It

traded six bottles of Budweiser and three joysticks for the sword in Honolulu). Lately Butch almost always got out his sword when he drank. And since all of the boys, including Henry himself, were secretly convinced that sooner or later he would use it on someone, it was best to be far away when it made its appearance on Butch’s lap.
The boys had no more than stepped out into the road when Henry spied Mike Hanlon up ahead. ‘It’s the nigger!’ he said, his eyes lighting up like the eyes of a small child contemplating Santa Claus’s imminent arrival on Christmas Eve.
‘The nigger?’ Belch Huggins looked puzzled — he had seen the Hanlons only rare l y — and then his dim eyes lit up. ‘Oh yeah! The nigger! Let’s get him, Henry!’
Belch broke into a thunderous trot. The others were following suit when Henry grabbed Belch and hauled him back. Henry had more experience than the others chasing Mike Hanlon, and he knew that catching him was easier said than done. That black boy could move.
‘He don’t see us. Let’s just walk fast till he does. Cut the distance.’
They did so. An observer might have been amused: the five of them looked as if they were trying out for that peculiar Olympic walking competition. Moose Sadler’s considerable belly joggled up and down inside his Derry High School tee-shirt. Sweat rolled down Belch’s face, which soon grew red. But the distance between them and Mike closed — tw o hundred yards, a hundred and fifty yards, a hundred — and so far Little Black Sambo hadn’t looked back. They could hear him whistling.
‘What you gonna do to him, Henry?’ Victor Criss asked in a low voice. He sounded merely interested, but in truth he was worried. Just lately Henry had begun to worry him more and more. He wouldn’t care if Henry wanted them to beat the Hanlon kid up, maybe even rip his shut off or throw his pants and underwear up in a tree, but he was not sure that was all Henry had in mind. This year there had been several unpleasant encounters with the children from Derry Elementary Henry referred to as ‘the little shits.’ Henry was used to dominating and terrorizing the little shits, but since March he had been balked by them time and time again. Henry and his friends had chased one of them, the four –eyes Tozier kid, into Freese’s, and had lost him somehow just when it seemed his ass was surely theirs. Then, on the last day of school, the Hanscom kid —
But Victor didn’t like to think of that.
What worried him, simply, was this: Henry might go TOO FAR Just what TOO FAR might be was something Victor didn’t like to think of . . . but his uneasy heart had prompted the question just the same.
‘We’re gonna catch him and take him down to that coalpit,’ Henry said. ‘I thought we’d put a couple of firecrackers in his shoes and see if he dances.’
‘But not the M-80s, Henry, right?’
If Henry intended something like that Victor was going to take a powder. An M-80 in each shoe would blow that nigger’s feet off, and that was much TOO FAR
‘I’ve got only four of those,’ Henry said, not taking his eyes off Mike Hanlon’s back. They had closed the distance to seventy-five yards now and he also spoke in a low voice. ‘You think I’d waste two of em on a fuckin nightfighter?’
‘No, Henry. Course not.’
‘We’ll just put a couple of Black Cats in his loafers,’ Henry said, ‘then strip him bareass and throw his clothes down into the Barrens. Maybe he’ll catch poison ivy going after them.’
‘We gotta roll im in the coal, too,’ Belch said, his formerly dim eyes now glowing brightly. ‘Okay, Henry? Is that cool?’
‘Cool as a moose,’ Henry said in a casual way Victor didn’t quite like. ‘We’ll roll im in the coal, just like I rolled im in the mud that other time. And . . . ‘ Henry grinned, showing teeth that were already beginning to rot at the age of twelve. ‘And I got something to tell him. I don’t think he heard when I told im before.’
‘What’s that, Henry?’ Peter asked. Peter Gordon was merely interested and excited. He came from one of Berry’s ‘good families’; he lived on West Broadway and in two years he would be sent to prep school in Groton — or so he believed on that July 3rd. He was brighter than Vie Criss, but had not hung around long enough to understand how Henry was eroding.
‘You’ll find out,’ Henry said. ‘Now shut up. We’re gettin close.’
They were twenty-five yards behind Mike and Henry was just opening his mouth to give the order to charge when Moose Sadler set o ff the first firecracker of the day. Moose had eaten three plates of baked beans the night before, and the fart was almost as loud as a shotgun blast.
Mike looked around. Henry saw his eyes widen.
‘Get him!’ Henry howled.
Mike froze for a moment; then he took off, running for his life.
6
The Losers