The Peddler (17 page)

But Tony never thought about it.

What Tony thought about was San Francisco—and Betty; the two now seemed to be woven together. Even after those first three days in Napa he had longed for his home, but now there was a hunger in his bowels, a need and a craving for San Francisco. For its crisp, brittle air cold against his cheek, the good wet smell of the fog, the sound of foghorns and ships, the smell and sight of Fisherman’s Wharf. He hungered for the crowded, busy streets and the sight of smart, sleek women walking briskly on Geary or O’Farrell or Powell. God, just to walk down Turk Street, if nothing else, past the foul-smelling, dingy dives where the ex-cons and boosters and cannons hang out, the cheap, shiftless, small fry of the rackets; see a drunken stumblebum reel out of Casey’s with his shirt unbuttoned, his pants unzipped, whiskers jutting from his wrinkled face and his tie pulled into a knot the width of a shoestring, a black tie most likely, stringy and worn and stained with beer and cheap whiskey and wine. To see even that again.

Or to walk into Alexis’ Tangier, with its jewel-like Casbah bar, its exotic luxury and hum of muted conversation. Then to Bimbo’s for a drink and a look at the tiny nude swimmer in the fish bowl—or highballs at the Top o’ the Mark. On to Ernie’s or the Blue Fox for a steak, or gnocchi and stuffed veal, tortellini, or tournedos Rossini. Or to walk up Grant Street in the heart of Chinatown, and stop in Kan’s for crackling Peking duck. Pizza in North Beach, minestrone on O’Farrell, sea food in Bernstein’s. San Franscisco and sour French bread and water glasses filled with red wine.

It was a true hunger, a craving and longing, and there was with it a hunger in his heart, that was growing into a need, for Betty. Always when he thought of San Francisco he thought of being there with her, walking the streets with her, laughing, drinking, eating, talking, sleeping, loving with her.

Once in a while Tony thought of Maria Casino. But only once in a while. When he did think of her it was with irritation; he forgot or ignored the sweetness of her nature, the pleasant, bright things about her, and remembered the things she did which angered or irritated him.

The combination of his thoughts of Betty and San Francisco, and his studied, humorless conquest and recruiting of the girls, began working a change in Tony. And, too, he had come to loathe what he was doing, not from moral scruples, but from boredom and disgust. His contempt for the “Pigs” grew until he sometimes had to force himself to speak quietly and pleasantly instead of smashing his fist into the painted mouth of the giri smiling fatuously at him. Hate grew in him, and grew into his face.

A month and a half after Tony had killed the cop, he ran into a man he had known in San Francisco.

In Sacramento he went into a small, damp-smelling bar for a drink. He recognized his acquaintance inmiediately, a middle-aged guy named Willie Fife that Tony had seen around and talked to a little. Fife was on the fringes of the rackets, a hanger-on, a stoolie and informer. Tony didn’t have much use for the guy because he figured he’d sell his grandmother for a buck. Tony figured if a guy was goiflg to sell his grandmother, he should get at least a C-note. All the same, Tony was pleased to see a familiar face, and he felt an eager anticipation at the thought of perhaps hearing the latest news from San Francisco.

“Hello, Willie. I’ll buy a drink.”

The other looked around, surprised at first, then he grinned. “Romero! What the hell you doing down here, man? I thought you were up North.”

“I haven’t been in Frisco for a month and a half.”

“I know you ain’t been in Frisco. I thought you was in Oregon or someplace. What’s with you, man?”

Willie was short and fat and bald. He had only a small ring of wispy hairs in a half circle on his head, and talked about his receding scalpline but was embarrassed about it. He had a pale, pleasant face with a big crooked nose. He smiled at Tony and said, “Well, buy that drink, man. Bourbon.”

Tony ordered two drinks, then moved with Fife to a booth. He said, “How long since you were in town, Willie?”

Willie chewed on his lip. He seemed oddly nervous, Tony thought. “Couple days back,” Willie said.

“What’s going on in town? Didn’t know I could miss the place so much.”

They talked for five minutes, Tony listening eagerly to the odds and ends of information. He hadn’t even looked at a San Francisco newspaper for over a week, because seeing the familiar names and advertisements, stories of familiar places, made him so homesick he could hardly keep himself from heading back.

Finally Tony said, “Whatever happened on this cop kill, Willie? That Jorgensen guy. Cops getting anywhere?”

