assigning each position on the field, and in the batting order, to whom he considered most suited. Soon, they were winning games on a regular basis.

Approaching his teammates, Tony raised his hands signaling for their attention. Sorry I'm late guys, but Franky just got home from the hospital and I stopped by his apartment to see if he needed anythin’. He told me to tell you guys hello, and that he still owned second base.

The group responded with appreciative comments.

Do you think it would be okay if some of us went to see Franky when he's feelin’ up to it?

Sure, Sal, I think he'd like that.

Man, what happened to Franky really sucked. I think we oughta do somethin’ about it. One of the boys suggested to an accompaniment of yeahs and right-ons."

Tony raised his voice. That's what I wanted to talk about today. I got some things on my chest and I think we should talk about them. Then maybe we can play some ball.

Yeah, that's what Vinny kinda thought you'd say.Jerry said. I'd have been sur-prised if you hadn't.

Of the group, Jerry Rubin was the only one Tony hadn't quite figured out.He was a straight A student, the only one from the entire neighborhood accepted into the prestigious Bronx High School of Science.He was nicknamed, The Brain. Tony was cer-tain Jerry would succeed at anything he attempted and would make it big in the world ifhe survived into adulthood. Jerry had a terrible temper and was ready for battle at the slightest provocation no matter how great