Tower Reardon straightens up from the water fountain where he has just taken a drink. He is a tall, excellently proportioned boy who lifts weights. He ordered the weights from the back cover of a comic book. He worked in a grocery store for a full summer to earn the price of the weights. His father makes fun of his efforts. “I never needed to lift weights,” he says. “I worked on the goddamn railroad laying ties, and my muscles are real. Yours are fake. All weight lifters are muscle-bound.” He has warned Tower that he will throw out the “whole shooting match” the first time any of the neighbors complain. And so Tower is very careful when he’s working out. He works out with the weights every evening for two hours. He lifts them toward the ceiling, and then he deposits them very gently on the floor because he does not want the people in the apartment below to yell about his making noise. Sometimes he walks into the kitchen, spans his mother’s tiny waist with his powerful hands and lifts her off the floor. He enjoys exhibiting his strength to her. His mother makes a big fuss of being annoyed. “Put me down, you idiot,” she will say, but he knows she enjoys it, too. Secretly, Tower believes he is stronger than his father. He would like to test it someday. He would like to Indian-wrestle with him or something. But his father is always too busy watching the ball games on television. And besides, Tower is afraid his father might, just might, beat him in a test of strength and then he’d never hear the end of the goddamn railroad stories. And, too, he does not wish to lose face before his mother.
His mother does not know he belongs to a street gang. She constantly warns him about the dangers of Harlem. She cautions him against accepting cigarettes from strangers. “That’s how they get you started on dope,” she tells him. “You be careful, Artie. There are a lot of dope peddlers in Harlem.” Tower has not told her that he once tried marijuana. He has not told her, either, that the only reason he hasn’t tried the bigger stuff is because he is afraid it will milk his strength. He likes to be strong. He enjoys his nickname. Tower. He chose it himself and later pretended the gang members gave him the name.
He walks to the edge of the pool and looks out at the water, spotting the Puerto Rican boys at once. The only boy he knows is Frankie Anarilles, with whom he has had some close calls but never any real trouble. He knows, however, that Frankie is president of the Horsemen. He knows, too, that — by unspoken word — the pool is supposed to be neutral territory. In any case, there has never been any trouble here before. He is not now consciously looking to promote trouble. But seeing the Puerto Rican boys in the pool somehow makes him angry.
He gestures toward Aposto, who comes dripping out of the pool to where Tower stands.)
BATMAN: What’s the matter, Tower?
TOWER: Look in the water.
(Batman looks. He sees nothing. He does not very often catch things the first time around. He reacts slowly to thought and to suggestion. The only time he is really alert is when he is in a fight. He fights completely by instinct, and his instinct is that of an animal. He derives great pleasure from fighting because he knows he does it well. He knows, too, that it is possibly the one thing he does well. He has never been interested in school, but not because he realizes that his very low I.Q. sets him apart from other more intelligent boys. It simply doesn’t seem very interesting to him, and he would quit if he could find a good job, but nobody seems to want to hire him. He is a student at Manhattan Aviation Trades where he is totally inept in both his academic and manual-training classes. His teachers, however, do not consider him a “difficult” student. He never causes any trouble in the classroom. They have not the slightest inkling that he belongs to a street gang and that in the heat of battle he is capable of killing. They figure him for a slow child. When they are questioned a year later, after the killing of Rafael Morrez, they will all express honest shock and astonishment that a quiet kid like Anthony Aposto could “go berserk.” This quiet kid, Anthony (Batman) Aposto, does not want to go berserk. This quiet kid wants to fight because everybody tells him he is a good fighter. That’s all he wants to do. He would make an excellent soldier and would probably be decorated for valor in the field. Unfortunately, he is too young to be drafted. Unfortunately, he will kill another very real — to him — “enemy” long before he is old enough to be drafted.)
BATMAN: I don’t see nothing in the water, Tower. What is it? Something in the water?
TOWER: Over there. Spics.
(Batman looks. He sees the Puerto Rican boys, but he is not angered by the sight of them. He looks for some hidden meaning in Tower’s words but can find none. Are the spics peeing in the water or something? Is that it?)
BATMAN: Yeah, I see them. What’re they doing, Tower?
TOWER: You like swimming with them?
BATMAN (shrugging): Gee, I don’t know. I didn’t even notice them until you told me. Gee, what’re they doing, Tower?
TOWER: Get Danny.
BATMAN: Danny? Yeah, he was over there with a girl. I’ll get him, Tower. I’ll get him.
(He leaves Reardon. Reardon stands at the edge of the pool, his hands on his hips. He counts the Puerto Ricans. Six of them. He wishes there were more Thunderbirds around. But he knows that if there is trouble, they will materialize from nowhere. This is one of the advantages of gang membership. He knows now that there will be trouble. But in his mind he is not the person who is going to cause the trouble. The trouble, he feels, began the moment the Puerto Ricans came into the pool. They are the troublemakers; he is innocent; he is vindicated.
Danny approaches. He has been swimming at the pool all summer long. He is burned to a deep brown, and his red hair is lighter than it is in the wintertime.)
DANNY: What’s up, dad?
TOWER: Take a look. San Juan’s polluting the water.
DANNY: Huh? (He glances at the pool.) Aw, what the hell, let them swim. It’s hot enough to melt concrete.
TOWER: We let them in, they’ll be bringing over the whole West Side.
DANNY: They been here before. Relax, Artie.
TOWER (correcting him): Tower.
DANNY: Yeah. So relax, Tower.
TOWER: I don’t like the idea.
DANNY: So who are you? Head of the Immigration Department or something?
TOWER: I’m me, and I don’t like it, and I say we kick them out.
DANNY: So go ahead and kick them out. What the hell do you want from me? I was talking with a girl there.
TOWER: I didn’t know you were turkey.
DANNY: What?
TOWER: You heard me.
DANNY: What’s this got to do with being turkey? They want to swim here, who gives a damn?
TOWER: This pool is in our turf.
DANNY: But they always swim here! They’re always coming over. Look, I got a girl over there and—
TOWER: Sure, go ahead, turkey.
DANNY: Now wait a minute—
TOWER: I never knew you to punk put of something before. I thought you was a down cat.
DANNY: I am! I just can’t see any sense—
TOWER: Okay, forget it. You want me to go over and sound them all by myself, that’s what I’ll do. Me and Batman’ll take care of it.
DANNY: Look, there’s six of them. You go over there...
TOWER: Never mind. I shoulda known better than to ask somebody ain’t even on the club.
DANNY: What’s that got to do with it? I just can’t see—
TOWER: Forget it. Come on, Batman.
DANNY: Wait a minute.
TOWER: What?
DANNY: You go sound them, there’ll be a rumble. Right here. I can guarantee it. That’s it. I’m telling you.