The Peddler Page 11

“O.K.,” Tony said. “I’ll check out tonight. But, dammit, things were just goin’ good here. I hate to blow.”

  They talked another half hour, then Tony left. Angelo figured the heat would die down in a couple months, maybe sooner if the cops caught their killer. In the meantime Tony was to recruit what girls he could and send them to Frisco. They’d get in touch with Leo, who was taking over in Tony’s enforced absence. That part Tony didn’t like at all, but Leo was to stay on his own salary, and Tony would continue to get his one-tenth cut of the organization’s fifty percent of the gross. It would be, in many ways, like a vacation with pay. And, Tony thought, he could use a month or two to relax in. He’d been pushing himself pretty hard.

  By the time he got back to his apartment, he was feeling pretty good about it.

  Maria was sitting up in the front room, a drink in her hand. Maria; she might not like this angle.

  She got up and came to him. “How … how is it?”

  “O.K. I told you it’d be O.K., didn’t I?”

  “Really, Tony? You wouldn’t kid me?”

  “Straight goods. It’s gonna be all right.”

  Relief washed over her face. “Oh, I’m glad!” She held up the drink, smiling. “Look. I had to do something; I was going to get blind. I was worried sick. I had four drinks, can’t feel a one.” Her face brightened. “Tony, let’s just you and me get drunk. Right here in the apartment. Like old times, when we first seen each other again.”

  “Hell, baby. I’d like to. Really I would. But I can’t. I told you everything’ll be O.K.—and it will—but I got to skip town a while. Till the heat’s off. Honey, the panic is really on; you’d think I pooped Li’l Abner.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds. “You have to leave? Leave town?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But Tony, what about me?”

  “Hell, it won’t be for long, sweetheart. Maybe a month.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Well … it wouldn’t work. I’ll be movin’ around a lot. I’ll be callin’ you all the time; maybe I can sneak into town.”

  She bit her lip and stared at him curiously. “I don’t think you want me with you.”

  “What the hell kind of talk’s that? Sure I want you with me. Ain’t I wanted you with me for two years and more?

  But I got to lie low, be free to move. I didn’t mention it, but the guy the trouble’s about is a cop. Was.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “You don’t want me with you.” “Well, Jesus Christ. Didn’t you hear me? I said I shot a cop.”

  “I hear you.” She went to the bar and began mixing a drink. “You want one?”

  “Yeah, I could stand one. Don’t put no poison in it.” “Sometimes, Tony, just for a little minute, I think I’d like to. Something slow and awful.” She turned around with the two drinks and smiled slightly. “Well, here’s to … to success, Tony.” She gave him his drink.

  Napa’s best hotel, Tony thought ruefully, wasn’t much like the St. Francis or the Mark Hopkins. Napa was a quiet, peaceful little town—and there wasn’t much for the girls to do in a place like this. Except, of course, what girls do everywhere. He had driven straight here from San Francisco, arriving about three o’clock in the morning. He’d chosen Napa because it was close to Frisco, and a good spot to spend a couple days while he planned his next moves. Napa was a famous wine-growing country, too, and many of Tony’s fellow Italians lived here and in the nearby towns.

  Angelo, in that last talk with Tony had said, “Hit the smaller cities where there’s some unemployment, or where the pay is poor; go to the dull, dead spots where the girls get bored and maybe dream about the big city. You’ll do best among the poor and the ignorant, girls that are hard up for money, or men—or love, Tony. Find the girls that aren’t happy at home, don’t get along with their folks, and you’ve got a shipment.” Angelo paused, then went on in a businesslike manner, “You’ll have to handle it your own way, naturally, but don’t be afraid to flash your roll —keep a big roll handy. And, one other thing, the younger they are, the better.”

  Tony was thinking about that now in his “suite” at the Plaza Hotel, the suite consisting of a sitting room, bedroom, and bath. The younger the better, huh? Might as well get started, he thought. It was two o’clock in the afternoon.

