Thrill Kids Read online

  “All right, Pollack,” Bardo said. “Find me a good strong stick. A big one. A thick piece of wood. Meanwhile, the three stars of Orion’s belt.” He knelt between the man’s legs, taking another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. “Heine, you holding him?”

  “Yeah, man!”

  “Heine, I want you to sing along with me now. You hear? Sing soft, but don’t let any other noise from here drown us out!”

  “Got it!” Heine said.

  “Hold him good, Heine…. O.K. Mine eyes have seen the vagrants on the benches in the park …"

  As they sang, and the old man struggled to be free and wiggled with pain, calling out once, “Help!” Bardo burned three marks in a row on his rump.

  “Cut!” he said. “That’s enough singing until Pollack gets back.”

  The old man was crying now, sniffling and moaning.

  The figure of a man in the distance, coming around the reservoir, caught Raleigh’s eye. “Get his pants up, Heine. Fast!” he said. “Get him on his feet, and back farther in the bushes. Do you see?”

  “Yeah,” Heine said. He did as he was told; and as the two dragged him back into the bushes and held him, Manny came with the stick.

  “I couldn’t find one much better,” he said.

  “Get in here, Pollack,” Bardo said, “and never mind.”

  The trio crouched there holding the man down, waiting until the passer-by went on far beyond them.

  The old man sobbed to himself. Flip slapped him and said, “Shut up.”

  Manny said, “Maybe we ought to let him go.”

  “Not until he’s had his lesson, mister.”

  “He’s crying,” Manny said.

  Flip said, “Pollack, you are beginning to get me very rifty, man. Like, I really am getting very rifty at you!”

  “Well, he’s awful old,” Manny said.

  “Mister, he’s no good. He’s a bum!” Bardo pounded the man’s back. “A bum!”

  “You gonna use the stick, or can I?” Flip said.

  “You can, Heine. Everybody better sing. Come on — Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory — “

  Heine raised the stick and swatted it across the old man.

  “He ought to be bare-assed,” he said. “Like he was before. He could feel it more.”

  “Christ!” the man yelled.

  “Sing,” Raleigh said. “Sing!” And then he said suddenly, “Stop! Listen!” They heard the crunch of footsteps on the cinder bridle path. “Quiet,” Bardo said. “Don’t make a move”; and the old man yelled, “Help!”

  Flip drove the knife part way into his shoulders. The old man made a throaty gagging noise, and Manny said, “Hey, Flip!”

  “Shut up, all of you!” Bardo commanded.

  Then on the path in front of them they saw John Wylie.

  “Hey, it’s Wyle!” Flip said. “Wyle, c’mere.” Flip yanked and got the knife out. He said, “I just did it. I didn’t mean to. It didn’t hurt him much.”

  “He asked for it,” Bardo said.

  “Hey, Wyle,” Manny said. “Flip just knifed a guy.” Johnny Wylie walked over to where the man lay, with Flip on top of him. “Hi!” Flip said. “What’d you do, Flip?”

  “I just nicked him, ‘s all. Just a little nick. Pollack makes out like I was killing the old fool.”

  “He’s bleeding,” Johnny said.

  “He’s all right!” Bardo asserted. “He’s all right!”

  “Help me,” the old man moaned. “Help me.”

  Angrily Raleigh kicked him in the face. He kicked him again and again, so hard that the crack of his shoe across the skin and bone sounded unbelievably loud. Manny sucked in his breath and Johnny flinched.

  Flip said, “Grüss Gott!”

  Bardo looked at the three of them. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Haven’t you even seen a man discipline a man? Haven’t you?” he shouted.

  The old man did not move much now; only once or twice. Blood poured from his face; his features were blurred with it.

  “He needs help,” Johnny said dazedly. “Somebody ought to go for — “

  “We could call an ambulance,” Manny said.

  “You gentlemen are exceedingly clever, both of you,” Bardo said. “Go for help! Call an ambulance! He’s scum — pure scum!”

  “Yeah, like, he was loaded, Johnny. You know? Drunk? Lying around.”

  “He was sleeping on the grass,” Manny said.

