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noon's entertainment； and turn。 Kneeling on the gravel amid them； dressed only in underpants and one sneaker； his face smeared with blood and dirt and snot and tears； is a child of an age Henry cannot determine。 He's not a little kid； not with that powdering of hair on his chest； but he has the look of a little kid just the same。 His eyes have a Chinese tilt and are bright green； swimming with tears。
On the red brick wall behind this little group； printed in large white letters which are fading but still legible； is this message： NO BOUNCE； NO PLAY。 Which probably means keep the games and the balls away from the building and out in the vacant lot where the deep ruts of the basepaths and the ragged hill of the pitcher's mound can still be seen； but who can say for sure？ NO BOUNCE； NO PLAY。 In the years to e they will say this often； it will bee one of the private catch…phrases of their youth and has no exact meaning。 Who knows？ perhaps es closest。 Or What can you do？ It is always best spoken with a shrug； a smile； and hands tipped up to the sky。
'Who the fuck're you？' one of the big boys asks the Beav。 On his left hand he's wearing what looks like a batting glove or maybe a golf glove 。 。 。 something athletic； anyway。 In it is the dried dog…turd he has been trying to make the mostly naked boy eat。
'What are you doing？' Jonesy asks； horrified。 'You tryin to make him eat that？ The fuck's wrong with you？'
The kid holding the dog…turd has a wide swatch of white tape across the bridge of his nose； and Henry utters a bark of recognition that is half surprise and half laughter。 It's too perfect； isn't it？ They're here to look at the pussy of the Homeing Queen and here； by God； is the Homeing King； whose football season has apparently been ended by nothing worse than a broken nose； and who is currently passing his time doing stuff like this while the rest of the team practices for this week's game。
Richie Grenadeau hasn't noticed Henry's look of recognition； he's staring at Jonesy。 Because he has been startled and because Jonesy's tone of disgust is so pletely unfeigned； Richie at first takes a step backward。 Then he realizes that the kid who has dared to speak to him in such reproving tones is at least three years younger and a hundred pounds lighter than he is。 The sagging hand straightens again。
'I'm gonna make him eat this piece of shit；' he says。 'Then he can go。 You go now； snotball； unless you want half'
'Yeah； fuck off；' the third boy says。 Richie Grenadeau is big but this boy is even bigger； a six…foot…five hulk whose face flames with acne。 'While you got th…'
'I know who you are；' Henry says。
Richie's eyes switch to Henry。 He looks suddenly wary 。 。 。 but he also looks pissed off。 'Fuck off； sonny。 I mean it。'
'You're Richie Grenadeau。 Your picture was in the paper。
What do you think people will say if we tell em what we caught you doing？'
'You're not gonna tell anyone anything； because you'll be fuckin dead；' the one named Duncan says。 He has dirty…blond hair falling around his face and down to his shoulders。 'Get outta here。 Beat feet。'
Henry pays no attention to him。 He stares at Richie Grenadeau。 He is aware of no fear； although there's no doubt these three boys could stomp them flat； he is burning with an outrage he has never felt before； never even suspected。 The kid kneeling on the ground is undoubtedly retarded； but not so retarded he doesn't understand these three big boys intended to hurt him； tore off his shirt； and then…
Henry has never in his life been closer to getting good and beaten up； or been less concerned with it。 He takes a step forward； fists clenching。 The kid on the ground sobs； head now lowered； and the sound is a constant tone in Henry's head； feeding his fury。
'I'll tell；' he says； and although it is a little kid's threat； he doesn't sound like a little kid to himself。 Nor to Richie； apparently； Richie takes a step backward and the gloved hand with the dried turd in it sags again。 For the first time he looks alarmed。 'Three against one； a little retarded kid； fuck yeah； man； I'll tell。 I'll tell and I know who you are！'
Duncan and the big boy … the only one not wearing a high…school jacket … step up on either side of Richie。 The boy in the underpants is behind them now； but Henry can still hear the pulsing drone of his sobs； it's in his head； beating in his head and driving him fucking crazy。
'All right； okay； that's it；' the biggest boy says。 He grins； showing several holes where teeth once lived。 'You're gonna die now。'
'Pete； you run when they e；' Henry says； never taking his eyes from Richie Grenadeau。 'Run home and tell your mother。' And； to Richie： 'You'll never catch him； either。 He runs like the fucking wind。'
Pete's voice sounds thin but not scared。 'You got it； Henry。' 'And the worse you beat us up； the worse it's gonna be for you； Jonesy says。 Henry has already seen this； but for Jonesy it is a revelation； he's almost laughing。 'Even if you really did kill us； what good would it do you？ Because Pete does run fast； and he'll tell。'
'I run fast； too；' Richie says coldly。 'I'll catch him。'
Henry turns first to Jonesy and then to the Beav。 Both of them are standing firm。 Beaver； in fact； is doing a little more than that。 He bends swiftly； picks up a couple of stones … they are the size of eggs； only with jagged edges … and begins to chunk them together。 Beav's narrowed eyes shift back and forth between Richie Grenadeau and the biggest boy； the galoot。 The toothpick in his mouth jitters aggressively up and down。
'When they e； go for Grenadeau；' Henry says。 'The other two can't even get close to Pete。' He switches his gaze to Pete； who is pale but unafraid … his eyes are shining and he is almost dancing on the balls of his feet； eager to be off 'Tell your ma。 Tell her where we are； to send the cops。 And don't forget this bully motherfucker's name； whatever you do。' He shoots a district attorney's accusing finger at Grenadeau； who once more looks uncertain。 No； more than uncertain。 He looks afraid。
'Richie Grenadeau；' Pete says； and now he does begin to dance。 'I won't forget。'
'e on； you dickweed；' Beaver says。 One thing about the Beav； he knows a really excellent rank when he hears it。 'I'm gonna break your nose again。 What kind of chickenshit quits off the football team cause of a broken nose； anyhow？'
Grenadeau doesn't reply … no longer knows which of them to reply to； maybe … and something rather wonderful is happening： the other boy in the high…school jacket； Duncan； has also started to look uncertain。 A flush is spreading on his cheeks and across his forehead。 He wets his lips and looks uncertainly at Richie。 Only the galoot still looks ready to fight； and Henry almost hopes they will fight； Henry and Jonesy and the Beav will give them a hell of a scrap if they do； hell of a scrap； because of that crying； that fucking awful crying； the way it gets in your head； the beat…beat…beat of that awful crying。
'Hey Rich； maybe we ought to…' Duncan begins。
'Kill em；' the galoot rumbles。 'Fuck em the fuck up。'
This one takes a step forward and for a mo