Willie licked his lips again, rubbed a hand over his bald head. Tony squinted at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothin’, Tony. Nothin’. They got the guy. Didn’t you hear about it?”

“When was this?”

“Last week.”

“What’s the story, Willie?” Tony’s hand balled into a fist resting on the table. “Give.”

“It was this Floyd Bristol—you know, the junkey. Cops got a tip and picked him up. He, uh, give them a confession. No trial yet, but the cops say it’s sewed up.”

Tony was thinking: Last week? Why in hell hadn’t Angelo told him to come on back when he talked to him last Saturday? Something was screwy.

WilUe was saying, “You and me, we been pretty good friends for quite a spell, right, Tony? I mean, we never had no trouble, got along good. You’d appreciate it if I give you a tip?”

“Sure, Willie.” Tony took the roll of bills from his pocket, held them clenched in his hand.

“Well, look—don’t get hot at me now,” Fife said.

Fife was building up to something. Tony didn’t like the feel of it. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “What you got to say?”

“Well, now, I don’t know nothin’ about this Jorgensen push except what I said, see. And you’re a lot closer to Angelo than me, you know. But I get some rumbles, me and the boys, they’re around and you hear things, you know,”

“Get to the point, Willie.”

“O.K. Me and some of us guys what know you, figure you might be getting a little raw deal. There’s a hell of a lot of pressure on Angelo, heat’s really on, on account of something has to do with you. Wojd is he’s gettin’ sick of the pressure. And, well, there’s a rumble he’s about ready to throw you to the wolves.”

Tony’s lips were pressed together. He leaned forward.

“Look, Willie, let’s put our cards on the table. This pressure on Angelo—maybe it’s about Jorgensen?”

“That’s right, Tony. That’s it.” WilUe seemed to get more nervous. He looked at the wadded bills in Tony’s hand, then at Tony’s face and away. “I’m takin’ a hell of a chance, Tony. If it ever got back to Angelo …”

“It won’t.” Tony yelled, “Hey, bartender. Two more. Shake a leg.” He turned back to Fife. “How big a chance you taking, Willie? How big a financial risk is this?”

“Well, a yard, maybe, Tony?”

What Tony had learned already was easily worth a hundred to him. He pulled three hundred-dollar bills from his roll and shoved them across the table to the other man. “There’s three C’s, pal. Now give me all of it. Spill your guts out.”

The drinks came and Tony paid for them. Willie swallowed half of his in two gulps and said, “Thanks, Tony. Thanks—”

“Skip the thanks.”

“O.K. Well, I told you about all. I figure you’ll be heading back to town, right? Pretty quick?” Tony nodded. “Well,” Fife went on, “I just figure you’d want to know so you can watch your step. Might be it’s just a blow-up, but it sounds up-and-up. Maybe Angelo just wants to ease you out because the national ghees been lookin’ the setup over. Maybe worse, even.”

Tony curled his fist around his glass, then swallowed part of his drink. That “maybe worse” could only mean Angelo might be figuring on getting rid of Tony for good. Plenty must have happened in the last month and a half.

“Is it maybe?” he asked. “Or do you know.”

“No, I dunno. It’s just there’s a fire under him.”

“What’s this about national guys?”

“Back East apples. They been in town. Might be they’re movin’ in. I got it off the wire, but might be there’s nothin’ to it, for sure.” He paused, finished his drink, then said, “Ain’t you got a girl back in town?”

“Maria? You might say so. Maria Casino.”

“That’s her. She’s uh, been seeing Angelo. Or he’s been seein’ her. Anyway, they ain’t strangers.”

Tony’s jaw muscles wiggled slightly. “How long’s this been going on?”

“Since you left.”

Tony looked at Fife, not seeing him. What the hell was coming off? Everything was going crazy. Maria and Angelo? That didn’t even make sense. Christ, there was too much of this all at once. His jaw hardened; he had to get back there, see for himself what was happening.

“You got anything else, Willie? I want all of it.”

“That’s it, man. That’s every bit. And, Tony, thanks for the three yards. I can use it.”