  “He looks like he’s going to die. My God, he does!” John Wylie said. “I’m going for help.”

  “Remember, mister,” Raleigh said to him, “you’re involved in this too. Remember that before you call for help!”

  “I am like hell involved!” “You came to join us, didn’t you, mister?” “I knew you were around here someplace. Then I heard you singing. I didn’t know what you were doing.” “You were with us last week, mister.” “Look,” Johnny said. “I’m going for help.” Flip said, “Wyle?” “What?”

  “You’re not going to the police, Wyle?”

  “Naw. Naw — I’ll get a priest. I’ll get Father Farrell.” Johnny looked at the trio, frowning. He said, “Father Farrell’s O.K. I mean, he won’t have to know how it happened. Why don’t you guys just clear out? If there’s any trouble — ” Johnny stopped in the middle of the sentence, his eyes falling again to the old man on the ground. “I’m getting out of here!” Johnny said.

  Raleigh and Heine and Pollack stood staring at the old man.

  Bardo Raleigh said, “Now we are all murderers.” “Grüss Gott!” Flip said. “Grüss Gott!” “Is he dead?” Manny said. “Are you sure?” “On the double,” Raleigh barked. “Let’s go!” Then the three boys ran.

  16

  Emanuel Pollack, son of a Manhattan jeweler and younger brother of a dead Korean war hero, was described by police as being more concerned over the welfare of a pet snake … than he was over the condition of his victim.

  — New York Daily Record

  THE FOUR POLICEMEN stood over the body with flashlights in their hands while Father Farrell knelt and prayed. John Wylie stood to one side, his head bowed.

  “Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis vestris, preducat vos ad vitam aeternam. Amen.”

  The priest rose. “May God grant him eternal rest,” he said.

  “We’d appreciate it, Father, if you’d come along with us,” a policeman said. “You and the boy.”

  John Wylie said, “I don’t know anything about it. Honest.”

  “How come a kid like you wanders around here this time of night?” the policeman said. “I don’t know. I was just — walking.” Father Farrell put his arm around Wylie. “We’ll go along with them, Johnny, and try to help them if we can.” “I can’t help them, Father. I can’t.” Another policeman said, “Ever see this, sonny?” In his hand he held Flip’s switchblade knife. There was blood on it; it was lying on top of the policeman’s white handkerchief. Johnny winced. “Well?”

  “No,” Johnny said.

  “What were you doing back in these bushes?” another policeman asked.

  Johnny said, “I don’t remember. I don’t know.” “You come along with us,” the policeman said. He turned to the three men with him. “O’Connor and I’ll go with the kid and Father Farrell. You stay here.”

  “Right.”

  “Looks fishy to me.” “Right.”

  “Check the ground, back in behind the shrubbery.”

  The policeman said, “Shall we go now, Father?”

  “Come along, Johnny,” the priest said, with his arm still around the boy. “Everything will be all right.”

  “Please don’t call my family,” Johnny said. “Please.”

  The policeman didn’t answer; they walked ahead of Johnny and the priest. Just as they were rounding the curve in the cinder path, they saw a second boy running toward them. He was breathless, and when they grabbed him he said, “No, please. Please. First just let me look on the ground.”

  Joh
nny said, “Manny!”

  “Sincere,” Manny said. “I forgot about him. I left him here.”

  “You were here, kid?” the policeman asked. Manny said, “He’s in a box. Just let me look.” “You come with us,” the policeman said. He held Pollack’s wrists.

  “Please,” Manny said, “let me get the box first. It’s around here someplace.” “Yeah? What’s in it?” “My snake,” Manny said.

  Johnny shook his head. “Manny,” he said. “Manny … oh, God!”

  “If anyone finds your snake they’ll bring him along,” the policeman said. “Don’t worry about that. Come on. Both of you kids have got some explaining to do.”

  Manny tried to twist free. “Let me get my snake first!” he shouted.

  “Do you know the boy, Johnny?” Father Farrell asked Wylie.

  “Yes, Father,” Johnny said quietly. The two policemen held Emanuel Pollack. “All right,” one said, “come on! Move!” “Please?” Manny begged. “Move!”

