Evan Hunter - The blackboard jungle

And then the knife snapped into view, sudden and terrifying. Long and shining, it caught the pale sunlight that slanted through the long schoolroom windows. Rick backed away involuntarily, eying the sharp blade with respect.

Now what, he thought? Now the garbage can turns into a coffin. Now the garbage overflows. Now I lie dead and bleeding on a schoolroom floor while a moron slashes me to ribbons. Now.

“What do you intend doing with that, West?”

My voice is exceptionally calm, he mused. I think I’m frightened, but my voice is calm. Exceptionally.

“Just come a little closer and you’ll see,” West snarled, the blood in his mouth staining his teeth.

“Give me that knife, West,” Rick said.

“Come on, Artie,” Miller put in softly. “You jus’ bein’...”

“Give me that knife, West,” Rick repeated.

I’m kidding, a voice persisted in his mind. I must be kidding. This is all a big, hilarious joke. I’ll die laughing in the morning. I’ll die...

“Come and get it, Daddy-oh!” West yelled.

Rick took a step closer to West and watched his arm swing back and forth in a threatening arc. West’s eyes were hard and unforgiving.

And suddenly, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Someone was behind him! He whirled instinctively, his fist smashing into a boy’s stomach. The boy brought up his head, and Rick struck again, and he suddenly realized it was Belazi, the kid who’d been caught cheating. Belazi dropped to the floor and cramped into a tight little ball that moaned and writhed on the hard wood. Rick looked at him for just an instant, satisfying himself that any danger he might have presented was past. He turned quickly to West, a satisfied smile clinging to his lips.

“Give me that knife, West, and give it to me now.”

He stared into the boy’s eyes. West looked big and dangerous. Perspiration clung to his acneed forehead. His breath was coming in hurried gasps.

“Give it to me now, West, or I’m going to take it from you and beat you black and blue.”

He was advancing slowly on the boy.

“Give it to me, West. Hand it over,” his voice rolled on hypnotically, charged with an undercurrent of threat.

The class seemed to catch its breath together. No one moved to help Belazi who lay in a heap on the floor, his arms hugging his waist. He moaned occasionally, squirmed violently, but no one moved to help him. West backed away from Rick, and Rick moved forward, passing Miller’s seat. Miller sat on the edge of his chair, his hands clenching the desk top tightly. Belazi moaned again on the floor.

I’ve got to keep one eye on Belazi, Rick figured. He may be playing possum. I have to be careful.

“Hand it over, West. Hand it over.”

West stopped retreating, realizing that he was the one who held the weapon. He stuck the spring-action knife out in front of him, probing the air with it. His back curved into a large C as he crouched over, head low, the knife always moving in front of him as he advanced. Rick held his ground and waited. West advanced cautiously at first, his eyes fastened on Rick’s throat, the knife hand moving constantly, murderously, in a swinging arc. He grinned terribly, a red-stained, white smile on his narrow face.

“Come on, you stupid bastard,” he said. “Come on, stupid. Come and get the knife. Come on, you dumb jerk, come and get it.”

Rick wet his lips and watched the knife, and West paused suddenly and searched Rick’s face. He grinned again and began speaking softly as he advanced, almost in a whisper, almost as if he were thinking aloud.

“See the knife, Mr. Daddy-oh? See the pretty knife? I’m gonna slash you up real good, Mr. Daddy-oh. I’m gonna slash you, and then I’m gonna slash you some more. I’m gonna cut you up real fine, you bastard. I shoulda done this right from the start. I shoulda realized you was too stinkin’ dumb to take a hint, Daddy-oh. Come on, you sonofabitch. Come on and taste this friggin’ knife.”

The chair, Rick suddenly remembered. There’s a chair. I’ll take the chair and swing. Under the chin. No. Across the chest. Fast though. It’ll have to be fast, one movement. Wait. Not yet, wait. All right, West. All right. All right.

“Ever get cut, Mr. Daddy-oh? Ever get sliced with a sharp knife? This one is sharp, Mr. Daddy-oh, or are you too stinkin’ dumb to know that? You ever stop to figure who bitched you up with Mr. Small, Daddy-oh? You ever stop to figure that, you dumb prick? You didn’t, huh, Daddy-oh? You didn’t figure it, huh?” Hypnotically, advancing, closer and closer, his voice a whisper, his eyes gleaming hotly.

West, Rick realized. West. Not Miller. West. West, Westwestwest. West was the one. West told Small. West complained. Oh God, it was West.

“I shouldn’ta played games, Daddy-oh,” West said. “Your kind only understands a knife in the ribs. Well, you gonna get it now, you bastard. And then you’re never gonna bother us no more. No more.” He smiled and advanced, and Rick backed away down the aisle. “Your wife get them notes, you bastard? Richard Dadier, 1935 East 174th Street. Straight from the phone book, you dumb bastard. Stop me from taking a piss when I have to, huh? I shoulda come there in person. I shouldn’ta played games with notes and complaints. I shoulda come to your house and give you the knife right then, right in your friggin’ ribs.”

Anne, Rick thought. Oh the sonofabitch. Oh, you sonofabitch. West, you dirty maggoty bastard. So it was you. So you were the rotten little bastard who did it. You, West. He backed away down the aisle, and his thoughts were jumbled. He thought of the notes, and of West typing them up someplace, simple notes, oh the sonofabitch, and he thought I’ll make him think I’m retreating . I’ll give him confidence. The empty seat in the third row. Next to Maglin. I’ll lead him there. I hope it’s empty. Empty when I checked the roll. Thank God for Delaney books. I can’t look, I’ll tip my hand. Keep a poker face. Come on, West, follow me. Follow me so I can crack your ugly skull in two. One of us goes, West. And it’s not going to be me.

“Nossir, Mr. Daddy-oh, no more games. I’m through with games now. And I’m through with your tests, and all your goddamn noise. Just your face, Mr. Daddy-oh. Just gonna fix your face so nobody’ll wanna look at you no more.”

One more row, Rick calculated. Back up one more row. Reach. Swing. One. More. Row.

The class followed the two figures with fascination. West stalked Rick down the long aisle, stepping forward on the balls of his feet, pace by pace, waiting for Rick to back into the blackboard. Belazi rolled over on the floor and groaned again.

And Rick counted the steps. A few more. A... few... more.

“You shouldn’ta hit me, Mr. Daddy-oh,” West mocked. “Ain’t nice for teachers to hit students like that, Mr. Daddy-oh. Nossir, it ain’t nice at all. Not at...”

The chair crashed into West’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. It came quickly and forcefully, with the impact of a striking snake. Rick had turned, as if to run, and then the chair was gripped in his hands tightly. It sliced the air in a clean, powerful arc, and West covered his face instinctively. The chair crashed into his chest, knocking him backward. He screamed in surprise and pain as Rick leaped over the chair to land heavily on his chest. The knife clattered to the floor, and Rick pinned West’s shoulders with his knees and slapped him ruthlessly across the face.

“Here, West, here, here, here,” he squeezed through clenched teeth. West twisted his head from side to side, trying to escape the cascade of blows that fell in rapid onslaught on his cheeks.

“Here, you dirty bastard!” and West turned his head and shouted, “Greg! The knife! Get the knife!”