The Peddler (4 page)

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.

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?”

“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.

The door opened and Ginny stood there. “Well, Tony!” she said. “It’s good to see you again after all this time. Come in.”

He looked past her, anxiously, but Sharkey wasn’t in sight. “I been busy,” he said, and walked inside.

She grinned. “Al’s waiting for you in his office. I’ll take you in.”

He followed her through one of the bedrooms on the right, and through it into a small room. Sharkey sat at a small black desk facing a window that looked out to the Bay. There were two overstuffed chairs in the room besides the leather one he sat in. On the wall beyond him was a framed painting of red swirls and yellow blobs and violet lines. It didn’t make sense to Tony, but it was in an expensive looking gold frame. There was a gray carpet covering the floor of Sharkey’s office. Pretty nice place, thought Tony.

Ginny said, “Here he is, Al, honey. Tell him all about sin.” She went out and shut the door.

Sharkey turned more toward Tony and looped a heavy leg over his chair arm. “Hello, Romero. Sit down.” He nodded toward a chair near the desk.

Tony said hello and sat down, crossed his legs and looked at Sharkey. He was sober; Tony wondered if the guy actually remembered him. He didn’t look much better sober. His lips were still too straight and red, and his hair was still that sad pinkish color, and mostly gone.

Sharkey looked at Tony for a few seconds without speaking, lips pursed. He said, “You’d like it if I give you a job, huh?”

“Well … I’d like it a lot, Mr. Sharkey. I’d like to work for you.”

“Why’d you like to work for me?”

The bastard, why didn’t he talk sensible? Tony said, “Well, I heard you’re a good guy to work for, and …” He stopped. “Hell,” he said, “main reason is dough. I want to make dough, Mr. Sharkey—I’d like to have a place like you got here, say. Real Class. I think I could do good for you. I don’t care what kind of work you give me—if you do. But I want to get started.”

He figured he’d said enough and shut up. Sharkey looked at him for a while, frowning, then he said, “What the hell are you, Romero, some kind of genius or something? Or are you just nosey?”

Tony felt himself getting angry. This Sharkey rubbed him the wrong way. He’d like to stand up and slough the guy one in the middle of those red lips. He swallowed and said, “I don’t think I know what you mean.”

“I’ll tell you. First Swan comes and puts a bug in my ear. Romero. Regular whip. Then Ginny says I ought to give a ambitious kid like you a tryout. Then, by God, Leo bends my ear. Romero. He’s a fine fellow, this Romero. You been a pretty busy kid, huh?”

Tony had to suppress a smile. Those half dozen lunches and talks with Castiglio had paid off, too. Well, hell, a guy had to help make his breaks. He and Leo were pretty chummy now. They’d talked quite a bit about what Tony might be able to start out doing.

Tony said, “Yeah, I seen quite a lot of Leo. He’s a swell guy. That’s another reason I’d like workin’ for you—Leo says you’re a real good guy to work for.” Leo hadn’t said any such thing, but Sharkey looked pleased for a moment.

“He did, huh?”

“He sure did. Leo and I get along good. He says he didn’t know anyone he’d rather work for. Well, he kind of got me thinking that way, too.”

Sharkey nodded. Then he said, “Say, kid, you like a drink?”

Tony hesitated only a moment. He didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot, but it didn’t seem like you could get off on the wrong foot by having a drink with this egg. He smiled. “Well, thanks. I wouldn’t mind a small one. I seen your bar out there when I was up Saturday. That’s really it.”