Juvenile Delinquent by Richard Deming

eyebrows. “You knew a little bit about this neighborhood before you came to see me.”
    “Very little,” I said. “That’s about it. What kind of stuff do you take Krebb?”
    “All kinds. Hub caps, tires, radio aerials. Mostly stuff from cars. But he’ll handle most anything. Even cigarettes and whisky.”
    “He pays cash?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And that’s how you finance the club?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What else does the club do?”
    “That’s about all. Except have a rumble with the Gravediggers now and then.”
    “I thought you said the order was out against that?”
    He was silent.
    “What’d you mean by that, Stub? Who ordered the Purple Pelicans and the Gravediggers to stop fighting?”
    Before answering he lit another cigarette and nervously puffed on it. Eventually he said, “Hell, I’ve told you so much now, I’m dead if anybody finds out. I may as well tell you the rest.”
    And for the next fifteen minutes I listened to an amazing story of how an organized adult gang was deliberately exploiting a bunch of teenagers by steering them into dope addiction and encouraging them in large-scale theft and burglary, the bulk of profits from which went into the pockets of the adults.
    The Purple Pelican’s contact with the group was a hoodlum named Buzz Thurmond, Stub told me. The garageman fence and the two heroin pushers he had previously mentioned also took orders from Thurmond. But Buzz Thurmond was known to be only a lieutenant and not the boss of the gang, because the man who had organized the Gravediggers along similar lines was a different hood named Limpy Alfred. Who the big boss was, Stub had no idea. But it was generally accepted by both the Purple Pelicans and the Gravediggers that they were under the protection of a powerful adult gang which would furnish them bail and legal service if they ever got in trouble.
    It was Buzz Thurmond who had introduced the club to its fence, Harry Krebb, as well as introducing individual members to the two narcotics pushers. It was also Thurmond who outlined to the club what petty jobs to pull. He regularly attended the secret meetings of the club and it leaned heavily on his advice.
    When I asked how long this had been going on, Stub said, “About four years. Just about the time I joined the club. He hung around and got to talking to some of the boys and dropped hints that he could show us how to raise money. After a while somebody brought him to a meeting so he could talk to the whole group. After that it got to be a habit for him to drop around to meetings. He never tried to tell us how to run the club, though. I mean who to make officers and so on. He just advised us on jobs.”
    I asked, “Did this Buzz Thurmond know about Bart’s reform campaign?”
    He looked startled. Glancing at me sideways, he said in a suddenly thoughtful voice, “Yeah. He never said anything one way or the other about it, but I guess he wouldn’t have liked it much, would he?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” I said drily. “It might have put a crimp in his business. One more thing, Stub. Did you know the reason the cops showed up so conveniently to catch Joe on the spot was that fifteen minutes previously they got an anonymous phone call from some girl telling them a reefer party was in progress at the club room?”
    “No,” he said with surprise.
    “Any idea who the girl might be?”
    He shook his head.
    “The police have a theory it was either Bart’s girl or Joe’s wanting to break up the fight because she was afraid her boy friend would get hurt. Would either of them do that?”
    He shook his head again. “Bart’s girl didn’t much like fighting, but she wouldn’t dare pull a stunt like that. Bart would of slapped her silly. And Joe’s girl would of figured he’d win, so she wouldn’t call.”
    “I’ve got Bart’s girl’s name,” I said. “But who’s Joe’s?”
    “Wouldn’t he tell you?”
    I could have said I didn’t think to ask, but we’d gotten