A Matter of Conviction

“Yeah, the spies,” she said gently, nodding. “They had a truce on before, them and the Birds, but that afternoon the warlords met and decided the stuff was on again. So we knew they were going bopping that night. And there’s a lot of things they have to do before they go, so we figured that’s why none of them was around. Carol’s boy friend is the warlord of the Thunderbirds, so she knew all about it.”

“Do you have a boy friend on the club?”

“Well, no, not a steady or anything like that. I go to their jumps and like that. But I ain’t really interested in none of them. I mean, not for a boy friend. But they’re nice boys. I mean, they seem like nice boys, you know?”

“Yes, go on.”

“Well, we were sitting there on the front stoop, and it was very quiet. It looked like rain. I remember saying to Carol it looked like it was going to rain...”

CAROL: That’s what we need, all right, is a little rain.

ANGELA: I wouldn’t mind it. It’s been hot all day.

CAROL: I wouldn’t neither. It’s what I said, ain’t it?

ANGELA: I thought you were being sarcastic.

CAROL: No. (She pauses, sighs.) Listen, let’s take a walk or something. I’m dying of boredom here on the stoop.

ANGELA: All right, come on. The fellows won’t be back till late, anyway.

CAROL: They haven’t even started yet. It ain’t even dark.

(They rise from the stoop. They are both wearing blue flaring skirts and white sleeveless blouses. Carol is the taller of the two girls, and the older. They are dressed in what might seem good taste were it not for the high pointed thrust of their brassières. They walk, too, with an exaggerated femininity, as if anxious to emphasize their femaleness in what must seem to them a male-dominated society. They pass Second Avenue and continue westward. Some boys on the corner whistle at them, and they tilt their teenage noses to the sky, aloofly but not without a smug female satisfaction. They are pretty girls, and they know it. Carol knows, too, that she is good in bed. She has been told so. Angela is a virgin, but she tries hard to give an impression of vast sexual knowledge. As they approach Third Avenue, it begins to rain. Running, their skirts flapping about their legs, they duck into a doorway and then look up toward Lexington Avenue.)

CAROL: Hey! What’s that? Up the street! Look!

ANGELA (peering westward, where the thunderclouds are banked against the horizon): It’s Tower, ain’t it? Who’s that with him?

CAROL: Batman and Danny. They’re running!

ANGELA: But I thought...

CAROL: Oh God, they’re all full of blood!

(The boys break across Third Avenue in long loping sprints. Behind them is the sound of a police siren. Fear is mingled with the excitement on their faces. Their hands are drenched with blood. Each is still carrying a bloody knife.)

TOWER (spotting the girls): Hey... hey! Hey, c’mere, quick!

CAROL: What is it? What happened?

TOWER: Never mind, the cops are behind us. Take these! Get rid of them! Come on! Come on, take them! (The knives are offered. They ring the girls in dripping steel. Carol is frozen.)

CAROL: What happened?

DANNY: A spic tried to jap us. We stabbed him. Take the knives! Take them!