The Peddler (9 page)

Tony said pleasantly, “Well, it was just something I worked up. I liked to figure what girls was doin’ best, what kind of play they get. It was more for my own personal use than anything else—so I could see the girls got in the right spots, and so on. I figured it wouldn’t do no harm. Besides, this last year I had some extra time on my hands.”

“You don’t have nearly that many girls in your district, Mr. Romero.”

Tony wished the guy would stop calling him Mr. Romero. Usually Angelo wasn’t so formal. Maybe he’d put his foot in it. Well, the hell with it; a guy had to take a chance if he was ever going to get anywhere. He said, “No, sir. That includes girls in all the districts, all over San Francisco. But that’s because we shift the girls from one place to another. Every time girls would come into my spots I’d add ‘em to my file.” He hesitated, then added, “I never went outside my district for none of it; it was just when they was shifted.”

“I see,” Angelo said.

Nothing was said for what Tony figured was at least five minutes. It seemed to him like an hour. Then Angelo rolled the ash off his cigar and said, “I like to see a man with initiative, Tony, and one who is willing to work. However, in the future, I think you’d better advise me quite closely of your plans.” He paused. “You may go ahead with that special location you described. Just go ahead with the rest in your own way—but keep me informed.”

“That’s swell, Mr. Angelo. Thanks.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“Why, no, sir.” Tony never had worn a gun since he’d started. For one thing, he had seen too many guys in trouble because they’d carried a heater, and used it. And the “wrong” cops were always giving a gun-toter more trouble than guys who were clean. Besides, Tony had plenty of confidence in his fists and strength if there was ever any trouble.

Angelo said, “That’s all, Tony. I suppose you have work you want to do.”

“Yes, sir. I’m anxious to get started.”

Tony started for the door but Angelo stopped him. “I think you’d better buy a gun, Tony. Get it this afternoon. Franzen’s Sporting Goods carries what you’ll want. Incidentally, you will have no trouble getting a gun permit. I’d suggest you take care of that this afternoon, also.”

Tony felt exhilaration leaping inside him. Angelo wouldn’t have told him to carry a gun unless he had bigger things planned for him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to take a chance on Tony getting robbed some night. No telling. Tony said, “Fine, Mr. Angelo. I’ll take care of it.” He went out.

He headed down Market Street. It was already two in the afternoon. He had to arrange for the gun permit, then drop in at Franzen’s and pick up a gun. But, he didn’t even know how to use a gun, not enough to hit anything with one. He guessed he’d have to learn. Funny Angelo’s suddenly bringing that up. You couldn’t really figure the guy. It was funny, though.

It was Saturday night, a week after Tony’s talk with Angelo. In the bedroom of his apartment he put on a clean white shirt, then slipped gold links into the French cuffs. He selected a maroon foulard from the three dozen ties on the rack and tied it in a wide knot, then put on the coat to the chocolate-brown suit. He looked pretty good, he thought.

Maria called from the living room, “Tony, honey, you goin’ out again tonight?”

“Yeah, honey. Business.”

“I thought maybe we’d go out. We haven’t been out on a Saturday night for months. Can’t we, Tony?”

He said, “Remember I told you about talking to Angelo last week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well,” he grinned at her, “it looks like maybe I get Sharkey’s spot. I didn’t want to mention it till I was pretty sure, but it looks good. How does that sound, baby?”

She sighed. “All right, I guess.”

“You guess? What you mean, you guess? I thought you’d be tickled pink. If I get in we’ll have so much dough we’ll be throwin’ it out the window.”

“Tony.” She reached for his hand and held it. “I know you don’t like for me to talk about it, but … I wish you weren’t gettin’ in so deep. You’re makin’ plenty money now, but you keep on the way you’re going, one of these days you won’t never be able to get out.”

“Get out? What in hell’s got into you? Who wants out? I’m gonna be somebody, baby. This is just the start for me —^for us. Hell, this is what I really been waitin’ for.”

“Tony, you think you know everything—you don’t even know what this business is really like. It’s mean and filthy and cruel.”

“I suppose you know more than I do about it, huh?” His voice was sharp, angry.

