The Peddler (12 page)

Tony took the paper, nodded and went out. The two other men were in the next room. Rock was an immensely broad bruiser, with a face marked up as if from many blows. Kelly was a wasted, anemic-looking kid who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Frame said, “What’s up, Tony?”

“I’ll tell you in the car. You guys got heaters?”

They nodded. Tony led them out and down to his Buick. He was excited. More excited than it seemed he should be. Part of Angelo’s nervousness and energy had been transmitted to him, and then too there was the half-eager, nervous anticipation of what might lie ahead. Shouldn’t really be much of a job, he thought. But, as Angelo had said, the guys must have expected trouble when they started up. And this was different from anything Tony had handled up to now.

On the way out to Laguna Street he explained the situation to the three men. Then he said, “We’ll handle it like this. We’ll walk in like customers—though if any of the guys running the show are around they’ll likely recognize me. But we’ll try it that way. You guys watch the front and back—you, Rock, and Kelly. Don’t let nobody out. Or in. Especially not in. I didn’t get time to case the spot, so there might be other ways in and out; we’ll have to chance it. And look, there’s a good chance this can be handled quiet, no trouble. For God’s sake don’t yank out those barkers unless there’s real trouble. I’ll do the talkin’. With any luck we just walk in, put a panic into whoever’s there, and I’ll get to the head of the joint and explain the situation. If the guys behind this aren’t around, we might have to make some more calls and do a little convincing but we should tie it up in a couple hours.”

Tony knew about where the houses were, but he slowed down and checked the street numbers till he reached the block he wanted. He spotted the two houses, but drove once around the block, then pulled up in front of the houses and cut the engine.

“Here it is. Let’s go.”

Tony tried the door but it was locked. The three men stood behind him as he rang the bell. In a few seconds a Mexican girl in a white street dress opened the door.

“Evening,” Tony said. He started to walk in, but she didn’t step aside.

“What you gentlemen want?”

Tony grinned at her. “You know what we want, sweetheart.”

“Who was it told you to come here?”

Tony stepped inside, pushing the girl out of his way and grabbed her wrist. “Look, baby,” he said, “you guessed it. This isn’t no social call. Now who’s the head of this place?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Tony squeezed harder on her wrist and the girl’s face twisted. Tony said quietly, “Who here’s the boss? Now quick.”

She gasped. “Miss Nellie. You’re hurtin’ my arm.”

Tony eased his grip. “Take me to her.”

She walked down the haU. Tony went with her, saying to Frame, “You come with me. One of you two squat there. Other one check the back.”

They walked down the hall, passing a closed door which the Mexican maid said was the parlor. They went into a room on the left of the hall without knocking. A woman in her middle thirties was lying down on a bed in the room, wearing an evening gown.

Tony pushed the girl toward Frame, then walked to the bed and sat down beside the woman as she raised up, startled.

“I’ll make this fast,” Tony said. “You know goddamn well the merchandise is all sewed up in this town. You been running on the outside. From here on in you’re with us, kicking in half, or you’re out of business.”

The woman leaned back away from him, her hands behind her on the bed. She licked her lips, then said, “Who’s ‘us’?”

“I’m Tony Romero. That mean anything to you?”

“Oh. I see. I …” she stopped talking. She knew who he was. Fright showed in her face. She looked around the room, then back at Tony.

“Look, Mr. Romero, I just work here.”

“How long you been open?”

“Twelve days.”

“Who set you up?” She paused. He said, “Quick, dammit I ain’t got all night.”

“Fisher.”

Tony knew Fisher. Lard Fisher. He was a cheap pimp with a string of half a dozen hookers, some of whom had been in Tony’s places. He might be one of the “lousy pimps” Angelo had mentioned, but Tony couldn’t imagine him running the show. He said, “What’s your name? Your real name.”

She looked at his face and shrank a Uttle farther away from him, but she said, “Mrs… . Nelson. That’s the truth; you’d find it out if I didn’t tell you.”

“O.K., Mrs. Nelson.” Tony spoke softly, levelly, staring down at her. “Not if you want to keep your pretty teeth, Mrs. Nelson. Who’s the Top in this outfit? And you tell me Fisher again, I’ll be disappointed.”

She swallowed. “I don’t—I can’t.” She stopped. “It’s a cop.”

Tony stared at her, not beheving for a moment. A cop? Christ, yes. Why not? He’d know the ropes, the ins and outs of the racket, where the payoff went. He’d pull plenty of weight. Tony’s thoughts were interrupted by noises in the hall outside; shouts and yells.

