The Peddler (3 page)

“Sure, Swan.” Tony started to hang up, then remembered, panicked, that he didn’t know where the party was. “Swan,” he yelled into the mouthpiece. “Hey, Swan.”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, where you at? I almost forgot.”

Swan laughed, then gave Tony the address and apartment number and hung up.

He was already a little awed by the place. Sharkey lived in the Arlington Arms, a big apartment house near the Bay. There was even one of those cloth canopy things over the walk leading up to the door, and when the cab had stopped a uniformed doorman had opened the door for Tony. Tony gave him a buck, then wondered what he’d done that for. There was sure no work to opening a door; he could do it for himself. The hell with it. He’d have to get used to giving out bucks to all the guys with palms shoved out.

He walked boldly through the rich lobby and took the elevator up to ten, then walked over thick carpeting to 1048. Even before he reached the door and rang the buzzer, Tony could hear the laughter and shrieks from inside the room. He rang the buzzer thinking that this was one of those places that smelled like money, smelled good, rich. It made him think of fat guys getting their pink faces patted in barber shops, and slant-eyed women with gold douche bags. He heard footsteps trotting toward the door and then the door swung open.

There was a slinky-looking, shapely brunette, almost as tall as Tony, standing inside holding the door open. Tony nodded at her, not sure what to say.

“Well!” she said. “Where’d you come from?” She raised one dark, thinly-penciled eyebrow a half inch.

“I’m Tony Romero,” he said. “Swan invited me up here.”

“Well, come on in, honey.”

Tony looked into the room as he brushed past the brunette. She shut the door behind him and he pressed his teeth together, feeling good, enjoying himself already, glancing rapidly around the room and taking it all in, drinking it in. This,was something. He was in the big living room and it was the room that Tony had half visualized in his mind, the room he wanted. There was even a bar against one wall, four chrome-and-red-leather stools in front of it; on the opposite wall was a huge picture five or six feet square, of half a dozen nude women running around in a kind of mist in green forest by a lake, some of them swimming.

There were twelve or fifteen people in the living room, and he could hear more voices from the open door of the kitchen ahead and on his right. Noise and laughter and conversation beat against his ears and he could smell the odor of whiskey cutting sharply through the faint scent of women, of their bodies and their perfume. Three people sat on a long divan, all of them holding highballs, others were at the bar, and some stood about the room, talking and drinking. Directly ahead of him, across the room from the entrance, the wall was a huge window, black draperies at each side. It was night beyond the window, but Tony knew the Bay was out there, and the lights of the Golden Gate and the San Francisco Bay Bridge.

He sucked in his breath, glancing rapidly about. He hadn’t yet recognized anyone; the few seconds he had stood inside the door had been filled only with the sudden impact of sound and color and the heavy and subtle odors. He heard Swan’s booming laugh and spotted him, tall and blond, leaning against the wall on the right of the black drapery at the window’s edge. He was talking to a red-haired woman who played with the ribbed lapel of his dinner jacket.

Tony walked toward him just as Swan looked around and saw him. “Hi, kid,” he boomed, and advanced toward Tony with one hand extended. They met in the middle of the room and shook hands. Tony felt swell. Several of those in the room turned to look at them; at Tony Romero in this swank place shaking hands with Swan—with State Senator Swan.

“Hello, Swan,” Tony said. “Sure good to see you. Or maybe I should call you Mr. Swan, or The Honorable something, or whatever it is.”

“It’s Swan, kid. Same old bastard.” He looked Tony up and down. “You’ve grown up into a little mountain. What you weigh now?”

“About one-eighty.”

“Let’s see, you’re—twenty now, huh?”

Tony grinned. “Well … twenty-three. No, make it twenty-two.”

“You sonofabitch,” Swan grinned. “You haven’t changed.” He jerked his head. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Shark.”

“Sure.” This was just as good as if he’d planned it himself. Swan put his hand on Tony’s shoulder and steered him across the room to where a solidly built man sat in a low, wide, cream-colored chair. Maria sat on the arm of the chair talking to the guy. Swan took Tony up to them and stopped.

So this was Sharkey? He was a big egg, about as tall as Swan, thicker through the chest and middle. He looked around forty, with a pouchy, lined face and a bald spot in the middle of his head. The face was square, with the thick-lipped mouth a straight line gashing the face, the lips almost too red. What hair he had left was red, too, more pinkish than anything else. One of Sharkey’s chunky hands rested on Maria’s thigh, a stubble of short, thick red hairs on the back of his hand like a week-old beard.

