Soon, soon, the street would be theirs again, and every block that touched their street would belong to them, and every block that touched every block that touched their street would be—Riff broke into a run as he moved his right arm before him—theirs too. Property of the Jets, that’s the way it would be. And Tony didn’t know it yet, but he’d been chosen by Riff as the man who was going to help enlarge their world. What an honor he was giving the guy!

A block from Doc’s pharmacy, Riff paused to draw breath and light a cigarette. Puffing slowly, he felt his heart action return to normal and judged his reflection in a store window. Satisfied that he didn’t look excited, and certainly not worried, because this was the last thing he wanted Tony to see—that he was worried—Riff began to whistle.

A couple of minutes ago, he had been thinking as if on a jag; now he knew how things would shape up if Bernardo were at the center. Bernardo would accept the challenge, and Bernardo might go for switch blades, even guns. A week or so before Riff had run into a couple of the Musclers—a dinge gang that operated in Harlem—and seen how one of them had been cut from forehead to chin by a Shark.

If this rumble came off, it was going to be their big all-out effort. Whether Action or Diesel or anyone else knew this was unimportant, because he did, and Tony was going to be put wise to the knowledge.

Winking at himself, nodding sagely, with the corners of his lips turned down at his reflection in the glass, Riff told himself everything would be all right. The cigarette flicked over his shoulder and continuing to whistle easily, Riff entered Doc’s drugstore with both hands raised to assure Doc—who glared at him suspiciously—that he was here on serious business and not to cop anything off a counter.

“Tony quit?” he asked and looked at the clock. It was five-thirty; damn, he didn’t want to go to Tony’s house.

“Tony’s out back,” Doc said. A slender man of less than medium height, Doc wore thick glasses that were forever slipping down his nose. His white coat was stained with sweat under the arms and the loose slippers he wore made his feet ache because they offered no support to his arches. Breathing deeply as he counted out pills to fill a prescription, Doc kept the number in his head. “What do you want to see him about?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Riff said as he pretended to pull a comb from a display rack on the counter. “I’m not going to steal nothing, Doc. Only your boy and my friend. How much are you paying him anyway?”

“That’s for Tony and me to know and for you to find out. If you’re really interested,” Doc paused, “and sincere, I might be able to find you a job like Tony’s. Then you’d know.”