Beyond the Chocolate War (22 page)

B
unting sat on the front steps of the school, basking in a late-spring breeze, conscious that he was sitting exactly where Archie Costello always held court. But Archie was gone now, with the rest of the seniors. And all the other students were waiting for the term to finally end.

Bunting sat there, waiting for something to happen.

Ten minutes later nothing had happened. The final school bells had rung and students had abandoned the place, without looking behind, without giving Bunting a glance. Ah, but wait till September, when they realized who Bunting was.

He hated to admit it, but he wished Cornacchio or Harley or someone would come along. He knew, however, that Cornacchio was definitely out of the picture. Ever since that night at the Chasm, Cornacchio had been avoiding him. Which was fine with Bunting. He himself felt guilty about that night, was grateful that there had been no repercussions. He had acted stupidly and Cornacchio was a reminder of that stupid act. So good-bye, Cornacchio. Harley was off brooding somewhere—Bunting had explained to him about Emile Janza. How Emile had to be second in command. Barley's lips had curled up, as if tasting something distasteful. "But I still need you, Harley. Someone smart, someone I can trust." Harley always responded to flattery, and Bunting was an expert at providing that flattery. Harley would sulk awhile but would come around.

The breeze turned a bit chilly. Only a few students lingered on the lawn, watching the last school bus lurching away. Bunting had decided to give it up, to abandon his lonesome vigil, when he saw Emile Janza approaching. He kept his face expressionless, his eyes vacant as Janza drew near. Emile was like a pebble in his shoe, a sliver in his flesh, a piece of dirt in his eye. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Janza stood below him, his squat figure almost at attention. This pleased Bunting and he nodded his hello, not speaking, playing it cool.

"We ought to have a meeting this summer," Emile said. "Me and you. To go over plans."

"Plans?"

"Right. I figure we should get organized. Like an army. I mean, Archie was too soft with his psychological crap. I think we have to use muscle. None of that subtle shit." He smacked his right fist into his left palm.

Bunting winced as if Janza's fist had sunk into his stomach. Yet he saw the logic of Janza's suggestion. It would be good to have muscle and brawn on his side.

"Then I think we ought to have some weapons," Janza said.

"Weapons?" Bunting asked, horrified but trying to stay cool.

"Oh, not guns. But, like, brass knuckles. And rubber clubs. You strap the club to your leg under your pants. They hardly leave a mark. And Mace. Mace is beautiful. Like chemical warfare . . ."

Bunting shuddered inside. "I don't know, Janza. . . ." Had to treat Janza gingerly.

"Look, let me take care of all that. Training the guys, getting the weapons. You be the general. I'll carry out the orders. . . ."

General Bunting—it sounded faintly ridiculous. And yet Janza had a point. Bunting saw himself surrounded by loyal people, troops, all of them ready to follow orders.

"Another thing," Janza said. "I think we need a treasury."

"A treasury?" Janza was full of surprises. Maybe he wasn't as dumb as he looked, after all. But that also made him dangerous.

"Right. Have the guys pay, like, dues."

"Have the Vigils pay dues?"

"No. The Vigils
collect
the dues. The rest of the school pays them. All the students. They pay and we see that everything runs smooth and easy. Nobody gets hurt. And we build up a treasury. For ourselves . . ."

Bunting was always scratching for money. Was always practically broke, his stupid allowance not enough to cover expenses, and he hated the thought of working part-time.

"And how about grass?" Janza said, really on a roll now. "I think we ought to do a little business in grass. Or pills. Archie Costello never allowed drugs, which was stupid. As long as we control the supply, we can have this place in our pockets."

Emile Janza studied Bunting as he talked, looking for the clues and seeing them. The way Bunting had at first looked horrified and then just reluctant and now his eyes bright, sizzling almost, with the plans Janza had been unfolding. Hell, you had to admire Archie. He had predicted exactly how Bunting would react to the suggestions. Janza was grateful to Archie for all these suggestions, although Archie said that Janza's thanks were unnecessary. They were a gift to Emile for service loyally rendered. Let's see, what else did Archie suggest?

"And Bunting. We ought to do something about the faculty."

"The faculty?" Bunting's voice was getting higher and higher every time he spoke, and Janza grinned.

"Yeah. To keep them distracted." Wonderful word:
distracted
. Archie's word but sounding natural on Janza's tongue. "Classroom disruption." More Archie words. "Show the faculty who's in charge . . ."

Bunting drew up his knees, curled his arms around them, rested his chin in the space between his knees, needing time to think, to absorb Janza's suggestions. Wild suggestions, but they made sense. They opened all sorts of possibilities. The great part was that Janza seemed perfectly happy to be the good right arm. With Bunting in charge. King of the place. Yet he sensed that Janza would always represent a danger. He'd have to keep alert, on his toes. But then, Janza could always be eliminated. A loose stair rail, say, on the third floor.

"What do you think, Bunting? What do you think, O leader of us all?"

Bunting pretended to be deep in thought, letting Janza dangle a bit, not wanting to appear too eager, too ready to accept Janza's plans.

"We'll see," he said finally. "I've got some plans of my own, you know. But I think it will work out okay. . . ."

Janza grinned, amazed at the accuracy of Archie's predictions. You'll have a great year, Archie had said. Which Janza echoed now: "We're going to have a great year, Bunting."

Bunting nodded. Continued to stare into space. Not wanting to look at Janza now or anybody or anything. Staring into the future, next year, beyond. Him, Bunting, in command of the entire school. Stooges at his beck and call. An army at his disposal. No rules except those he made up. The boss. More than that. Like a dictator, for crissake.

Beautiful.