With a slight shock Tony noticed that Sharkey was drunk. He didn’t know why he should have been shocked or surprised; everybody was drinking and it seemed to be a pretty wild party. It just didn’t seem right that a big shot like Sharkey would be plastered. Swan had obviously been drinking quite a bit, too, but it didn’t show much. He just seemed to be having a hell of a good time.

Tony looked at Maria. He didn’t know whether he should say hello or not; he hadn’t thought about it before. But she smiled and said, “Hello, Tony,” when he and Swan walked up.

He winked at her. “Hi, Maria.”

Swan said, “Hey, Shark. Look alive. Here’s the kid I was telling you about. Tony Romero. Tony, this is Al Sharkey.” “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sharkey,” said Tony. “I heard a lot about you.”

Sharkey looked up and smacked his lips. “Romero, huh?” He blinked pale blue eyes. His eyes were too small, Tony thought. Didn’t look big enough in that square face, and they looked bloodshot. No good reason, but he didn’t like Sharkey’s looks. Sharkey went on, “Swanney tells me you’re a regular whip. That right?”

“Well …” said Tony. Was the guy making fun of him? “I known Mr. Swan quite a while.”

Sharkey nodded. “Well, glad to know you, Romero. Make yourself at home. Have a drink, boy. And, say, how about bringing me a whiskey-coke while you’re at it. My feet hurt.”

For a moment irritation flared in Tony. He wasn’t no goddamn servant. But he fought the anger down, forced himself to take it easy, and said, “Sure, Mr. Sharkey. Just a minute.”

Swan took over then. “Hey, Ginny,” he yelled toward the bar. “Bring us a coke-high and—” he looked at Tony. “What you want?”

“What you drinking?” “Scotch and water.” “Me too, then.”

Swan laughed and slapped his hip. “You little sonofa-bitch. If I said poison, I bet you’d say poison.” He asked Maria what she wanted then yelled, “Ginny, and two scotch-and-waters and a rum-coke. O.K., honey?”

The brunette who’d let Tony in waved a hand and started mixing the drinks. Sharkey slid his hand along Maria’s green skirt and squeezed her thigh. She glanced at Tony, then put her hand over Sharkey’s and patted it. When the drinks came. Swan steered Tony over to the window and pulled two chairs together facing the view. Tony sat down and looked out over the Bay.

They talked casually for a few minutes, finished their drinks. Swan told him that he’d known Angelo well even before he’d first run into Tony; they were good friends, “like that.” Angelo had fixed Swan up for the legislature job where he could look out for Angelo’s interests. Yeah, Angelo was The Top, for sure. He had all the gambling, dope, houses, the works. He was tied in with the national bunch on the rest, but the houses were his, independent. Of course Angelo had his fingers in a lot of legit things too—that was mainly where Swan came in—apartment houses, this one here for example, a couple movie houses, some other real estate and pieces of several night clubs. Yeah, he must be worth a million or two. Maybe more. Finally Swan asked Tony what he’d been doing, how he’d been getting along.

Tony hesitated for a moment, then he said, “Hell, I’ll tell you the truth. Swan. I’m not doing much of anything right now. I pick up enough to get by, but no big dough.” He paused. “Christ, I’d give plenty to get in with these guys.” He jerked his head toward the room behind him. “Sharkey, and the rest.”

“What you want in with them for, kid? Why this racket? There’s better spots.”

“There’s reasons. I could do good in this one. And there’s big money in it. I thought a lot about it.”

Swan nodded. “I’ll bet you have.” He grinned. “I suppose you want me to put in a word for you, huh?”

“Well, no. Swan. I mean—”

“The hell. That’s why you came up here, isn’t it? Don’t forget, I know you, kid. Unless you’ve changed a lot, and I’ll give you odds you haven’t.”

“I came up to see you. Swan. But it sure wouldn’t hurt me none if you put in a word for me.” Tony squinted at the other. “Dammit, I want in. I want in.” His voice was suddenly tighter. “I got to get started, Swan. A guy don’t live forever.”

Swan laughed. “What a way for a twenty-year-old kid to talk. Pardon me, Tony, a twenty-two-year-old kid. You might do O.K. at that. But take a tip. Seriously. Don’t try to go too fast; that’s your trouble. And it can get you plenty grief. I know; I’ve seen it happen too often.”

Tony turned the empty glass in his fingers, shook the small piece of ice left in the glass, then he looked up. “Swan,” he said soberly, “a guy like me can’t go too fast.”

