Young and Violent by Vin Packer Page A

the hopheads that depend on me for their snow. I gotta deliver — and take care of me too.”
    “You sure are a cat who really loves to boot up, Tea.”
    Tea shakes his head and rubs his arms where there are marks of popping for joy. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees;
“si, si.
So what’d you find out from Jungle land?”
    “They’re going to play the rumble by the rules. They don’t figure we’ll jap them; they figure on Saturday night. Pontiac plans to tell Gobe, after he’s come on with Babe, ‘If you don’t like it, show up with your punks Saturday night at Park, in the lot there.’ “
    “Who told you this, Eyes?”
    “A very reliable source. You know their lookout, Silly Charlie?”
    “Sure, he’s a stupido. A moron.”
    “Yeah. Well, he doesn’t like the fact they make him lookout, see? And don’t let him in on all their doings, see? So I told him he could be a scout for us, and we’d take him into the Kings as a War Counselor if he proved himself.”
    “That’s good tactics, Eyes. Gotta hand it to you.”
    “He says Pontiac figures Gober would never jap, because Gober is so straight, you know? Like, Gobe don’t steal or get with the rackets much, so he figures Gober ain’t the kind would jap. Besides, Pontiac wants a big show, see? And if you jap, he figures, you can’t always have a big show, see? You know, you surprise a bunch and there might not be much but a — ”
    “Hey, amigo — lookit! Lookit up ahead!”
    Eyes and Tea stop dead in their tracks and stare at the shiny new Buick convertible parked in front of Dan’s offices. It is powder-blue, and hanging from the radio aerial is a mink tail with a red ribbon around it. It is sleek and full of chromium; and behind the wheel is Flat Head Pontiac, smoking a cigarette out of an extra-long powder-blue holder. He has the radio turned on and up, and he is just sitting there like that, looking very much like a very big man, a smart money man.
    “Idioto!” Tea says. “Ratero!”
    Eyes says, “Jesus Christ!”
    The pair continue on their way now, walking toward the car, making only inane conversation between them, and cursing, and watching Flat Head.
    “I hear that ain’t even his car,” Eyes says. “I got the news was his brother’s car, on loan while he does time up in Auburn.”
    “His whole family’s in the clink, I hear,” Perrez says. “Where else you gonna keep ‘em, make society safe?” “Could bury ‘em,” Tea says.
    As they come alongside the Buick, neither Tea nor Eyes looks at Flat Head. They pause before the Youth Board. “You going to see Detached Dan, ah?” “Yeah. You coming?”
    “Naw, I gotta lead on Wintersville. Gotta case it for snow. I’m really rifty about why Ace never showed.” “Then I see you around tomorrow. School.” “Yeah.”
    Just as they salute and start away from one another, Pontiac halts them, by yelling at Tea, “Hey, Perrez. What’s a matter, Perrez? You look pale or something.”
    Eyes and Tea give him a cool look.
    “You didn’t make your connection with Ace today, did you, dad? That why you’re caving in in the middle?”
    Tea shouts,
“Besame el culo!”
    “Kiss mine!” Pontiac laughs back.
    Tea shouts the vilest of Spanish oaths. Cool as he is, Pontiac steams when he hears it. His face flames in anger. “You’re going to see, dad. Wait until you want a flake from the tall white horse, dad. I dig spic talk, dad.”
    “Ah, besame el culo!”
Tea repeats again.
    Pontiac turns his key in the ignition, the cigarette holder between his teeth, clamped by angry jaws. He guns his motor. He backs his Buick into the truck parked behind him, lets it ram it, and then gives it the gas, swings the wheel furiously, and takes off.
    Tea yells an obscenity after him, and Eyes stands laughing.
    Once Pontiac is out of sight, Eyes says, “That’s laying it on him, Tea Bag! Did he cut out!”
    “Yah! Yah! He’s all talk and no action.”
    “Take it easy,” Eyes waves as he turns in at