Suddenly there was the sharp, unmistakable crack of a gun, then another shot. Tony jumped to his feet.

Frame had already run into the hall; Tony reached for his revolver, raced to the door with the gun in his hand. He paused in the darker hall, pressed against the wall while his eyes became accustomed to the more gloomy interior here. A door burst open opposite him as a woman somewhere in the house screamed. A fat geezer ran out of the room opposite, pulling at his pants. His face was sagging and misshapen with fright. A completely nude girl stepped to the door, slammed it. A key turned in the lock. Tony started toward the front door gripping his gun. A woman in negligee raced through the door of the parlor and ran toward the back of the house, screaming, her mouth wide open. She ran by Tony, still screaming. Tony couldn’t see any of the three men who’d come with him. Where the hell were those bastards?

He felt a tingling excitement running through him, like the time he’d hammered in Alterie’s face, a little like the feeling he’d had the night Shark had been murdered. He ran toward the open door of the parlor as a man leaped through it into the hallway. Tony saw the dull gleam of light from a gun in the man’s hand. The man wasn’t Frame or Rock or Kelly. The guy stopped, stared at Tony.

“Romero!” he yelled. “You son of a bitch!” He yanked up his gun.

For a fraction of a second Tony hesitated. He didn’t know the guy, had never seen him, but the guy knew him. Must be one of the men running this spot. As if the motions were slowed down to half their normal speed, Tony in his heart-pounding excitement saw the other man’s gun swing up, point at him. Tony jumped to his right, slamming into the far ^wall as the gun in the hand of the man ten feet away blasted at him, flame spurting from the muzzle. Tony felt the light touch at the shoulder of his coat, saw the spurt of flame, heard the slug smack into the waU far behind him, and then his own gun roared in his hand, leaped upward, then was pulled down and steadied by his muscles, roared again. Tony’s mind was filled with a maelstrom of impressions and flashing thoughts. He hadn’t been conscious of pulling the trigger, yet its roar was still ringing in his ears. The other man had staggered backwards, was clawing at the wall, sliding down it now.

Tony ran toward him, stopped alongside him as the man toppled forward from his knees and lay still. There was a faint smear of blood on the wall where he had slid down it. Tony stared at him, breathing through his open mouth, still uncomprehending. He looked at the Magnum in his right fist, then knelt and felt for the man’s pulse. There was no pulse, no heartbeat. Tony rolled him over and saw the two small bullet holes, one over the heart, the other far down in the man’s groin. He was dead.

Feverishly, hardly knowing why he did it, Tony knelt by the dead man, went through his pockets. There was a thick roll of bills in the right trousers pocket; nothing else of importance. No wallet, no identification, no cards. Only a comb and file, and the money.

He heard a step behind him and whirled, swinging the gun up. He stopped just in time. It was Frame.

Tony stood up. “What the hell happened? Who started this sonofabitch of a mess?” Tony’s voice was loud.

Frame looked down at the man on the floor. “Him maybe. I don’t know. Somebody sapped Kelly—” he pointed toward the base of the front door—“then came on inside, I guess.” Frame’s voice was level, but pitched higher than usual, stretched with suppressed excitement. He held a heavy automatic in his right hand, waving it back and forth nervously.

Tony looked at the door, at the floor in front of it. He hadn’t even seen Kelly crumpled up there. “You sure he’s just sapped?”

“Yeah. I seen him when I busted out here.”

“Where’s Rock?”

“In back with Fisher. After I checked Kelly here I run into the parlor. Fish—I didn’t know who he was right then, hadn’t seen his face—was runnin’ toward the back. Rock caught him there and I bounced this—” he waved the gun —“off his squash. Rock’s watchin’ him. He’s hurt.”

“Rock?”

“Yeah. Slug in his shoulder. From him, I guess.” Frame pointed his gun at the dead man. “I didn’t get the straight of it. He winged Rock then busted out this way. I come after him soon’s I popped Fish.” He licked his lips. “You beat me to him. He’s dead?”

“Yeah. He took a shot at me. I … let him have it. Christ, I had to. Who the heU is he?”

“Dunno. Never seen him. He’s nobody now.”

A woman tried to run by them and reach the front door. Her face was white. Tony grabbed her.

