"Dismissed," Archie called out.
Carter was surprised at the sudden dismissal and he banged the gavel too hard, almost splitting the crate he used as a desk. He had a feeling that he had missed a beat somewhere, had missed a crucial moment. Archie and all his subtle crap. What the kid Renault needed was a stiff jab to the jaw and another to the belly. That'd make him sell the frigging chocolates. Archie and his stupid let's not have any violence. Anyway, the meeting was over and Carter felt like working out, like working up a sweat with the gloves and the big bag.
He banged the gavel again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hello."
His mind went blank.
"Hello?"
Was it her? But it had to be — this was the last Barrett in the book and the voice was fresh and appealing, the kind of voice that went with all that beauty he had seen at the bus stop.
"Hello," he managed, his voice emerging as an ugly croak.
"Is this Danny?" she asked.
He was instantly, insanely jealous of Danny, whoever Danny was.
"No," he croaked again, miserably.
"Who is this?" she asked, annoyance now in her voice.
"Is this Ellen? Ellen Barrett?" The name was strange on his tongue. He had never said it aloud although he had whispered it silently a thousand times.
Silence.
"Look," he began, his heart beating desperately. "Look, you don't know who I am but I see you every day…"
"Are you some kind of pervert?" she asked, not horrified at all but good-naturedly curious, like, "Hey ma, I've got a pervert on the line."
"No. I'm the fellow at the bus stop."
"What fellow? What bus stop?" Her voice had lost all its demureness. It had become a wise-guy, show-me kind of voice.
He wanted to say you smiled at me yesterday, the day before that, last week. And I love you. But couldn't. He suddenly saw how futile, how ridiculous the situation was. A fellow didn't call up a girl on the evidence of a smile and introduce himself this way. She probably smiled at a hundred guys a day.
"I'm sorry for bothering you," he said.
"Are you sure this isn't Danny? Are you trying to put me on, Danny? Look, Danny, I'm getting tired of you and your crap…"
Jerry hung up. He didn't want to hear anymore. The word "crap," echoing now in his mind, had destroyed all illusion about her. Like meeting a lovely girl and having her smile reveal rotten teeth. But his heart was still beating wildly. Are you some kind of pervert? Maybe I am. Not a sexual pervert but another kind. Wasn't refusing to sell the chocolates a kind of perversion? Wasn't it crazy to go on refusing to sell the chocolates, particularly after that last warning yesterday by Archie Costello and The Vigils? And yet this morning, he had stood his ground and feed a level and positive No at Brother Leon. For the first time, the word brought exultancy to him, a lifting of the spirit.
With the latest No resounding in his ears, Jerry had expected the school building to fall or something dramatic to happen. Nothing. He had seen Goober shake his head in dismay. But Goober didn't know about this new feeling, the sense that his bridges were burning behind him and for once in his life he didn't care. He was still buoyant when he arrived home, otherwise, he wouldn't have had the courage to call all those Barretts and to actually talk to the girl. It had been a miserable failure, of course. But he had made the call, taken a step, broken the routine of his days and nights.
He went into the kitchen, suddenly ravenous, and dumped some ice cream from the freezer into a dish.
"My name is Jerry Renault and I'm not going to sell the chocolates," he said to the empty apartment.
The words and his voice sounded strong and noble.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They shouldn't have picked Frankie Rollo for as assignment, of course. A junior, Rollo was insolent, a troublemaker. He was a non-participant, refusing to take part in athletics or extra-curricular activities that were so important in the Trinity scene. He seldom opened a book and never did any homework, but he managed to survive because he possessed a native and cunning intelligence. His major talent was cheating. He was also lucky. Under ordinary circumstances, he was the kind of guy Archie took pleasure in assigning, watching him bend or break. All these so-called rough characters melted into ninety-seven-pound weaklings when confronted by Archie and The Vigils The scorn and the swagger evaporated as they stood ill-at-ease in the storage room. But not Frankie Rollo. He stood loose and easy, unintimidated.
"Your name?" Archie asked.
"Come on, Archie," Rollo replied, smiling at all this foolishness. "You know my name."
The silence was awesome. But before that silence, a gasp from someone in the room. Archie was careful to keep his poker face, intent on not betraying an emotion. But he was shaken inside. No one had ever reacted this way before. No one had ever challenged Archie or an assignment.
"Let's not have any crap, Rollo," growled Carter. "Let's hear your name."
A pause. Archie swore silently. It was irritating to have Carter step in that way, as if he was coming to Archie's rescue. Ordinarily, Archie ran the meetings his way, not anybody else's way.
Rollo shrugged. "My name is Frankie Rollo," he announced in sing-song fashion.
"You think you're a big shot, don't you?" Archie asked.
Rollo didn't respond but the smirk on his face was an eloquent answer.
"A big shot," Archie repeated, as if savoring the word, but stalling, playing for time, shifting his thoughts, knowing it would be necessary to improvise, to turn this insolent bastard into a victim.
"You said it, not me," Rollo said smugly.
"We like big shots here," Archie said. "In fact, that's our specialty — turning big shots into little shots."
"Cut the shit, will you, Archie?" Rollo said. "You're not impressing anybody."
Again that terrible silence, like a shock wave, stunning the room, an invisible blow. Even Obie who had looked forward to the day when a victim would defy the great Archie Costello blinked in disbelief.
"What did you say?" Archie asked, biting off every word and spitting it at Rollo.
"Hey, you guys," Rollo said, swiveling away from Archie and addressing the entire assembly. "I'm not a scared kid who pees his pants because the big bad Vigils call him to a meeting. Hell, you guys can't even scare a punk freshman into selling a few lousy chocolates."
"Look, Rollo," Archie began.
But he didn't have a chance to finish as Carter leaped to his feet. Carter had been waiting for a moment like this for months, his hands itching for action in the storage room instead of sitting there week by week as Archie played his little cat-and-mouse games.
"'That's enough out of you, Rollo," Carter said. Simultaneously, his hand shot out and struck Rollo on the jaw. Rollo's head snapped back — snap like a knuckle cracking — and he bellowed with pain. As Rollo lifted his hands to his face in tardy defense, Carter's fist sank sickeningly into his stomach. Rollo groaned and retched, doubled over, clutching himself in disbelief, gasping for breath. He was shoved from behind, and dropped to the floor coughing and spitting, crawling on all fours.