  Crying then, Emanuel Pollack was led along by the two policemen. Following behind, the priest and Johnny Wylie walked slowly.

  “You’d better tell them all you know, Johnny,” Father Farrell whispered in the darkness.

  And so on August 10, 1953, the New York Daily Record spread this story across its front page:

  FOUR BOYS ADMIT SLAYING

  JUST FOR FUN

  Four teen-agers who stormed through upper Central Park, killing and attacking for pleasure, confessed last night to the wanton murder of one man, the sadistic undressing of a young girl, and the savage beating of the girl’s boy friend.

  The leader of the Murder for Fun gang exulted that they called themselves “The Defenders,” and that their purpose was to rid the parks of bums and vagrants. Words to a song proclaiming this sentiment were found in his pocket.

  “Bardo Raleigh has an infinite hatred and loathing for bums and filthy vagrants,” the leader of the four, Bardo Raleigh, 17, was quoted as saying.

  A youth with an exceptionally high I.Q. and a recent graduate of Sandside Military Academy in Sandside, Georgia, Raleigh bossed the operations while Hans Heine, 16, a junior at Eastern High School, did the dirty work, police said.

  “Last night was Raleigh’s revenge,” Raleigh reportedly said. He was referring, police said, to the beating and stabbing of 57-year-old Milton Litt, homeless, who died of cerebral hemorrhage and/or a heart attack.

  “Robbery was not the motive for this crime,” New York Attorney Robert Evans said. “I can’t fathom what would make boys do this sinister and horrible thing.”

  Raleigh and Heine, together with John Wylie, 15, and snake-lover Emanuel Pollack, 16, started their club with their first crime spree August 2, Evans said. On that date the four attacked Carlos Rodriguez and Linda Torres on a Central Park pathway, forcing Miss Torres to disrobe and beating Rodriguez….

  Last night the four again invaded Central Park, searching for a likely victim. The homeless Milton Litt, asleep on the grass with his shoes off, became their prey….

  After the attack, Litt was left to die while Wylie, “baby” of the quartet, went conscience-stricken to a priest for help.

  Emanuel Pollack, son of a Manhattan jeweler and younger brother of a dead Korean war hero, was described by police as being more concerned over the welfare of a pet snake he had left at the scene of the crime than he was over the condition of his victim. It was his sudden appearance, while police, Wylie, and Father Thomas Farrell returned to the spot where Litt lay dead, that forced Wylie to admit his link with the crime, and subsequently forced a confession from Pollack. The young killer had come back to get his snake.

  Acting on information gained from these two members of the kill-for-thrill club, Detective Lawrence Little-field went to find Raleigh and Heine. Heine was picked up on Fifth Avenue between 80th and 81st Streets, curled up on a bench asleep. An envelope filled with marijuana was found in his pocket. Raleigh was arrested at his home.

  Raleigh, Heine, and Pollack were charged with homicide, and Wylie was charged with juvenile delinquency growing out of homicide….

  17

  Investigation of the backgrounds of the four youths established that they are from respectable families.

  — New York Daily Record

  IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM his father was standing near the door. When Johnny came in, he stood awkwardly before him, unable to look him in the eye. He said nothing. Then Richard Wylie put his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right, son,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it, John?” “I didn’t do it, Dad,” he said. “I wasn’t even there when it happened.” “Neither time, John?”

  “The first time I was,” Johnny said. “But it wasn’t like they say. We didn’t make that girl take all her clothes off. Just her blouse and stuff.” Johnny looked shamefacedly at the floor. “Bardo was the one who kicked the boy.”

  “You didn’t touch the boy or the girl, then?”

  “The girl,” Johnny mumbled.

  “You did something to the girl, son?”

  “No! I mean I just — you know, I felt of her b-breast.”

  “I see.” Richard Wylie sighed and walked over to sit down on the bench near the window. He shook his head slowly. “And then?” he said.

  “Nothing. I just — did that, and that was all.”

  “You just felt her breast. Period.”

