"You want to be in the club, Joey?" Artie asked, poking him hard in the chest. Joey knew that he couldn't show any reaction at all. He had to be tough. The other young men in the group gathered in a circle around them, so that there would be no witnesses.
"I guess so," Joey did his best to pretend that he was only moderately interested. The Mad Dogs were the most powerful gang in the Warrens, and every boy wanted in. The powerless always sought out the powerful, hoping to catch some of that confidence. Joey had felt powerless since April of 1923, when his little brother Archie had disappeared on his way home from school. They found his body in the garbage behind the Woolworths. Joey wanted to find the bastard who killed his brother, even now, in 1934. He had carried a knife since, just in case he found the guy. Problem was, Joey still thought of himself as that little kid, waiting for his brother to get home. Not a tough guy.
Artie laughed at Joey's attempt at nonchalance. He'd heard it all before, that laugh said. He put his arm around Joey's neck and leaned in close. "All right, you can be in the club if you pass the initiation. See that kid over there?
"The one on the rocket?" The kid couldn't have been more than six, sitting on the rocket, waiting for his mom to finish at the grocery.
"Yeah, that's the one. I want you to get that kid and take him in that alley over there."
"And then what?" Joey felt his hackles rise. It was suddenly hard to breathe; he knew then what had happened to Archie.
"Then you kill him. Kill the kid and you're in the Mad Dogs." Artie laughed, a short bark, before he noticed the knife sticking out of his chest.
Joey watched Artie fall, and stared at the other Mad Dogs.
Maybe he was tough enough, after all.
Not trying to depress anyone, but this was in my brain, and I had to get it out of there.
The prompt is the third definition of "club".