The Peddler (7 page)

Alterie sucked in his breath suddenly, noise squeaking in his throat. His mouth was stretched wide and his lower hp danced back and forth on his teeth. His whole face began to twitch and shake as he made little squeaking, gasping noises in his throat.

Tony looked at him, feeling the knife in the man’s body, and a hot flood of excitement swept over his own body, making his flesh warm. It was an almost sexual excitement, and his face was nearly as contorted as Alterie’s. Tony knew that with only the slightest pressure he could thrust the’ knife deeper, so deep that the life under his hands would drain out slowly and Alterie would die as Tony held him impaled on the blade in his fist.

He stared into the panicked man’s face and said, “I’ll kill you, Alterie, I’ll kill you, kill you.”

Alterie’s mouth twitched; tears glistened in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He started to sob and blubber, disgustingly, helplessly. His teeth began to chatter, the rapid clicks audible as the bones rattled together. His breath made a soft hissing noise as he sucked it through the spaces between his teeth.

Tony looked at him, his eyes cold, then he shuddered, pulled the knife from Alterie’s chest and jerked it from the man’s weak fingers. He threw the knife to the floor of the porch as Alterie slumped back against the wall. Tony looked at him with his lips curling, then stepped close and hit him in the stomach with all his strength. The breath spurted from Alterie’s lungs like vomit as Tony caught him, held him upright with his left hand as he pumped his right fist again and again into the man’s stomach and chest and face.

Alterie was unconscious before Tony hit him the last time on the mouth and felt the teeth break under his knuckles, then dropped him to the floor.

Tony turned toward Leo who hadn’t said anything since he’d warned Tony about the knife. He was looking down at the crumpled form of Alterie now. “My God,” he said in a whisper. “My God, Tony, you maybe killed him.”

“He’ll be all right, the bastard. I should have killed him for pulling that sticker on me. The bastard.”

They made the last pickup on Divisadero Street, then drove to Tony’s hotel. Before Tony got out he said to Leo, “Look, pal, Alterie’s not gonna be up and around for a while. What happens?”

“I dunno.”

“You know his district, Leo. You could take it over. Why not me take over for you until Alterie’s back. I know the ropes. Then later you come back in and Alterie runs his own district again.” He grinned. “If he lasts.”

Leo looked at Tony strangely. “Tony,” he said slowly. “You meant it to happen like this, didn’t you? You asked me in the house if I knew Alterie’s district. You didn’t work him over because he pulled the sticker; you had it figured then, before you even went out.”

Tony didn’t answer for several seconds. Then he laughed and said, “You stupid wop. What the hell give you a dumb idea like that?”

“Yeah, sure, Tony. Forget it.”

Almost “two months after the fight, Tony was having lunch with Leo in the Domino Club. The conversation had been mostly about the houses, a few troubles, talk about Leo’s women.

Then Leo said suddenly, “Well, Tony, looks like maybe you get a try.”

“How you mean?”

“Alterie’s spot. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it?”

“You mean it? This straight?”

Leo chewed on his lip. “I dunno for sure. But Shark says you’re to see him tomorrow. Nine in the A.M.” He shook his head. “Don’t see nothing else it can be. Alterie ain’t been the same since—that trouble. He’s no good to Shark no more. He’s on the needle good now. He’s letting everything go straight to hell, too. He’s out. Maybe you get in.”

Tony took a deep breath and grinned tightly. “Damn,” he said. “How about that. Damn, that’s fine, man. I hope you’re right, pal.”

Tony paused in front of the tall building on Market Street, craned his neck to look up to its top. This Angelo must be some guy. He’d heard it noised around that he owned this building in which he had his office. Angelo. Louis Angelo. The Top.

The interview with Sharkey had been short and hadn’t told Tony much. Sharkey had simply said that they’d been keeping an eye on him. He was to see Angelo at this address. It was almost ten in the morning, the hour when Tony was to see Angelo. He went inside.

At the tenth floor he got out of the elevator and walked down to the door lettered “National Investment Counsellors,” opened it and walked inside. There were chairs along the left wall and a girl sat behind a brown desk at his right. She was typing something, but looked up and smiled pleasantly when he came in.

“May I help you?”

“I’m Tony Romero. I got an appointment with Mr. Angelo.”

