He had to see Tony, have another talk with him, beg him to come back. When Tony had been running the show every minute of every hour had been occupied, filled with things to do. True, at that time Tony and the other Jets had been busy battling to get title to the turf. They’d had to take on everyone to make the block their own, and Riff and the other boys had scars to prove that they had won the block and held it. There had been no one around who even thought of challenging them, no one until Bernardo, who was one of the first PR’s to move into the block.

The other PR’s lived all over the neighborhood, but Bernardo kept on bringing them down to the turf; and what he had in mind was very evident—to take over the block. If Bernardo and his Sharks could do this then all the white people would have to move out and it would be another victory for the PR’s and their frabajaba talk. Then where would they go? Into the river?

Not for him, Riff swore. If anybody was going to live in the water it was going to be the Sharks. Damn spics! They never took a bath, kept coal in the bathtub; so kicking them into the river would be doing them a favor.

“Riff!”

Riff hunched his shoulders and refused to turn.

“Hey, Riff!” Anybodys was at his side. “What did Schrank want?”

Riff looked at the pale, thin, intense tomboy whose hair was cut almost in a butch. She had no breasts under her T shirt and her jeans were worn low because she also lacked hips. Dirty feet were stuffed into dirty tennis shoes, tied with broken laces, and as Baby-John ran forward to goose her, Anybodys looped at him with a hard right round-house and the movement was that of a boy.

Failing to connect, she cursed Baby-John in a flat, gritty voice, then curled her tongue to spit at him.

“I’ll get you later,” she warned Baby-John. “What happened, Riff?”

“We had a talk.”

“About what?” Anybodys asked.

“About you,” Riff said. “Schrank asked if we wanted to get rid of you and we replied in the affirmative.”

Anybodys reached for his arm but Riff shrugged himself free. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You wouldn’t say that about one of the Jets.”

“You’re not one of the Jets. But it’s not for trying,” Riff admitted.

“Then what is it?” Anybodys trotted at Riff’s side and managed to hook her finger into his belt. “I’m willing to do what anybody else is.”

“You mean that?” Riff asked her.

“Try me,” she said.

“We’re gonna look for the chicks,” Riff said, loud enough for the boys to hear. “All of us. Even Baby-John. We’re gonna get laid. What chick are you gonna promote?”

The sob torn from Anybodys’ lips was drowned by a roar of laughter. Blindly, she struck out at Riff, but his left warded off her punch and Baby-John moved in to goose her again.