“Some of it—now, don’t get mad, Tony. But don’t forget I was working in the houses a year before you even thought about it. I was right down on the bottom, and you get a different picture of it from there. Honey, you sit up on top of it all, look down to the houses like they were part of a machine. You’re just workin’ yourself into the middle. There’s a lot of people under you, and Angelo on the other side— and a lot more over him. In the long run you’ll just get yourself in trouble, maybe get yourself kicked out or killed or something awful. Look at Alterie—and now maybe Sharkey.”

“You’re a sweet one, you are. I tell you something I think you’ll be real happy about and you start giving me a goddamn beef. Don’t you want me never to get noplace?”

She chewed on her plump lower lip. “I’m sorry, Tony. Forget it, huh? But you’ve—already you’ve changed. You’re not like you were.”

“Who the hell wants to be like I was?” He stood up.

Maria pressed her lips together, then suddenly changed the subject. “Gee, you look nice, Tony. Real sharp in that new suit.”

He glanced down at it. “Not bad, huh—oh, hell.”

He went into the bedroom and took a heavy .45 automatic and leather shoulder harness from the dresser, shrugged out of his coat and strapped on the gun and holster, then put the coat on over it. The gun made a bulge at his left armpit. Too goddamn big. He should have got one of them dinky guns that wouldn’t bulge so much. But he figured he’d better wear the thing tonight. Angelo had told him to get it, and these were Angelo’s boys he was seeing. He glanced at the new watch on his wrist, diamonds replacing the numerals. They’d be here in about ten minutes.

“What they going to do with you?” Maria sounded worried.

“I dunno.” Swan hadn’t known either. He thought about that talk with Swan, frowning. That had been a nutty deal. The guy phoned him, told him there’d be some of Angelo’s boys checking up on him, maybe taking him out on the town. It would seem casual, an accidental meeting, but Angelo had set it up to get a close check on the way Tony handled himself. Tony had started to thank Swan volubly, but Swan had interrupted him.

“Listen, Tony. I’m sticking my neck out to tell you this, and I don’t want you to labor under the delusion you black-maDed me into doing it.”

“You lose your marbles? What you talkin’ about?”

“I’m out of knee-pants, kid. I didn’t miss the point when you were talking about my ‘unpolitical background’ the other day over lunch. I wouldn’t put it past you. But that’s not my reason.”

“Ah, Swan. Don’t talk like that. That’s a crazy way to talk.”

Swan didn’t answer. Finally Tony asked, “Shark’s out for sure, huh?”

“That’s right, Tony. In his job he knows too much; he knows who gets paid off and how much, which cops and judges and officials are right and which are wrong, a hundred things like those that whoever takes over from him wiU have to know, too. And when you know that much, Tony, you’ve got to be damned careful. Shark drinks too much and sometimes talks too much drunk. And—” he hesitated— “there’s a good chance he’s been holding out some of the take on Angelo. Things to remember, kid.”

“Well, thanks for tellin’ me. Swan. I sure appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me. I don’t have any thanks coming. Tony, this is the last payment of any and all debts, past, present, and future. This is the last time I’ll help you, or even think about helping you. You might even call it the coup de grace.”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“From here to—to wherever you wind up, you’re on your own. At least as far as I’m concerned. So long, kid.”

“So long. Swan. And thanks, I mean it—”

“I told you, goddammit, don’t thank me.” He hung up.

Tony looked at the phone, then hung up the receiver. It had sounded like Swan was brushing Tony off this time. Well, the hell with Swan; he didn’t need him—or anybody else.

The chimes rang in the apartment and Tony blinked, then went to the door and opened it. He liked those chimes; they had a classy sound. Two men stood outside the door. “Hi,” Tony said. “Come on in.”

The men came in, removing their hats and light topcoats. The meeting with them had been “accidental” enough. Tony had been having lunch with Leo when they’d showed up and Leo had invited them to the table. They’d been very friendly with Tony and the four of them had lunch. That had been two days ago and the date had been made for the three of them to go out tonight. They’d claimed to be in the same business in Chicago, out here till a Congressional investigation blew over. Some Senators were putting on a big show to impress their constituents; elections weren’t far off.

“How about a drink?” Tony asked them.