She looked at him appraisingly for another second, then pressed a switch on a little box at the right edge of her desk, leaned forward and spoke softly into it. Then she said to Tony, “You may go in now, Mr. Romero. Through that door.” She nodded toward a door in the wall.

It was a plain, heavy wooden door, with no lettering on it. Tony ran his tongue over his lips, then opened the door and walked in, shut the door behind him.

So this guy was Angelo? There was only one other person in the room. He was a small guy sitting behind a brown desk like the one out front, and as Tony came in he leaned back in his swivel chair and looked at him. Sitting down, he looked like he couldn’t be much more than five and a half feet tall, and he was a skinny egg, Tony thought. He was over forty years old, and his dark hair was graying.

Tony walked across the carpet and stopped in front of the desk. There was something funny-looking about Angelo, he thought. The guy was thin, actually skinny, with the skin tight over his face, but he still looked flabby. That was the only way Tony could describe it to himself, as if maybe the bones inside him were flabby, like he didn’t have any muscles to hold him firmly and solidly together. That was nuts, though, the guy looked like any other little skinny guy; it was just a screwy impression. Angelo’s eyes were a strange pale brown, almost yellow.

He said, “You’re Tony Romero?” The guy had a silky voice, soft and quiet.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down, Tony.”

Tony sat down. “I’m Angelo,” the man said. He opened a desk drawer and took out a cigar, clipped off the end and stuck the cigar in his mouth. Angelo’s mouth was even too small for that Utde face, Tony thought. Just a small, puckered ring, like rubbery lips squeezing together all the time. There was hardly room for the big black cigar. Angelo didn’t look much Uke the Top, sitting there with that big cigar drooping out of his mouth.

Tony sat without speaking while Angelo got his cigar going and puffed on it a couple times, looking at it. Tony leaned back and crossed his legs, then Angelo said abruptly, “You’re taking over Frank Alterie’s district. I know everything you’ve done the last four months; I wouldn’t be surprised if I know half the things you’ve thought. You’ll be working for me.” He looked away from his cigar for the first time and fixed the odd, yellowish eyes on Tony. “That means you never question anything I tell you, or anything Mr. Sharkey tells you for me. Understood?”

Tony hesitated only a moment but Angelo said sharply, “Well?”

“Yes, sir. That’s understood.”

“Be sure it is. If it isn’t, you won’t work for me.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. What you say goes. All the way.”

Angelo puffed a couple times on his cigar. He said, “You’re very fortunate, you know. You’re young to be starting with me—and in Alterie’s district. You were bom there, weren’t you, Tony?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re a liar. Never lie to me again about anything. How old are you, Tony?”

“I’m twenty.”

“You might do well, if you’re a better man than Alterie. Are you?”

“Why, yes, sir.”

“Because you beat him up, ruined his face? Because you’re stronger than he is? Does that make you a better man than he is?”

Tony swallowed. This Angelo made him uncomfortable. He talked like a loony. Tony wondered if the guy had all his marbles.

Angelo went on without pausing, speaking softly, looking at the tip of the cigar in his small hand. “Frank Alterie forgot some of the things I told him. He forgot to conduct himself exactly as I wished. You won’t do that. You’ll do exactly what I wish. Right?”

“Why … sure. Yes, sir.”

“I tell you to jump out the window, you jump. Right?”

Tony licked his lips. What was the bastard trying to do? The bastard was like one of them hypnotists. He got you saying yes, yes, yes, till you couldn’t stop, hardly. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Angelo puffed on his cigar. “Fine, Tony. Just don’t forget. All right, that’s all. You can go. Anything you want to askf”

“Well … Alterie know I’m taking over?”

“No.”

“You want me to start tonight?”

“Yes.”

Tony stood up. “All right. And thanks very much, Mr, Angelo, for the chance.”

Frank Alterie lived in the Gordon Hotel on Stockton. Tony knocked and waited as footsteps came closer, then the door was opened and Alterie stood facing him, three feet away. When he saw Tony, he frowned. That was all; he didn’t speak or move. Tony walked inside, brushing past Alterie and waited till Frank shut the door and turned around.

The guy really looked sad, Tony thought. He was thinner and his skin had a pale, sickly tint. He looked almost ten years older than he had three months ago.