“Forget it. I’ll see you around.” Tony got up and left. He sat in his Cad for a minute, wondering if he should head for Frisco and just bust in on Angelo. He was furious, but he made himself cool down and think logically about it. Barging in on Angelo was no good. And, too, it could be that Fife had things screwed up. No, Tony was supposed to call Angelo again tomorrow night; could be the guy would tell him to come back, that all was now O.K. That was the way to work it: phone the guy and report in, and see what Angelo had to tell him. Play it dumb.

Tony felt better immediately. He’d call tomorrow night —and in the meantime he’d be able to run up to Napa. That’s what he’d been wanting to do for the last month; might as well admit it. He lit a cigarette, sucked on it, thinking about Betty. That was about all he’d done, think about her, and he couldn’t understand it. Hell, he’d only seen her three or four times; only really been with her that once. It didn’t make sense. Maria, even, was prettier than Betty. And the way Betty had acted that last night, she probably wouldn’t want to see him anyway. But he knew that he had to see her again, had to talk to her, if nothing else he had to look at her again.

He threw away his cigarette and started the car, felt it leap forward beneath him. As he drove, his thoughts were peculiar ones for Tony. He felt that no matter what was waiting for him in San Francisco, that he could handle it, lick it, come out on top—if Betty were rooting for him, if she were with him. It was, actually, the first time in his life that he had qualified his belief in himself, and his confidence. Two months before he would have felt that, whatever waited for him, he could handle it alone.

It was a few minutes after five P.M. when he reached Napa. He drove directly to Westburns, parked and got out of the car. He looked at the book-and-record shop for a moment, his throat dry. He walked to the door, opened it.

He heard her before he saw her. “Tony!” He turned his head and saw her running from the back of the shop toward him. His heart began pounding rapidly and his knees felt weak. She ran up to him, then stopped abruptly, stood in front of him as if suddenly shy.

He swallowed. “Hello, Betty.”

She didn’t say anything.

He looked around; they were alone in the shop. “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said. “When can you leave?”

“I can close up now.” She started to say something else, then busied herself with the last-minute things she had to do before leaving. They went to the door and she locked it. Tony led her to the Cadillac, opened the door and helped her in. He walked around and slid under the wheel.

For a while neither of them spoke, and Tony wondered what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t get started saying the hundred things he wanted to say. With other girls or women he was glib, never worrying about the right word or phrase.

He said awkwardly, “Betty, I thought a lot about you. Ever since I left here. I didn’t know what you thought or anything, whether you even wanted to talk to me again.”

“I’ve thought about you, Tony. I … I’ve missed you.”

“It’s funny, huh? We don’t even know each other much. But I been thinking about you all the time.” He swallowed, grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think …” The words trailed off as he looked at her, as their eyes met.

She stared at him, lips moist and slightly parted, breasts rising and falling. “Oh, hell, Betty,” he said after a long silence, “I’m crazy about you.” The words he had said a hundred times to other women were stiff and clumsy on his tongue.

She kept staring at him, hands folded in her lap, then she looked away. Sunlight still fell on the streets, but few people were in sight. Betty didn’t speak, and Tony started the car and drove away from the store. She had him stop at her house and she was gone for a minute, then ran back to the car. They drove out of town, aimlessly, talking casually of unimportant things, avoiding any reference to the last time they had been together.

As dusk fell Tony pulled off the road and parked. They sat quietly until Betty said, “Why did you have to come back, Tony? I almost wish you hadn’t.”

“You said you’d missed me.”

“I have. That’s why I wish you’d stayed away. Now I’ll just miss you more.”

“You don’t have to, Betty. Not if you’re with me.”

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back on the seat.

He said, “I came back to see you, talk to you. I’m going back to Frisco tomorrow. I want you to go with me.”

“You know I can’t, Tony. You know I won’t.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just be with me.”

“Tony, I want to be with you. I don’t want to keep missing you like I have.” She kept her eyes closed, didn’t turn toward him. “But you know I can’t just leave. I … don’t suppose I’ll ever leave Napa till I get married. It’s silly to think I’d just go away with you.”

She stopped. Tony didn’t say anything, thinking of what she’d just said. He’d never considered getting married—and he couldn’t even think about marriage now. He had too much to do, too far to go in Frisco. And maybe more than just Frisco. He was going to be an important man, a big man, and marriage was too much like a trap. At least he thought of marriage that way. He thought of the married women he’d been with, gone to bed with; he thought of Ginny and the late Al Sharkey. No, marriage wasn’t for Tony.