  He had coffee in two cafes. Neither the coffee or the waitresses were any good. In the third spot, the coffee was lousy, but the waitress was a sharp little gal with bold eyes. Built, too, thought Tony, letting his eyes roam over her breasts and waist and hips as she stood in front of him. She was young, but she looked wise.

  “Coffee’,” he said.

  “That all?” He nodded, and she said, “Big spender, huh?”

  She walked down to the gleaming coffee urn and filled a heavy white porcelain cup, brought it back. “Here’s your coffee, sport.” There was only one other customer in the small spot at this hour. The cafe itself was only a counter with eight stools, and three tables along the opposite wall. The girl leaned against the counter and looked at him.

  “Why aren’t you in school, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Listen to him. Sweetheart. You sure ain’t from this town, are you?”

  “No. I’m from… out of town.”

  “I don’t go to school. I graduated.”

  Tony had parked his Buick convertible, gleaming from a fresh polish job, directly in front of the cafe window. She glanced casually at it, then back at him. “That yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Some boat.”

  “Year old now. Figure on gettin’ a new one. Maybe you’ll help me pick it out. I’m a stranger in town.”

  She moistened her lips. “Maybe.”

  Tony took one swallow of his coffee and got up. He carried his money in his pants pocket now; a lot of the Frisco sharpies did that. He pulled the thick roll, held together with a rubber band, from his pocket, snapped off the band and pulled a five from the inside of the roll. He tossed it on the counter, snapped the rubber back on the bills and thrust them carelessly into his pocket.

  She said, “Coffee no good?”

  “Terrible. Well, I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

  She walked to the cash register at the end of the counter. “I’m cashier, too.” She rang up ten cents, then said, “Here’s your change.”

  “Keep it. Look, honey, what’s a guy do in this dump for amusement?” He paused by the cash register.

  “Keep all the change?”

  “Sure. Anything on in town?”

  She stared at him. “Well … ain’t much to do. There’s a dance in Hall’s Hall tonight. Not much, but it’s something.”

  “Want to go?”

  “With you?”

  “No, by yourself. Hell, yes, with me.”

  “I got a date.”

  “Can’t you break it?”

  “Well …” She glanced out at the Buick, then at Tony’s face. “O.K.”

  “Tell this Joe I’m an old friend. From Frisco.” He grinned at her.

  “That’s funny; that’s his name, Joe,” she said.

  “Where’ll I pick you up?”

  She frowned. “Why’nt I meet you downtown?”

  “Sure.” Tony thought about it a minute. What the hell, he might as well press his luck. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, “I just pulled in here last night; not much sleep. I’m gonna take a nap first—so I’ll be fresh tonight. When you get off here?”

  “Five.”

  “I’m at the Plaza. Number twenty-four. Why don’t you come up? We can take off from there.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  He squinted at her. “Oh, I get it. That’s a sin in a hick town, huh?” He laughed. i “What’s so funny? O.K., I’ll see you later.”

  “Twenty-four. Just come on up.” He went out. Maybe she wouldn’t show. So what? And maybe she would.

  Promptly at seven o’clock she knocked on the door. Tony was showered and shaved, dressed except for
his shirt. He opened the door and stood bare-chested, looking out at her. “Hi, sweetheart. Come on in. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  She walked by him and he pointed to the couch. “Sit down.” She was wearing a blue crepe dress that fit her tightly and buttoned down the front. It was a cheesy dress, Tony thought, and there was too much makeup on her face, but she looked good. “Say,” he said, “you really look beautiful. You’re gonna knock their eyes out tonight.”

  She smiled, pleased. “Quit pullin’ my leg. Say, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Tony.”

  “Tony what?”

  “Just Tony. How about you?”

  “Ruth.”

  He walked to the dresser and picked up a pack of cigarettes next to a bottle of whiskey. He gave her a cigarette, lit it and asked, “Want a drink while I finish getting dressed?”

  “I don’t care.”

  He walked to the dresser. “I got nothing but bourbon,” he said. “Some Coke. Want Coke with it?” She said O.K. and he mixed two drinks with stiff slugs of bourbon, put in ice cubes he’d got from the bellhop, and gave her the tall glass. There was enough whiskey in the long glass for four ordinary drinks.

