“Might.” Big Deal shut one eye as if in thought. “Seems to me I heard somewhere that the center’s neutral territory and Schrank, Krupke, and company are there a lot. Unless you’re thinking of changing that, Riff.”

“We’ll keep it that way for a while,” Riff said. “But if Bernardo’s there, I’m gonna challenge him. Now, it’s gotta look like we’re at the center for dancing and sociable sociability. So everybody get dressed up, and pull your zippers high.”

Mouthpiece made shaving motions. “What time do we get there?”

“Between eight-thirty and ten,” Riff said after a moment’s deliberation. He looked at Action for his suggestion, and Action nodded. “Let’s not all get there in one bunch,” he added. “It’s gotta look as if you’re going to a dance, nothing more.”

“That means we’ve got to bring dates?” Baby-John mourned.

“Sure,” Action said. “You can take Anybodys.”

As he darted through a tenement hallway, flipped over a fence to the next street and walked down its middle, Riff really felt that he was moving tall. Alone now, it was best to stay in the middle of the street where the danger from automobiles was less than the danger from the Sharks who could dart out of a hallway, clobber him one-two-three, and leave him on the sidewalk with his stomach stomped flat.

It was important that he get to the center ready to swing like a king and to show the other gangs at the dance that Riff Lorton was as good as Tony Wyzek, and that the gang hadn’t fallen apart just because Tony had stepped away. Walking rapidly, snapping his fingers, Riff felt himself growing taller than the buildings, taller than anything, so tall that he could have punched his fist through a cloud and used it to wipe his shoes.

Time was going to drag now—yeah—until he got to the dance and put the challenge to Bernardo. He wondered if the PR would chicken out and leave them the turf without a battle. He hoped not. If this was what Bernardo planned, the only thing to do was stink-bomb his apartment. Hey, how about that? That would be one way of putting the challenge to the enemy—an idea Tony had once had—a thing that every gang on the West Side and everywhere in the city would have to admit was the coolest method of drawing the line they’d ever heard of. Man, that would really be bopping the enemy!

Tempted to return and see what the Jets thought of it, Riff realized that it was too late to round them up now for such a reckless gig. What they had already planned was dangerous enough; what he wanted to do could only mean a running, fighting attack, and retreat down the dark stairs of a tenement where they might be battling not only the Sharks but everyone else in the house.

The challenge at the center would do just as well; then, if Bernardo chickened, they could try the other. What a bunch—Riff glowed at the thought of the boys—everyone knew who they were and everyone stepped aside when they passed, which was the way it should be.