“Get the hell back in your room.” He glanced down the hall. Three other women and a man with no shoes on were coming toward them. Tony shoved the girl back the way she’d come and faced the others, standing with his legs spread apart. “Get back in the rooms! All of you.” He held the gun up in his raised hand like a club. “Go on, move. Nobody leaves here.”

They stopped, milled around like sheep, went back. Tony turned to Frame. “God, what a mess. How about the back?”

“There’s where Rock is. And Fish. Rock needs a sawbones.”

“Rock’ll keep a few minutes. And we got to tie this up. Frame. It’s a big enough mess aheady. Jesus Christ! Angelo’s gonna turn inside out. What a goddanm mess this is.” He paused, licked his Hps, thinking. “Frame, round up everybody. Everybody still here. Herd them all in the parlor—no, check the men, and if you’re sure they’re just customers take their names and get rid of them. We got to settle this fast. Danm, we still got the other spot next to here.”

Frame sucked on his teeth. “Ain’t we gonna get outa here, Tony? Somethin’ … might happen. Maybe cops. Somebody must of heard all the racket.”

Kelly groaned, started moving.

“Get those people in the parlor, Frame. Then see how Kelly is. I’ll be in the parlor. Snap it up.”

Frame hurried off and started pounding on doors as Tony went through the parior and found a door leading from its far wall through another hallway lined with rooms. He walked down it to a closed door at the rear of the house. Rock stood there, one hand pressed against his shoulder, red lines of blood curiing around his fingers. Another man. Lard Fisher, was crumpled on the floor.

“Jlock,” Tony said. “How you makin’ it?”

“Not too bad. What’s gom’ on?’

Tony shook his head. It seemed everybody wondered that, himself included. All of a sudden, bang, all hell broke loose. Guns going off and naked babes running around and guys without pants. It looked now like there’d been only Fisher and the dead guy raising hell.

“I think it’s over,” he said. “I’d like to get you patched up now, but we got to settle this mess while we’re here. Only take maybe five minutes.”

“I’m O.K. Don’t even hurt yet.”

Tony stepped to the back door, opened it and looked out. There was an alley there that he’d spotted when they first drove up and circled the block before coming in.

“Rock, can you handle a car like you are?”

“Yah. This won’t bother me much for a while. Didn’t catch the bone. What happened to that sonofabitch?”

“I pooped him. He’s … dead.”

“Good.”

“Get the car off the street. Bring it around to the alley. We may have to jump for it yet.”

“What about him?” Rock nudged Fisher with his foot. Fisher groaned, starting to come to.

“Hell.” Tony ground his teeth together, then pulled the gun from under his coat. He reversed it, bent over and carefully hit Fisher on the back of his head. “He’ll keep for a while—we’ll take him with us. Get the car.”

They went back to the parlor and Rock went on out the front while Tony looked around. There were about twenty girls and two men. Didn’t look as if anybody had got out. Frame stood by the door; Kelly was sitting in a chair, his head in his hands.

Tony walked to Frame’s side. “Who’re the two guys?”

“Don’t know. No identification, so I kept them for you to look at. I got rid of nine others. They all seemed O.K. Hoped they was.”

“Get their names and where they live?”

“Sure.” Frame tapped his coat pocket. “Just in case.”

Tony walked over in front of the two men. Nervousness was building in him, jumping in his stomach. They had to get out of here. “Who are you guys?” he asked harshly.

They told him, nervously, giving names that might have been theirs, might have been fake.

Tony turned and looked at the silent women. “O.K., you pigs. I guess you know your little factory’s gone sour. Now who knows these guys here? Speak up. I got no spare time.”

One of the girls bit her lip and said hesitatingly, “I know … that one.” She pointed. “He’s been here a couple times.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want no customers; I want the guys put you in here.”

“I know. He’s all right. Just a customer.”

Another girl vouched for the same guy, and three girls identified the other as only a customer. There wasn’t much Tony could do about it if they were lying, but he figured they were telling the truth. Some of them looked ready to pass out.

Tony shoved the two men out the front door, then turned to the women. “You know who I am, some of you,” he said. “I’m Tony Romero. Nobody hustles in town unless I say so.” He stopped. “Frame, you and Kelly get next door, see what’s up over there.” They went out. Tony said, “O.K., the place is closed.” He looked around the room till he saw Mrs. Nelson. “Get this. You can work for us, and kick in not work at all. I’ll fix it so you can’t get a job sorting garbage, not in Frisco. Make up your minds fast. Now, who’s this bastard cop? And who else set this up?”