The Peddler Read online

  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.

  He said, “Nothing wrong with it at all, Mrs. Sharkey.” She frowned and he said, “Ginny, I mean. It just surprised me. I mean I didn’t expect it.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it, Tony. I like the way you dance.”

  The way she was dancing, Tony thought he should still be behind the bar. But he said, “You’re a swell dancer, Ginny. I hope Mr. Sharkey—I mean, I sure don’t want him mad at me. I been hoping I could go to work for him maybe.”

  “Oh? Then you’d have to come to all his parties, wouldn’t yoi?”

  He grinned at her then, pulled her a little tighter to him. The hell with going behind the bar; let her know how he felt, and see what happened. Sharkey’s wife, huh? He held her tightly against him as they moved slowly over the floor and said, “I’d have to. He’d be the boss. Can’t think of anything I’d like more—coming to his parties, I mean.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “Not yet. I … don’t want to rush things.”

  She smiled at that and was still smiling as the dance ended. As they dipped on the last note of music, she followed close to him, molded her body to his as she looked into his face still smiling. She squirmed her loins against him, briefly, and said, “Why not rush things?”

  He licked his lips. “Why not?” he said. He glanced at Sharkey, sitting at the bar with his back to them, and then as he released
her he let his hand glide down the smooth fabric of her dress and over the swell of her hip, lingering just a moment on its softness before he dropped his hand to his side.

  She took his hand and pulled him to the chair in which Castiglio had been sitting. He was dancing with another girl now. Tony sat down and Ginny eased onto his lap.

  She smiled. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and slid inside against his skin, the nails digging gently into him. “Do you like me, Tony?”

  “Sure. Too much.” He glanced at Sharkey.

  “Don’t worry about him.” Her face slowly grew more sober, tense-looking and she took his right hand in her free hand. She slid it toward her, up her thigh and pressed it against her stomach, looking at his mouth all the time. He moved his fingers slightly, and she smiled with her lips pressed against her teeth, then pulled his hand up to the V of her dress and inside. He put his other arm around her and pulled her to him.

  Hell, he thought, a guy had to take a chance, and she was a hot one. She couldn’t be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six, and she was built like a burlesque stripper. He pulled his mouth from hers and looked around. Nobody was paying any attention to them.

  She said softly, “Still like me, Tony?”

  “Better every minute.” He paused. “I don’t think I’ll head to L.A. Not for a while.”

  “I’ll talk to Al. I’d like for you to stick around a while, honey. You like that?”

  “You damn bet I’d like that.”

  “All right; let’s not talk about it any more. Tony, honey, honey, give me another one of those nice kisses.”

  “Just a minute.” Sharkey had got up from the bar and Tony watched him walk unsteadily to a chair. He plopped down into it heavily, and his head fell back on the cushion behind him.

  Ginny looked at him and said softly to Tony, “He’s through. About every other party this happens. I know him like a book. Watch his drink.”

  Tony didn’t get what she meant, but he kept looking at Sharkey. In a minute or two the glass that Sharkey held in his hand tilted and the drink spilled out onto his trousers. The glass fell from his fingers and stopped between his leg and the padded chair arm. He lay quietly, breathing through his open mouth.

  Tony looked around the room. Two couples were wound together on the couch and others were in the wide chairs. He didn’t see Maria. He could hear soft voices from the kitchen, but it was quiet in the living room now except for soft music from the record player.

  “Sort of cleared out,” Tony said.

  “Uh-huh. The living room clears out and the bedrooms fill up. Too rich for your blood?”

  “No I like it. Just the way it is.”

  He kissed her, pulled her tightly against him. His heart was beginning to pound heavily, and he slid his arms around her and jerked her roughly to him, squeezing her, holding her tight.

  She pulled her mouth from his and kissed his cheek and throat, whispering. “God, you’re strong. You hurt me, Tony, but it’s all right, it’s all right. You’re strong, honey, and I like it. I like you strong.” Her lips caressed his cheek and moved toward his mouth as she said, the words muffled, “Hold me like that, Tony, honey, hold me hard like that.”

  In a minute she slid from his lap, walked to the door and flipped the light switch in the wall and the room was dark. Then she was back. She sat on his lap again, facing him, one knee on each side of his body in the space between the chair arms and his legs. She put one hand on each side of his face, moved toward him and kissed him hungrily, holding his face in her hands.

  He felt shaky. He’d been with many women, but this Ginny was doing something to him, getting under his skin. It ^elt as if his heart were pounding all through his body and his skin burned where she touched him. One of her hands left his face and crept inside his shirt, slid up and down on his bare stomach. He put his hands behind her waist and pulled her closer to him, and she reached to the top of her dress, pulled it from her shoulders, then put his hands on her skin, moving against him. She leaned close and whispered to him, kissing his lips and cheeks with light, quick kisses.