  While he put on his shirt, they talked, a little stiffly at first, but by the time Tony had his tie on and was ready to leave, the conversation was freer. She had apparently been ill at ease in his room, but the conversation and half the drink made her seem more comfortable.

  Tony sat down by her on the couch. “We got a little time to kill. Let’s have one more highball and take off.” He grinned. “We ought to be real peppy by the time we get to the shindig.”

  “O.K., I don’t mind.” Tony tilted his glass, finished the drink, and she did the same. He made the next ones a little weaker. Didn’t want the doll getting sick.

  Finally he said, “Ruth, how old are you, anyway? Makes no difference to me if you’re nine or twenty-nine. I’m curious.”

  Her eyes were a trifle dulled. “You really wanna know, Tony?” He nodded. “Well, I’m sixteen.”

  “No kidding? You look lots older than that, Ruth. I thought you were around twenty-one.”

  She liked that. “You’re nice, Tony. I’m glad you come in today.”

  “Me too. We’ve got to see a lot of each other.” He put his arm around her shoulder, moved toward her on the couch and pulled her gently against him. She moistened her lips.

  They got to the dance at ten o’clock. Ruth danced close to him, insinuating her body against his, her previous reserve vanished now. A guy asked her for a dance and she said to Tony, “Do you mind?”

  “Don’t be silly, Ruth.” He grinned. “Why would I mind?” They’d been at the dance about half an hour then, and he and Ruth had talked to several of her friends, briefly. In a small town like Napa, Tony, a good-looking, sharply-dressed guy from out of town, was something out of the ordinary, interesting. He spotted one of Ruth’s girl friends, a slim thing almost as tall as Tony himself, and asked her to dance. They chatted casually for one number and, when they talked, she leaned away from him to look at his face while keeping her hips pressed close against him. Tony was to learn that many of the girls here—and in a number of other small towns—danced the same way, or with variations which amounted to the same thing. There were a number of stag girls and guys present.

  It was a fair six-piece orchestra, and the floor was good. Most of the girls were in their teens, but some of them were really attractive. And there was the inevitable sprinkling of pure horrors. Tony was having a pretty good time. He took the slim girl back to her seat, spent a short intermission drinking a Coke with Ruth, then the music started again and a character danced off with her. Tony looked around. Three girls were standing at the end of the Coke bar, talking. They were all danm nice looking, he thought. Two of them especially. The third one was a kind of half-pretty gal, a couple inches over five feet tall and with soot-black hair that hung down to her shoulders. Tony walked over to the three of them. No sense sitting out the dance. Either one of those two sharp ones would do fine.

  But Tony surprised himself by stopping by the three girls anji asking the black-haired one, “Dance, honey?”

  She looked up at him, and he saw her full face for the first time. She was a sweet-looking tomato. He wondered how she’d dance. Close and cozy like the last one? She didn’t look like the type, somehow. She had the shape for it, but it didn’t fit the face. She’d probably want to waltz two feet apart. What the hell had he asked this pig for?

  She smiled sweetly. “No, thank you.”

  “Huh?” Tony hadn’t even considered the possibility of her refusing. “You already got this dance, honey?”

  She frowned slightly, then smiled again. “No. Do you call everybody honey?”

  He blinked. Here was another one of these characters that talked screwy. “Not everybody,” he said finally. And for some perverse reason he added, “Just the sexy ones.”

  She turned her head slightly and looked at him from the corner of her eyes, no amusement in them. All of a sudden he wished he hadn’t said that. It sounded crude and out of place. She began talking to the other girls, paying no attention to Tony. Why, the little bitch, he thought. Who the hell did she think she was?

  “Hey,” he said suddenly. The word popped out and as she turned toward him he didn’t yet know what else he was going to say. She looked at him coolly, from blue eyes. He said, “What’s your name?”

  She sighed. “Betty. Now will you go away?” “Well I’ll be goddamned.”

  She laughed suddenly, merrily, obviously amused by his discomfort. “Look,” she said in more friendly fashion, “there’s a hundred girls to dance with here. If you must dance, maybe June or Vi would like to. Or anybody.”