Swan looked back at him, chewing on his lip. He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Tony. But I’ll see what the score is. There’s one guy Sharkey’s having trouble with. Shark’s got three men directly under him that handle the actual business of running the houses, report to him, turn in the collections and so on. There’s Castiglio and Hamlin and Alterie, Frank Alterie. It’s Alterie that isn’t getting along with Shark; and there’s talk he’s on the needle. Maybe there’s nothing there, but I’ll see.” He sighed and got up. “Well, I better mingle a little. You might as well roam around and get acquainted. Drinks are free.”

“Yeah.” Involuntarily Tony glanced at Sharkey, now tilting another glass to his red lips and gulping from it.

Swan followed his gaze and said pleasantly, “Well, it’s his liquor, kid.”

“He seems to like it. Who’s who around here? I mean with the houses.”

Swan pointed out Hamlin and Castiglio, and a third man he knew only as Beezer. Alterie wasn’t present. There were others, but Tony was mainly interested in Castiglio at the moment. He was a short, dark, thin-faced Italian about twenty-five, wearing a double-breasted brown suit with small checks in the cloth. He was sitting in a wide leather chair, and the girl who had met Tony at the door—Ginny, Swan had called hei;—was sitting on his lap. Tony walked past them, then stopped and looked around. He nodded to Castiglio, started to walk away, then turned. “Say,” he said, “can I get you two anything to drink?”

“Well, thanks,” Castiglio said. “I could use a shot of that Granddad with a water chaser.” He glanced at Ginny on his lap, then grinned at Tony. “Fix it myself, but I hate to get up.”

Tony grinned at him. “Don’t blame you. How about you?” He looked at the woman.

“You know how to mix a stinger?”

“Not exactly.”

“You either know exactly, or you don’t know at all.”

“O.K. I don’t know at all.”

She laughed and told him how to mix the drink. Then, while Tony was still watching, she turned to Castiglio, put her face close to his, and slid her tongue out between her teeth. Castiglio kissed her tongue, then sort of slid his mouth up it till he was kissing her lips; one hand eased up the front of her dress. Tony was getting hotter than hell.

Behind the bar he found the white Creme de Menthe and the brandy, stirred it in cracked ice and found a glass that looked delicate enough for such a foolish drink, then made Castiglio’s and his own. He mentally imagined himself chopping wood for a few seconds, until he cooled down a little then put the drinks on a tray.

Ginny tasted her stinger and pursed her lips. “Very good for an amateur,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Oh,” she said. “You two don’t know each other.” She looked up at Tony. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Tony Romero.”

“Tony, this is Leo Castiglio.”

“Hi, Tony.” Castiglio stuck out his hand and Tony shook it, making sure it was a firm, hearty handshake. “Glad to know you, Mr. Castiglio,” he said.

“It’s Leo. Nobody calls me Mr. Castiglio but the draft board.”

“Don’t you want to know who I am?” she asked.

“I heard Swan call you Ginny.”

“Short for Virginia.” She laughed. “I know, I know, but I was never called Virgin for short. What do you say we dance, Tony?”

“Well …”

“Oh, come on.”

Tony looked down at Leo Castiglio. “You mind?”

“Hell, no,” he said, and Ginny, for no good reason that Tony could figure out, started laughing so hard she almost choked.

She got off Leo’s lap, smoothed her dress, then held her hands out toward Tony and he stepped toward her. The record on now was a slow fox trot, and Tony put his arm around her and took her left hand in his. She was a good, smooth dancer, and she danced close to him, following him easily. At first they didn’t talk, then she asked him, “Having fun?”

“Sure am. This is a swell party, huh?”

“That it is. I’ll have to work on Al to have more of them. If you’ll come. Will you, Tony?”

He didn’t answer right away. Al? Oh, yeah, Al Sharkey. What’d she mean, work on him?

“You mean Mr. Sharkey? You know him pretty well?”

She laughed again. “‘Know him! Good Lord, we’ve been married for six years.”

Tony missed a step. If she kept surprising him like this he wasn’t going to be able to take a step without missing a step. “Married?” he said. “Married?”

“Well,” she smiled, “what’s wrong with that? We … understand each other.”

Tony looked over her shoulder to where he’d last seen Sharkey. The chair was empty now and he looked around. Then he spotted Sharkey sitting at the bar with a girl. Maria was sitting on the divan with Swan now. Some of the faces he’d seen earlier weren’t in sight, but nobody had left. He remembered then that he’d noticed a couple other doors leading into bedrooms. This was some party. Maybe it was a little strange, but this was sure the life, thought Tony.