Free The Warriors by Sol Yurick

Wallie, the Worker recently assignedto them, was a good man. “Wallie took a lot of lip, but he bore up,” Hinton said. Lunkface insisted that none of them were any good; the Family didn’t need anyone at all. Hinton explained that with every cop and warrior surely on the alert, possibly with road blocks, check points, heavily guarded enemy turfs, they might have to fight their way through, fist alone because they had come unpacked, except for Arnold’s Power and that was gone now. They had a whole city to march down till they got home. Hinton thought that the others didn’t understand what was ahead. They would see. They weren’t being smart; they were showboating, advertising. It was no shame to be smart, cautious, like Arnold. Hector was always trying to show what a bigger man than Lunkface he was. But Lunkface was the strongest; you never made a fool of him openly, not unless you were ready to bop. There weren’t many men who could take out the Lunkface, so you outwitted him in other ways, like Arnold did. So Hinton only said that they had to phone to have an easy ride.
    â€œWe need Wallie because this younger brother don’t feel like any two-hour ride in some hot subway, man. I like my style and I like my comfort. Besides, how’s he going to rehabilitate us if we don’t give him a chance to help and understand us?” Dewey asked.
    Lunkface liked that. And Hinton added that Wallie was their man, almost one of the gang now, wasn’t he? Hector was sure now he would telephone. He deposed the men in shadowed places.
    Wallie didn’t sound sleepy; that meant he was awake—as if he had been waiting for the call. That worried Hector, Wallie wanted to know where they were.
    â€œWe’re in the Bronx, man,” Hector said.
    â€œHector, what are you doing in the Bronx?”
    There was a lot of static on the phone. Hector felt hot, naked,a sitting duck there under the booth lights; it was dark outside and they could see him so clearly. He opened the door and it felt a little cooler when the booth light went off. He wondered if the static meant that the conversation was being tapped. He read about taps in the newspapers; some kind of noise meant they were listening in, but he couldn’t remember what kind of noise it was supposed to be. “We’re out for an airing, man; like we just had to see the
country
tonight because it’s so hot. It is always cooler up in the North, so we made it north.” It couldn’t be a tap; how did they know he was going to call from just this booth?
    â€œWere you up there in that big gang rumble? Were you mixed up in that, Hector? Where’s Arnold?”
    So they knew about the fight on the plain already. That wasn’t good. He wondered if he should tell Wallie about Arnold. The Father, Hector thought, was probably sitting in a headbuster headquarters and they were giving him the old twenty questions which went, “Why did you . . .” and then, Pow with the back of the hand, and “You’re not dealing with those bleeding hearts on the Youth Board now, you little black motherfucker.” Slap, slap, slap, keeping their hands in his face. Or they’d crowded Arnold into a bugcrawly pen and he had to fight for a little sleep-space. Hector decided not to tell Wallie. “We’re on a street called two, three, three, man, up in the far-out end. I mean, like we would like a little sightsee through the city as we come home. Drive us?” They couldn’t possibly know he would come to this booth.
    â€œAre you all right? Who’s with you? Are the boys with you?” Wallie asked.
    â€œYou’re so inquisitive, Wallie. Man, I don’t think you’re accepting us.”
    â€œDon’t give me that shit, Hector,” Wallie tough-talked.
    Hector grinned; they were training Wallie, but good. “Likethere are a few of us here, one or two, and like it’s two thirty-third