Ah, the hell with it, Brian thought as Leon's voice droned on sanctimoniously. The sale was over, and his job as treasurer was over. He wouldn't be involved with Leon or Archie or even Renault anymore. Thank God for little favors.
"You got the fifty boxes set aside, Obie?"
"Yes, Archie."
"Beautiful."
"What's it all about, Archie?"
"We're having an assembly, Obie. Tomorrow night. A special assembly. To report on the chocolate sale. At the athletic field."
"Why the athletic field, Archie? Why not the school?"
"Because this assembly is strictly for the student body, Obie. The brothers are not involved. But everybody else will be there."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody."
"Renault?"
"He'll be there, Obie, he'll be there."
"You're really something else, Archie, you know that?"
"I know that, Obie."
"Pardon me for asking, Archie…"
"Ask away, Obie."
"What do you want Renault there for?"
"To give him a chance. A chance to get rid of his chocolates, old buddy."
"I'm not your old buddy, Archie."
"I know that, Obie."
"And how's Renault going to get rid of his chocolates, Archie?"
"He's going to raffle them off."
"A raffle?"
"A raffle, Obie."
Chapter Thirty-Five
A raffle, for crying out loud.
But what a raffle!
A raffle like no other in Trinity's history, in any school's history.
Archie, the architect of the event, watched the proceedings — the stadium filling up, the kids streaming in, the slips of paper being sold, passed back and forth, the lights dispelling some of the cool of the autumn evening. He stood near the improvised stage that Carter and The Vigils had erected that afternoon under Archie's direction — an old boxing ring resurrected from the bowels of the bleachers and restored to its former use except for the absence of ropes. The platform stood directly at the fifty-yard line close to the stands so that each kid would see everything and wouldn't miss any of the action. That was Archie. Give them their money's worth.
The athletic field was at least a quarter of a mile from the school and the residence where the brothers lived. But Archie had taken no chances. He had disguised the event as a football rally, strictly for students, without the inhibition of the teachers being present. They had arranged for the sweet-faced kid, Caroni, to ask for permission — Caroni who looked like a choir boy. What teacher could refuse him? And now the moment was at hand, the kids arriving, the air crisp and cool, excitement shivering through the crowd — and Renault and Janza there in the ring, glancing uneasily at each other.
Archie always marveled at things like this, things he had arranged and manipulated. For instance, all these guys tonight would be doing something else except for Archie who had teen able to alter their actions. And all it took was a little bit of Archie's imagination and two phone calls.
The first call had been to Renault, the second to Janza. But Janza's call had been simply routine. Archie knew he could shape Janza's actions the way he could shape a piece of clay. But the call to Renault had required the right moves, resourcefulness and a little touch of Archie in the night. Shakespeare yet, Archie chuckled.
The phone must have rung, oh, fifty times and Archie hadn't blamed the kid for not rushing to lift the receiver. But persistence paid off and finally there was Renault on the line, the quiet hello, the calm voice. but something else, something else. Archie had detected another quality in the voice — a deadly calm, determination. Beautiful. The kid was ready. Archie had soared with triumph. The kid wanted to come out and fight. He wanted action.
"Want to get even, Renault?" Archie goaded. "Strike back? Get revenge? Show them what you. think of their goddam chocolates?"
"How do I do that?" The voice was guarded but interested. Definitely interested.
"Easy, easy," Archie responded, "if you're not chicken, that is." The needle, always the needle.
Renault was silent.
"There's a guy named Janza. He's really a rotten kid, no class at all. He's not much more than an animal. And word has gotten around that he needed the help of a bunch of kids to make you fall in line. So I figure we ought to settle the matter. At an assembly at the athletic field. Boxing gloves. Everything under control. Here's a way to get even with everybody, Renault."
"With you too, Archie?"
"Me?" The voice innocent and sweet. "Hell, why me? I was only carrying out my job. I gave you an assignment — don't sell the chocolates — and then I gave you another — sell them. You did the rest, kid. I didn't beat you up. I don't believe in violence. But you touched off the fireworks…"
Silence on the line again. Archie pressed on, softening his voice, cajoling, leading him on. "Look, kid, I'm giving you this choice because I believe in fair play. Here's a chance to end it all and get on with other things. Christ, there's more to life than a lousy chocolate sale. You and Janza alone in the ring, facing each other fair and square. And that's it, finished, the end, all done. I guarantee it. Archie guarantees it."
And the kid had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker, although the conversation had gone back and forth for a while. Archie had been patient. Patience always paid off. And he had won, of course.
Now, surveying his handiwork, the crowded bleachers, the frantic comings and goings as the raffle tickets were bought and sold and the directions scrawled on the tickets. Archie exulted quietly. He had successfully conned Renault and Leon and The Vigils and the whole damn school. I can con anybody. I am Archie.
Pretend you're a spotlight, Obie told himself, a spotlight sweeping the place, stopping here and there, and lingering at other places, picking up the highlights of the thing, this momentous occasion. Because, let's admit it, this is an important event and Archie, that bastard, that clever clever bastard, has done it again. Look at him down there near the fight ring, like he's king of all he surveys. And he is, of course. He's got Renault there, pale and tense as if he's facing a firing squad, and Janza, the animal, a chained animal waiting to spring loose.
Obie, the spotlight, concentrated on Renault. Poor dumb doomed kid. He can't win and he doesn't know it. Not from Archie. Nobody wins from Archie. Archie, who'd been going down to defeat — what a great scene that had been, the last Vigils meeting when he'd stood there humiliated — but now he was on top again, all the chocolates sold, in charge once more, the entire school in the palm of his hand. All of which proves that the meek don't inherit the earth. Not very original. Archie must have said it at one time or another.
Don't move. Not a muscle. Just wait. Wait it out, wait and see.
Jerry's left leg had fallen asleep.
How can your leg fall asleep when you're standing up?
I don't know. But it's asleep.
Nerves, maybe. Tension.
At any rate, small darts stung his legs and he had to fight to keep from moving. He didn't dare move, afraid he would fall apart if he moved.
He knew now that it had been a mistake coming here, that Archie had faked him out, tricked him. For a few moments while Archie's voice whispered enticingly of sweet revenge, suggesting the fight as a way of ending it all, Jerry had actually believed it was possible, possible to beat Janza and the school and even Archie. He had thought of his father and the terrible look of defeat when he had listened on the phone the other night and finally placed the receiver on the table, giving up. I'm not giving up, Jerry had pledged, listening to Archie's goading voice. He also ached for a chance to confront Janza. Janza who had called him a fairy.