Robert Cormier - Beyond the Chocolate War

Cornacchio finally emerged from the store, arching his back, stretching his muscles. Looked tough. Which made Obie glad now that he'd brought Janza along.

"There he is," Janza said. He had a faculty for stating the obvious.

Cornacchio walked with a swagger, the rhythmic bouncing gait of an athlete, as if his shoes contained hidden springs. Broad shoulders, legs like tree stumps.

As Cornacchio crossed the street at an angle, Obie moved forward to intercept him, Janza at his elbow. Obie checked the damaged loafer, the brass buckle winking in the dusk, and felt again the anger and horror of that terrible night.

"Hi, Cornacchio," he said, stepping in front of him.

Cornacchio looked at Janza, although Obie had greeted him. And he got the message immediately, knew what this was all about. Turned his attention to Obie, Obie's deadly calm, his attitude of determination joined with Janza's silent menace. Cornacchio was not a coward and not shy about using his muscle: he had emerged triumphant from countless schoolyard skirmishes since the third grade. But he knew when he was hopelessly outclassed, not only by Janza, who was probably the only guy in school whose strength he respected, but by Obie, who was a key figure in the Vigils, powerful, next to Archie Costello. He knew that Bunting couldn't help him at this moment, no matter how clever Bunting was.

"What's happening?" Cornacchio asked, dancing a bit like a fighter warming up, instinctively putting up a front, not wanting to betray his nervousness.

"It's not what's happening, Corny," Obie said, deliberately using the nickname Cornacchio despised. "It's what's already happened."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cornacchio said, making an effort to pass by.

Janza stepped into his path.

"You know what I'm talking about," Obie said. So calm, so certain of himself, so implacable. Voice flat, deadly, quiet. And something terrible in the quietness.

"Okay, okay," Cornacchio said, lifting his arms, his shoulders, like a spy discovered in enemy territory, knowing that he would be shot at dawn, alone and friendless, abandoned by his comrades.

"It's not what you think it was," Cornacchio said.

Obie felt himself sagging, relaxing, unfolding, the relief from his tension so sudden and strong that he was afraid he would collapse on the sidewalk like a puppet whose strings had been severed. "What was it, then?" he asked.

Cornacchio hesitated, glanced down at his feet, kicked at a piece of broken glass, looked up at Obie, then at Janza, then at Obie again. Held on to Obie's eyes. Obie sensed a hidden message there. Then got the message. Of course: Janza. Cornacchio didn't want to talk in front of Janza. And Obie realized how ridiculous it was to have brought Janza along. He had been duped by loss of sleep, the obsessive nature of his search for the attacker, had lost all perspective. He realized that he certainly didn't want Janza to know what had happened. The less Janza knew, the better it would be for everybody.

"Hey, Janza," Obie said.

Janza had not removed his eyes from Cornacchio for an instant. He had decided that he didn't like Cornacchio. He didn't like the way Cornacchio had ignored him, had barely glanced his way. Janza liked to be recognized, did not like to be ignored.

"What?" Janza said, his voice a brief bark.

"Check the other end of the street," Obie said. "I thought I saw someone there."

Janza didn't want to appear to be taking orders from Obie or anybody else. On the other hand, if somebody was lurking down the street, it was an opportunity for action, for the use of muscle.

"Okay," he said, spitting out the word, continuing to glare at Cornacchio to show that he was not simply an errand boy.

Obie and Cornacchio watched Janza lumbering away, shoulders swinging.

"I hate that scumbag," Cornacchio said.

Obie ignored the remark. He knew that he and Cornacchio were connected with each other by the Vigils and that Janza was an outsider. But the brotherhood of the Vigils did not make any difference to Obie as far as the attack was concerned Cornacchio was the enemy; hie was the scumbag, not Janza.

"Okay, Corny, explain. If it's not what I think it was, then what was it?"

Cornacchio flinched at the use of his nickname, knew that Obie was deliberately taunting him. But he was in no position to protest.

"The Vigils," Cornacchio said.

Obie stepped back as if Cornacchio had spit in his face.

"An assignment," Cornacchio said, pleased at Obie's reaction, gaining confidence. "Bunting told Archie Costello about you and that girl. How we spotted you one night making out at the Chasm. He told Bunting to do something about it. Said the Vigils would provide an alibi."

More than spit in Obie's face: as if a bomb had detonated nearby, leaving his body intact but sending shock waves throughout his system.

"Archie Costello gave the orders?" Disbelief in his voice. Impossible. Yet nothing was impossible with Archie.

Cornacchio nodded, gulping nervously, surprised at the way Obie had gone pale, hands groping at the air. Cornacchio was still troubled about that night at the Chasm, had replayed it a thousand times in his mind. He'd never done anything like that before. Actually, he hadn't done anything, after all, had merely held Obie a prisoner under the car. He was aware of feeling horny as he and Bunting and Harley approached the car and saw Obie and the girl. His lust and desire died, however, as he held Obie on the ground, realizing the rotten thing they were doing. But nothing had happened . That's what Bunting claimed, and Cornacchio believed him, needed to believe him. Bunting said later that it was all Archie Costello's idea, an unofficial assignment. This knowledge had greatly relieved Cornacchio. The involvement of Archie and the Vigils made it seem less serious, not such a rotten thing, more like a kind of stunt.

And nobody, but nobody, had been hurt.

Obie had regained his composure.

"Okay, tell me. What did Archie say? Precisely?"

"I can't be precise," Cornacchio said. "I wasn't there. Bunting told us later that it was an assignment. Unofficial but still an assignment. Look, Obie, nothing happened. Okay, I held you down, but I was only following orders." Cornacchio knew he was stretching a point here, but he was a bit alarmed by what he saw in Obie's eyes. Wasn't sure what he saw but knew it was something to beware.

Obie's mind reeled and he ran his hand through his hair. His thoughts were a jumble of images — Archie and Laurie and Janza and Bunting and this kid in front of him, Cornacchio. Who seemed to be telling the truth. Was too smart to lie, knowing that his story could be checked. With Archie. With Bunting.

"The assignment," Obie said. "What was the assignment? To bushwhack? Or to do more than that?" Obie didn't want to use the word rape .

"Bunting said Archie told him: Do something. He didn't say what. Do something about Obie and the girl. So we did." Cornacchio was confused now, realizing that Bunting had not gone into detail about the assignment. And he was worried — had he told Obie too much? He was happy to see Janza approaching.

"Nobody there," Janza said to Obie.

His voice jolted Obie.

"Nothing but shadows."

"I've got to get home," Cornacchio said, doing his fighter's dance again, avoiding Obie's eyes, sensing the study Obie was making of him.

Obie nodded, eyes huge, face still pale. Looked lost. Cornacchio felt sorry for him, then remembered that Obie had called him Corny. He hated every bastard who'd ever called him Corny.

"Okay, get out of here," Obie said at last, turning away, his voice weary, shoulders drooping.

"What the hell was that all about?" Janza asked, keeping his eye on Cornacchio until he had disappeared around the corner.