Alterie leaned back against the door, still not speaking, his eyes hard and full of hate, fixed on Tony. He was wearing slacks and a white shirt, and Tony could see he wasn’t wearing a gun.

Finally he spoke. “Well, what you want, Romero?”

“You don’t need to work tonight, Alterie. Take a vacation. From now on.”

Alterie smiled slightly, lip curling alongside the red scar. “That’s it, huh?”

“That’s it. You’re washed up.”

Alterie walked away from the door and slumped in a chair. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the man. Still smiling strangely Alterie asked, “Who’d be taking over, Romero? Couldn’t be you, could it?”

“Could and is. I don’t figure you’ll give me no trouble.”

Frank shrugged and leaned his head back against the cushion behind him. “Not likely, is it?” He laughed. “I might work up nerve enough to kill you one of these days, but otherwise I won’t give you no trouble.” He laughed again.

Tony walked across the room and slapped the other man twice across the face. “That tongue of yours got you in a hospital sack once already. It could happen again.”

Alterie didn’t say anything. He pressed his palms together and squeezed his fingers around them. He looked at Tony, then looked away.

Tony said, “You got it straight, Alterie? I just had a talk with Angelo, in case you might be wondering a little. You’re out. And take it from me, I don’t even want to see you around. Might be a good idea for you to blow Frisco.”

Alterie didn’t answer, closed his eyes. Tony turned and went out. Well, that was that, he thought. By God, he was in now. For no good reason he didn’t feel as swell about it as he’d expected to. The hell with it, it was that dumb talk with Angelo, and the screwy way Alterie had acted. Well, to hell with Alterie—and Angeto. To hell with them all. He’d got in, got the start he’d been after. It hadn’t been too tough. Sharkey, though, was going to be tougher. You couldn’t just walk in and slap a guy like him around. Yeah, he’d have to spend a lot of time on the Shark.

The next twelve months of Tony Romero’s life went by faster than any others he had known. At first he worked harder and longer than he ever had, then the work became routine and easier. He learned that there was more to the job than just going around picking up the cash every night. He was responsible for everything in his district; any squabble that had to be solved, any trouble that came up, any pressure for extra payoffs from the beat cops or an occasional vice-squad cop, were strictly Tony Romero’s responsibility.

He was making fifteen-hundred dollars a month and he had a new wardrobe, a new convertible Buick sedan, and he was living in a $250 a month flat in an apartment hotel three blocks from Sharkey’s place. Maria Casino wasn’t working now; she was living with Tony.

After a year Tony knew the business as well as any of the others. He knew that he’d be warned in advance of any raids—and another part of his job was to see that the houses were “respectable” when the raids came off. By now he knew all about the one-to-one-hundred chance he had of ever doing time for breaking the law, because he was now part of the world of professional crime, and the fix was in. He knew about bonds and habeas corpus, bribed and intimidated witnesses, bribed police and grafting politicians; he knew that just one bribed juryman could cause a hung jury, and that professional perjurers were cheap. He knew the .sickening story of “Justice,” particularly in some local courts, and he was already friendly with a “right” judge, who laughed with him about the 12 ignorant “peers” who generally sat in judgment in the jury box. He knew about copping pleas; probation; parole; the laughable “life” sentences even for such crimes as murder; delays and continuances and appeals and reversals; and the hundred other weapons in the hands of the professional criminal.

He still occasionally saw Leo, too, although Leo wasn’t quite as friendly as he’d once been. And now Tony figured it was time to start working on Sharkey.

There’d never be a better chance; Sharkey didn’t interfere with the three men under him, but at the same time he never did anything to help them. He just sat in his luxurious apartment, transmitting orders from Angelo, and drank his bonded whiskey. He was drinking too much of that whiskey, and Tony heard continuing rumbles—like those he’d heard even before he met Angelo—that Sharkey was losing favor. Anyway, Tony had waited a year, and a year was a big slice out of a man’s life. He was ready to start.

Tony started by building up his own district, putting into operation some of the ideas he’d had in the last year and a half. Each house already had a card file on all the girls they employed, but Tony, without consulting Angelo or anyone else, had early begun developing his own file listing name, complete description, age or approximate age, and any other intimate detail he thought would later be of benefit to him.