  Johnny said, “Oh, God, Dad! I feel like some kind of maniac. A sex maniac or something.” “Is that all you did, son?”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t know why…. I don’t know. This summer I’ve been thinking about things a lot. I’ve been thinking about — girls. I just don’t know.”

  “Go on, John. Tell me the rest.”

  Johnny stood holding onto the back of a chair, not facing his father.

  “The other night, sir,” he said, “I lied. I said I was taking Lynn Leonard to a movie. Well, we weren’t going to a movie. We — we were going up on the roof.”

  “Why did you lie about that?”

  “Because we were going to — I can’t talk about it, Dad.” “I think I understand.”

  “Anyway, she didn’t show. I was sore or something. I wanted to go off. I remembered Bardo saying the gang was meeting up by the children’s park, up at Ninety-sixth, so I just went.”

  “And then?”

  “I was late. When I got there it had already happened.” “You’re sure of that, John?”

  Johnny whirled around. “Don’t you believe me?” he shouted.

  “Easy,” his father said. “Just calm down, young man.”

  “Thrill-killers,” Johnny said. “That’s what they’re calling us. They brought a paper to us, and that’s what it said. And all this stuff about a club. What club? I didn’t even know about it!”

  “Look, son,” his father said. “If you are innocent — and I believe you, by the way — then you’ll be cleared. But some of the dirt’s going to rub off on you, son. You’ve got to be prepared for that.”

  “I know it, Dad. I know it.”

  “Now let’s go over everything in detail. That’s why I insisted that your mother stay home, so we could get everything straight. Start from the very beginning, and don’t be ashamed to tell me about the girls. O.K.?”

  “All right,” Johnny said.

  As he talked, John Wylie had the odd sensation that he was talking about some other person. It was the same as when he had read the newspapers that morning. He felt sorry for Manny. Manny had cried all night over the snake. Bardo Raleigh had comforted him, his calm voice prevailing throughout the hours until dawn.

  “That’s all right, mister. They won’t hurt that snake. Your snake will be fine.”

  None of it seemed real to Johnny.

  And Lynn Leonard … Johnny couldn’t even see her face on the screen of his memory any more, or recall the sound of her voice. But sometimes he could swear he could smell the lilacs; he coul
d swear he could. And the ache in him would begin. He would think of how he had waited, of how it might have been if she had come; how different from the way it was. He thought of her reading the newspapers, reading the part about the girl they said had been forced to take her clothes off, and inside of him he died, only to be resurrected again and given his choice of nightmares.

  When Johnny finished telling his father about it, he was sobbing.

  “That’s about it, Dad,” he said.

  Richard Wylie walked across the interrogation room and took hold of his son’s shoulders. “It was a mistake, son. It was a big mistake.”

  “I know it, Dad.”

  “Thank God you weren’t involved in the murder.”

  “I keep thanking God,” Johnny said. “I keep asking Him to forgive me.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, John. Along with your mother. By the way,” he said, fumbling in his suit pocket, “she wrote you a little note. And here’s another one.” He handed them to Johnny. Then he hugged the boy to him. “You’re our boy, John,” he said. “We wouldn’t want any other boy but you.”

  Johnny wept until the guard came.

  Back in the single cell they had assigned him that morning, he opened the note from his mother:

  Dearest Son,

  I’ll come to see you tomorrow. Meanwhile pray to God for courage, and remember that your father and I love you and believe in you.

  MOM

  The second note was from Lynn Leonard, and it said:

  Dear Johnny,

  I still mean everything I said last Thursday night. Remember? Honestly! No matter what the papers print. I don’t believe it. Johnny, I couldn’t come that night. I can’t tell you why I couldn’t, but please believe me. Maybe someday I can tell you. I wanted to come, Johnny. I just couldn’t. Try to understand. I lit a candle for you at St. Mary’s. Oh, Johnny, please don’t hate me. I love you.

  LYNN

  A guard rattled Johnny’s cell door, opening it. “O.K., Mr. Big Kicks,” he said. “The D.A.’s got a few more questions. Put away the fan mail, Mr. Thrill.”

  • • •