“Listen to me, Riff,” Schrank said, “and that goes for all your cruds.” Moving quickly, Schrank fastened his right hand on Riff’s shoulder and held him in a hard and painful grip. “The news I’ve got for you may come as a surprise.” He tightened the grip and hoped the boy would wince. “You hoodlums don’t own the streets.”

“Never said we did.” Despite the pain, Riff knew his voice was level and unconcerned.

“There’s been too much raiding and bombing between you and the PR’s. Now we’ve told it to them and we’re telling it to you. Since you kids have to stay somewhere, we want you to be on your block and no place else. And you’re not to block the sidewalk.”

Action clapped his hands. “The word’s official! We can’t even go to work! Thank you, Detective Schrank!”

“Thanks for cueing me,” Schrank pointed at Action, “because this is the appropriate time to mention the workhouse.” No longer smiling, he chewed with a hard rotation of his jaws. “It’s this way,” he began, and the hard balling of his left fist warned the Jets to restrain their humor, “if I don’t put down the roughhouse, keep this neighborhood clean and quiet, I’ll wind up on a beat again, which means walking the same street with you, which I couldn’t stand. Now I’ve got ambition, and you’re going to have to play ball with my ambition. At least you’re going to have to put up with it. So it’s this way”—he tightened his fingers on Riff’s shoulder and twisted to bring the defiant boy off balance—“I want you back on your block. I don’t want you off your block. I don’t want you looking for the Sharks or any other PR gang. I don’t want you to do nothing that’s going to bring them looking for you. You understand that, Riff? Goddamnit”—he shook the boy hard—“do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Riff said. The pain was excruciating, numbing his shoulder, but he wasn’t going to give the cop the satisfaction of knowing it. The Jets had to be proud of him, and he felt Tony would be, too. “You want us to behave like we always do. Peaceful.”

“As for the rest of your trash,” Schrank continued, “you can give them the message for me. If they don’t do as I say, it means they want the crap beaten out of them. And my colleagues and me are ready, willing and anxious to oblige.” The thrust of his hand made Riff stumble and fall against Action. “Get back to your block,” Schrank repeated. “Krupke and me will be cruising it regularly because we want to tell you boys when it’s bedtime.”

There was no love, never had been, never could be, Schrank felt as Krupke and he walked backwards to the prowl car. Before he entered he moved his thumb to start the boys on their way, and from the corner of his eye could see that Krupke admired the way he had handled the situation. Krupke would remember this, would mention it; and it might be of some use to other cops who had enough of this sociology crap which preached that the underprivileged were often misunderstood.