There was another thing he did not know.
He did not know he was dying. He lay on the sidewalk, bleeding, and he thought only, That was a fierce rumble, they got me good that time, but he did not know he was dying. He would have been frightened had he known. In his ignorance, he lay bleeding and wishing he could cry out for help, but there was no voice in his throat. There was only the bubbling of blood from between his lips whenever he opened his mouth to speak. He lay silent in his pain, waiting, waiting for someone to find him.
He could hear the sound of automobile tires hushed on the muzzle of rain-swept streets, far away at the other end of the long alley. He lay with his face pressed to the sidewalk, and he could see the splash of neon far away at the other end of the alley, tinting the pavement red and green, slickly brilliant in the rain.
He wondered if Laura would be angry.
He had left the jump to get a package of cigarettes. He had told her he would be back in a few minutes, and then he had gone downstairs and found the candy store closed. He knew that Alfredo’s on the next block would be open until at least two, and he had started through the alley, and that was when he’d been ambushed. He could hear the faint sound of music now, coming from a long, long way off, and he wondered if Laura was dancing, wondered if she had missed him yet. Maybe she thought he wasn’t coming back. Maybe she thought he’d cut out for good. Maybe she’d already left the jump and gone home. He thought of her face, the brown eyes and the jet-black hair, and thinking of her he forgot his pain a little, forgot that blood was rushing from his body. Someday he would marry Laura. Someday he would marry her, and they would have a lot of kids, and then they would get out of the neighborhood. They would move to a clean project in the Bronx, or maybe they would move to Staten Island. When they were married, when they had kids...
He heard footsteps at the other end of the alley, and he lifted his cheek from the sidewalk and looked into the darkness and tried to cry out, but again there was only a soft hissing bubble of blood on his mouth.
The man came down the alley. He had not seen Andy yet. He walked, and then stopped to lean against the brick of the building, and then walked again. He saw Andy then and came toward him, and he stood over him for a long time, the minutes ticking, ticking, watching him and not speaking.
Then he said, “What’s a matter, buddy?”
Andy could not speak, and he could barely move. He lifted his face slightly and looked up at the man, and in the rain-swept alley he smelled the sickening odor of alcohol and realized the man was drunk. He did not feel any particular panic. He did not know he was dying, and so he felt only mild disappointment that the man who had found him was drunk.
The man was smiling.
“Did you fall down, buddy?” he asked. “You mus’ be as drunk as I am.” He grinned, seemed to remember why he had entered the alley in the first place, and said, “Don’ go way. I’ll be ri’ back.”
The man lurched away. Andy heard his footsteps, and then the sound of the man colliding with a garbage can, and some mild swearing, and then the sound of the man urinating, lost in the steady wash of the rain. He waited for the man to come back.
It was 11:39.
When the man returned, he squatted alongside Andy. He studied him with drunken dignity.
“You gonna catch cold here,” he said. “What’s a matter? You like layin’ in the wet?”
Andy could not answer. The man tried to focus his eyes on Andy’s face. The rain spattered around them.
“You like a drink?”
Andy shook his head.
“I gotta bottle. Here,” the man said. He pulled a pint bottle from his inside jacket pocket. He uncapped it and extended it to Andy. Andy tried to move, but pain wrenched him back flat against the sidewalk.
“Take it,” the man said. He kept watching Andy. “Take it.” When Andy did not move, he said, “Nev’ mind, I’ll have one m’self.” He tilted the bottle to his lips, and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You too young to be drinkin’, anyway. Should be ’shamed of yourself, drunk an’ layin’ in a alley, all wet. Shame on you. I gotta good minda calla cop.”
Andy nodded. Yes, he tried to say. Yes, call a cop. Please. Call one.
“Oh, you don’ like that, huh?” the drunk said. “You don’ wanna cop to fin’ you all drunk an’ wet in a alley, huh? Okay, buddy. This time you get off easy.” He got to his feet. “This time you lucky,” he said. He waved broadly at Andy, and then almost lost his footing.
“S’long, buddy,” he said.
Wait, Andy thought. Wait, please, I’m bleeding.
“S’long,” the drunk said again, “I see you around,” and then he staggered off up the alley.
Andy lay and thought, Laura, Laura. Are you dancing?
The couple came into the alley suddenly. They ran into the alley together, running from the rain, the boy holding the girl’s elbow, the girl spreading a newspaper over her head to protect her hair. Andy lay crumpled against the pavement, and he watched them run into the alley laughing, and then duck into the doorway not ten feet from him.
“Man, what rain!” the boy said. “You could drown out there.”
“I have to get home,” the girl said. “It’s late, Freddie. I have to get home.”
“We got time,” Freddie said. “Your people won’t raise a fuss if you’re a little late. Not with this kind of weather.”
“It’s dark,” the girl said, and she giggled.
“Yeah,” the boy answered, his voice very low.
“Freddie...?”
“Um?”
“You’re... you’re standing very close to me.”
“Um.”
There was a long silence. Then the girl said, “Oh,” only that single word, and Andy knew she’d been kissed, and he suddenly hungered for Laura’s mouth. It was then that he wondered if he would ever kiss Laura again. It was then that he wondered if he was dying.
No, he thought, I can’t be dying, not from a little street rumble, not from just getting cut. Guys get cut all the time in rumbles. I can’t be dying. No, that’s stupid. That don’t make any sense at all.
“You shouldn’t,” the girl said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“I don’t know.”
“I love you, Angela,” the boy said.
“I love you, too, Freddie,” the girl said, and Andy listened and thought, I love you, Laura. Laura, I think maybe I’m dying. Laura, this is stupid but I think maybe I’m dying. Laura, I think I’m dying! He tried to speak. He tried to move.
He tried to crawl toward the doorway where he could see the two figures in embrace. He tried to make a noise, a sound, and a grunt came from his lips, and then he tried again, and another grunt came, a low animal grunt of pain.
“What was that?” the girl said, suddenly alarmed, breaking away from the boy.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“Go look, Freddie.”
“No. Wait.”
Andy moved his lips again. Again the sound came from him.
“Freddie!”
“What?”
“I’m scared.”
“I’ll go see,” the boy said.
He stepped into the alley. He walked over to where Andy lay on the ground. He stood over him, watching him.
“You all right?” he asked.
“What is it?” Angela said from the doorway.
“Somebody’s hurt,” Freddie said.
“Let’s get out of here,” Angela said.
“No. Wait a minute.” He knelt down beside Andy. “You cut?” he asked.
Andy nodded. The boy kept looking at him. He saw the lettering on the jacket then, THE ROYALS. He turned to Angela.