  He said softly, “You mean it?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was shaking. “Here. Now, honey.”

  “I… don’t know.”

  “Yes! Damn it, yes.” Then her lips were on his again, and her hands fumbled, touched him, and she moved slowly, smoothly against him.

  chapter three

  Walking back to his hotel at three o’clock the following afternoon, Tony felt good. He had Swan on his side, Ginny working for him, and now, after a few friendly beers with Leo, it looked as though he might help a little, too. Tony knew more now about the trouble between Sharkey and Alterie. Alterie was paying too much attention to his girls, and women outside the houses; that wasn’t so bad in itself, but at the same time he was paying too little attention to business. It wasn’t known for sure that he was on dope, but he’d been increasingly short-tempered and irritable the past months.

  Tony had been interested to learn that of the three “districts,” Alterie controlled the one which included the area Tony was most familiar with: a big, lopsided triangle bordered on one side by Market, on the other by Army Street, and with the Bay and Embarcadero as its base. It included Howard Street where Tony had been bom and had grown up; Harrison and Mission where he’d played and where some of his friends had lived; the numbered streets from First to Twenty-Sixth, Brannon, Division, Fremont, Portrero; it included Seal Stadium where he’d rooted loudly for the Seals; and it included the San Francisco Emergency Hospital where many of Tony’s friends, and enemies, had spent some time.

  Leo Castiglio had the downtown district on the other side of Market, extending out as far as Masonic and Presidio Avenues, including Fillmore and the house Maria was in. He also handled, with Sharkey, the call-girl racket which was spreading faster than the houses themselves. All the other scattered houses were under Hamlin. Alterie’s district was between the other two in area, but did a lot of business and accounted for more than a third of the revenue from the houses themselves.

  In his hotel room, Tony lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, not seeing it. Leo had invited Tony to lunch again the next day—on Leo this time. Tony grinned, thinking to himself that Leo was going to be easy.

  He thought about the money in the racket. He still didn’t know exactly how many houses there were in Frisco, but judging by Leo’s conversation there must be a hundred spots or more. Tony played with figures in his head and after a few minutes he was dizzy. That, he thought, was dough.

  Ginny called him ten days later. It was about eleven o’clock Thursday morning, and Tony had just climbed out of bed in his hotel room. He was dressed and leaving for breakfast when the phone rang. He answered it.

  “Tony?”

  “Uh-huh. Who’s this?”

  “Well, who do you think?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he said pleasantly. “So many dames always callin’ me up … hi, Ginny. How are you?”

  “Well, that’s better. I was ready to hang up. And after I’ve been fixing things for you, too.”

  Tony’s interest quickened. “You mean I can start to work? Am I in?”

  He heard her sigh over the phone. “You Tony. Sure, starting tomorrow you’re first assistant to Charlie Lucky. Relax, will you? I just thought I’d tell you Al wants to see you this afternoon.”

  “Yeah? When?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “Swell. He gonna look at me or give me a job?”

  “Tony, sometimes—you’ll either go a long way or get yourself killed in a hurry. You ever say thanks? Al wants to talk to you; probably he’ll find something for you to do—like carrying pans of water to the girls. But promise me something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t ask Al for his job this afternoon.”

  He laughed. “O.K. I’ll wait a while. Hey, when am I gonna see you again? It’s been a couple weeks almost.”

  “You do want to see me then?”
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  “What you think’s been keeping me awake nights?”

  “Some redhead, probably. I thought maybe you were being nice to me so I’d talk to Al.”

  “I was, you guessed it. But now you’ve talked to him, let’s switch it. You be nice to me.”

  “One o’clock, Tony?”

  “Where?”

  “Your place.”

  “It’s not very fancy,” he said.

  “It’s got a bed, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, honey, it’s got a bed.”

  Tony glanced at his watch as he rode up in the elevator. One minute till four. He’d press the buzzer at exactly four P.M. He felt a little tense and nervous, even though Ginny had told him that Al was ready to try him out in a small way, see how he got along with the boys and madames and girls—and with Al Sharkey, himself—test him out a little.

  That was all Tony asked: a foot in the door. He’d bust the door in to get the rest of the way, if he had to.

  He was glad Ginny had showed up at one, though, and told him Al’s mind was already about made up. Should make the coming interview easier. It had been a pleasant couple of hours they’d spent together, too.

  Tony left the elevator and walked to 1048. Ginny should be home by now; she’d left at three o’clock and come back here after the “show” she’d gone to. Funny thing about the Shark; he didn’t care if his wife did the dance of no veils at the parties—when he was occupied, himself—but he didn’t want her chasing around behind his back as he put it. The jerk.