The Wanderers Read Free

with the gang's name and then individual names under that.
    A block away Richie sensed something was wrong. He saw too many people standing around the camp. At first he thought they were cops who were always coming around when there was a good fire going, but it was too light yet for a fire. They weren't cops. He raced up to the clearing.
    It was the Wongs.
    The Wanderers were standing around not knowing what to do or say. Perry ran up to Richie whispering hysterically. "It's the fuckin' Wongs!"
    "What's goin' on?"
    "I don't know! They ain't sayin' anything!"
    The Wongs stood there as if posing for a group photograph, faces expressionless, eyes slits. They didn't move a muscle. If one of them gave out with a judo shout the Wanderers would have cleared the place in ten seconds flat. Richie looked around. His troops were standing in little clusters, staring and nervously rubbing their arms. Finally Teddy Wong, the leader of the clan, decided that enough of the Wanderers had shown up and very softly said "We came up here to warn you guys about me niggers." '
    "We thought the fight was off!" Perry's voice cracked. Entranced, Richie stared at the dragon tattoo on Teddy's forearm.
    "It is. They're just after one guy. Who's Gennaro?"
    Richie swallowed his jaw. He ran up to Teddy. "How come? Whad I do? Whad I do?"
    Teddy stared at him contemptuously. The other Wongs sneered at such a breakdown in composure. "Come off it, man. I saw what you wrote on the sidewalk in front of school
and
by the bus stop."
    "What! What! I didn't write nothin'!"
    Teddy turned to leave. The others filed out after him. Richie wanted to run up and cry on Teddy's tattoo and beg forgiveness; he was more afraid of the Wongs than of Clinton Stitch and the niggers. The last Wong to leave turned to face Gennaro. "That was stupid, man ... really stupid." They walked in formation toward the train station.
    Panic in the camp. Richie's shirt was soaked with sweat and his underwear stuck to his prick where a little pee had seeped out. Everyone crowded around him. He just kept repeating, "I didn't do nothin'! I didn't do nothin'." His voice broke and the steak and cooked fruit started coming up. Suddenly he jerked around. The others danced away as he puked. Buddy Borsalino ran to get his father's car. The other guys helped Richie into the back seat, careful not to get too close—he smelled pretty bad. They drove to the school and saw in at least seven different sidewalk squares in white paint:
    NIGERS STINK
RICHIE GENNARO
    He had no idea who wrote it. He had no enemies to speak of. He hadn't had a fight in months. At the bus station the same story—this time on the walls. They went back to the camp.
    "Hey, lissen, man, if you gotta fight then we're fightin' too."
    "Yeah, we gotta stick together."
    "I didn't
do
it, I didn't
do
it." His voice had settled into a tired whine. He wanted to go to sleep.
    "Don't worry, man, we won't letcha down."
    That night, Richie had a nightmare:
    He was naked, getting the shit pounded out of him by gigantic muscular blacks wearing sunglasses, his head slowly sinking into Big Playground concrete. Voodoo drums. He began choking in the pungence of elevator piss. He was being cooked in it—in a big black kettle, with a blazing fire underneath. Clinton Stitch, head of the Pips, stirred the pee around him with a huge ladle that had a skull on the end. Then he was stretched out on a rack getting judo-chopped by the Wongs. Teddy Wong was standing there dressed in an embroidered ceremonial gown and a black silk skull cap. He had a two-foot stringy black mustache and wore eyeliner. His hands were hidden, folded in the sleeves of his garment. Suddenly they appeared with two-inch fingernails painted black He clapped twice and two bald fat Chinks appeared dragging C, nude, hands tied behind her back. She was yanked by the hair and forced to kneel in front of Teddy who parted his gown. His huge prick stood straight out with tremendous fire-breathing