They nodded and said it might chase the fog out of their stomachs. Joyce was the big one, a guy about two hundred pounds, whose name didn’t fit him. He was a tough, soHd-looking man with a pouchy, expressionless face and huge gray eyes that looked almost white against his dark skin. The other one was tall, slim and wiry as a whip, with a long, hooked nose and decaying teeth. He was called Frame. Tony didn’t know whether that was an underworld moniker, or the guy’s real name. Tony didn’t ask. Frame wasn’t the kind of guy you asked personal questions, even though he was always kidding around and cracking wise.

Tony asked what they wanted, then had Maria get busy at the small portable bar in the corner while he showed Joyce and Frame around the apartment. He was proud of the place: the big living room with a wide window toward the bay, even though only a small slice of the bay could be seen past other apartment houses; the heavy maroon drapes at the side of the window, drapes that could be opened or closed by pulhng the cord at the side of the window; the bedroom with its twin beds, the black-and-white-tiled bathroom, modern kitchen and extra sitting room, all of it furnished in modem style.

Tony introduced the two to Maria, introducing her as his wife; then they finished their drinks and took off. He had promised to show them around his district, so they started for there in Tony’s Buick sedan, with the top up. It was a cold night, the fog thick and swirling.

Tony felt sick. He didn’t think he could make it. It was Sunday night, and he was still feeling the effects of the drinking bout. He didn’t even remember going to bed after leaving Joyce and Frame at the Leopard Cafe. That had hit him all of a sudden. Those guys must be in good shape, he thought, calhng him again, telling him to come on up to this poker game.

Tony checked the address. This was it. The game was in room 16. He started up. They must know enougb about him now, he thought; what the hell was a poker game for? He had a funny feeling about it, but maybe that was because he still had a hangover. Frame, who had phoned him, had said it was just a friendly, private little game. Tony smiled to himself thinking that at least Frame hadn’t sounded very cheerful; he probably felt worse than Tony.

This was a dump. Hell of a neighborhood, too. Tony shifted the big .45 under his coat. He wore it all the time when he was around Joyce and Frame, and in this kind of neighborhood a guy might need it. Beat-up shacks and dumpy hotels, mangy dogs and mangier winos. The place gave him the creeps.

He found room 16 on the second floor and knocked. Joyce opened the door, blinked his gray eyes at Tony. He grunted. “Come on in, Romero. I hope you don’t hold onto your money like you hold bourbon.”

Tony grinned at him and walked into the room, then stopped suddenly, feeling his heart kick in his chest, and his skin get cold.

He looked at the man sitting at the far end of the table, anally found his tongue. “Well, hi,” he said. “Hi, Sharkey.”

Sharkey looked up and said pleasantly, “Hello, Romero. What you doin’ here? Didn’t know you were a poker player.”

Tony swallowed and looked around. He saw Frame and Joyce, and two other guys he didn’t know. This didn’t look good at all. He said, “Yeah, I’m a poker man from way back. Shark.” He nodded at the others, then grinned at Frame.

“How you feel. Frame? Like a shot?”

“You bastard.” He grinned, showing the darkened, pitted teeth. “I shouldn’t never drink with you again.”

Tony said, “You know, after I left you guys I really got high.”

“You didn’t have no more, did you?”

“No, it just caught up with me.”

The others sat down around the green-felt covered table —a regular poker table, Tony noted. Maybe they had a lot of games up here. He sat down at the one empty chair, Joyce on his left and Frame on his right, Sharkey across from him flanked by the two other men. Tony was introduced to the others. Pudge was the short, fat one; Marzo was the stupid-looking guy with the big chin and the long.

slim fingers. A thought came to Tony: maybe the game was rigged, maybe they’d thrown a pro in to deal and plant Tony with good hands or bad ones. What for? Take him for his dough? See if he’d know he was being cheated? Maybe let him know the game was rigged and see how he’d handle himself? But what was Shark doing here if it was one of those things? He glanced at Shark, then around the table. There wasn’t much talk or joking yet, the way a lot of games were. Tony played a good deal of poker, but usually they were friendly games, not the quiet, soft-voiced games the pros often played. He liked a little life and conversation.

Joyce broke out a new deck, tossed the jokers aside and sHpped the cards into the middle of the table, shuffled them, passed them on. They cut for deal, with Marzo cutting a king high, then Joyce got up and went to the comer of the room where a table was set up with bottles and glasses on it. He mixed six drinks and brought them back. He gave Tony the first one.