  June and Vi were apparently the two with her. One of them, a striking blonde about nineteen, looked at Tony, smiling broadly.

  Tony said, “Hell, I’m scared to ask anybody else now.”

  The blonde said, “Don’t be.”

  He shrugged. “O.K., a man don’t live but once. You think maybe, possibly, perhaps, we might dance? Together, I mean.”

  She chuckled. “Why, I’d love to.”

  “You June or Vi?”

  “I’m June.”

  “O.K., come on,” he said. “Come on, honey. Where you work?”

  “Westbums. Little record and bookstore. Come in and I’ll sell you a book.”

  “O.K. Save me one with pictures.”

  She smiled slowly. “What kind of pictures?”

  He grinned. “Pictures of animals,” he said. “I’m crazy about animals.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “This Betty chill works there too, huh?”

  “Yes. What’s the matter, you interested in her? She’s kind of cute, isn’t she?”

  “Nah, she’s a plain Jane. Looks like if you patted her fanny she’d think she needed an abortion.”

  June shook her head. “You sure have a blunt way of talking.”

  “I’m a blunt guy.”

  When the dance was over Tony took her back to the Coke bar. Vi was still there, sitting in a wooden chair against the wall, but Tony didn’t see Betty. He felt oddly disappointed. He thanked June and she sat down by Vi. “We’ll have to try that again after a while,” he said.

  Later on, he left her. About time he found Ruth. For all be knew she was out in the hay somewhere, squealing like a stuck pig. Christ, she was some squealer. He walked around until he spotted her on the dance floor.

  The next morning they had breakfast in the room. Tony had learned that Ruth lived with an older, married sister. Her parents were dead. It wouldn’t be too bad if she stayed all night with him; she’d been away all night before. She’d just get a bawling out, is all. Tony had told her she might as well live here with him for a while. Hell, they’d have a great time. He’d buy her some new clothes; she could get rid of those old rags. Well, she’d said, gee, maybe.

  He left her in the rooms in the afternoon.

&
nbsp; “Where you going, Tony?”

  “Just look around a little.”

  “You hurry back and bring me a kiss.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He went out. She made him sick. And she was too easy. She was like a machine. That had been some deal last night. The start with Ruth. Then the dance. Vi and June. And that Betty. What an icicle she was. Imagine her not dancing with me, he thought. Too good for the common man, I suppose. I sljould of kicked her in the butt.

  He needed a drink. And he’d had enough of that Ruth. He ought to just put it to her straight and let her take it or leave it. Get out of this town; hit Fresno or Sacramento, someplace where there was some life. Hell, he’d only been here a little over a day. What was the matter with him? He wondered what was going on in Frisco, what the cops were doing.

  He didn’t really expect to find a San Francisco paper, but in a little cigar store a block from the main drag he found what he wanted. The gray-haired attendant dug into a stack of papers under the counter and pulled out today’s and yesterday’s Frisco papers. Behind the cigar stand was a pool hall and small, crummy bar. Tony took the papers to the bar and ordered a scotch and water.

  “We got nothing but wine and beer,” the bartender said.

  “Gimme a beer then.”

  He looked at yesterday’s paper first. They’d given it the works, the full treatment. The panic was really on for sure. Big black headlines blared: POLICEMAN MURDERED. The sub leads might have been written by Angelo himself; he’d called the turn. The story stated that Sergeant Jorgensen, vice-squad officer with a long and honorable record of brilliant and faithful service, had been murdered during an investigation of alleged prostitution and narcotics smuggling. He was known to have been in possession of important information damaging to many of the top racketeers of the city. Careful references were made to the Mafia, and a national Crime Syndicate. The killer was a local hoodlum and the police were aware of his identity. They expected an arrest within 48 hours.

  The later paper had headlines about the sad state of the world at large, but the murder of Jorgensen still occupied much of the front page and pages inside. More photographs today, too, of the houses Jorgensen had been investigating. Yesterday there’d been a nice picture of the body.