by P. N. Elrod
The girls were mostly young, some were even pretty, but moved slow on obviously sore feet as the evening was not new. A couple of girls still kept their energy up and it was making them money. When a song ended—none went on longer than two minutes—it was time to rest or change partners, or dance one more time with the same guy. Signs on the wall declared you could only dance with a girl twice in a row, then had to switch. I suppose it was meant to keep you from becoming too attached. Jeez, you could fall in love with her and suavely sweep her away from all the glamour to a fifth-floor walk-up and half a dozen kids neither of you could afford. Couldn’t have that.
The music stopped and a girl with frizzy yellow hair and a bored face came over and asked if I wanted a dance. Her satin dress needed to retire; she’d tried sprucing it up with some paper flowers, but they were crushed now, probably had been for days. I gave her one of my tickets and caught a flash of leg as she lifted her skirt hem and shoved the bit of pasteboard into the top of her stocking along with a wad of other tickets. Other girls across the floor were doing the same. You could tell who the popular ones were by the size of the distending lump on the front of each thigh. I wondered how much of that ten-cent ticket they were allowed to hang on to for dancing with the customers. Enough to keep them in paper flowers, no doubt.
A slow waltz started up and I took my gal in hand, and in deference to her sore feet led her around a few snail-like turns so I could get a better look at the place. The band had a trumpet man, a snare drum, piano, fiddle, and a couple others I didn’t catch right off, all playing loud so they could be heard on the other side of the hall. Around the edge of the dancers were guys holding tickets waiting for the number to end so they could cut in and get the partner they wanted. There were few wallflower girls, none were shy about going up and asking a guy to dance with them. Anyone acting coy here wouldn’t make the rent for the week. Even if the girl was plain as an unpainted barn, her offer was usually accepted; you could practically smell the loneliness coming off the men, mixed in with the scent of bay rum.
Plenty of bouncers stood around keeping an eye on everyone, but it looked to be a quiet night. Compared to some of the other Paco businesses, this was as respectable as a church picnic. I knew for sure now that it was connected with Paco, because with no small satisfaction I spotted one of his men going up some stairs at the far side of the hall. His name was Newton, and I would have recognized him for a ringer no matter what. The difference between the regular bouncers and Angela’s professional killers was pretty obvious if you knew what to look for, kind of like being able to tell a peashooter from a machine gun.
Now that I’d seen one of them, I noticed there was a lot of coming and going on the stairway, all men, some in cheap flashy suits and loud ties, others apparently just finished with their jobs in drab work pants and oil-stained shirts. None matched up with the would-be Fred Astaires I was rubbing elbows with.
More went up than came down and this was where the bouncers were really concentrated to keep out the unwelcome. Quite a mixed crowd it was, and I had a pretty good idea what was drawing them together, but wanted confirmation.
“What’s upstairs?” I asked the girl.
“I dunno,” she mumbled through her chewing gum. “Manager’s office, I guess. He’s always up there.”
“He must have a lot of company. Who are all those guys going up?”
She shrugged. “Customers, I guess.”
“For what?”
“I dunno. Dance lessons maybe.”
She wasn’t holding back as far as I could tell; it’s hard to fake that kind of supreme disinterest. The waltz finally ended, and I gave her the rest of my string of tickets, which woke her up.
“Hey, I can’t dance with you for all these,” she said.
“Pretend,” I said with a wink, and walked on toward the stairs, losing myself from her in the general crowd.
There was a men’s room along the same wall, which was a bit of luck. I waited until another dance started and pushed in, standing in line for one of the closed stalls. My idea was to go in, vanish, and find my way up to the second floor, but now it didn’t seem so hot. The next guy in line might start wondering why I didn’t come out. Then he’d check and find I was gone. Not that he could do anything about the mystery, but it was better to keep my head low and unnoticed for as long as I could get away with it.
I obligingly let others ahead of me and moved to the back of the line. A fast check to make sure none were looking my way and I vanished with nobody being the wiser for it. As far as I could tell, I got away with it since there was no immediate reaction. That gave me a pretty smug feeling, being able to pull something like that off. I let it carry me as I filtered through the porous resistance that was the ceiling to emerge onto the floor above.
Since I’m blind in this state it’s always an adventure trying to get my bearings. Hard enough to attempt in familiar surroundings, it could be a real circus for my brain in strange territory like this. I bumbled along a wall, found a corner, turned, and soon turned again, bouncing lightly against oddly placed surfaces. There didn’t seem to be anyone about, so I chanced partially forming again and found my ghostly body floating about a foot off the floor in the stall of another men’s room placed exactly above the first. No big surprise there, it was probably for the convenience of the water pipes. I drifted down to the floor and went solid.
Someone in the next stall flushed and left. The rest of the place was happily clear, so I eased out to hear better. Music and the drone of the crowd came from below, efficiently masking over anything useful I might pick up. I opened the door a crack and peered out into a hall. Cheap wood panel gone dark with age halfway up the walls, the other half peeling paint and water marks, with light fixtures hanging by rusty chains. I swear some of them were still sporting their old gaslight fittings. Lots of men milling around or waiting to get into certain rooms, but no sign of Newton, at least from this view. I chanced poking my head out to check the other end of the hall. More doors and crowd. Okay, so where was the big attraction?
Then I picked up the unmistakable sound of slot machines being worked and a roulette wheel spinning. Great, I’d guessed right, give the man a cigar.
No one paid any mind to me as I stepped out for a better look around. What conversation I picked up had to do with every conceivable sporting event going on that week and how much to lay out on which risk. The numbers were pretty low, a reflection of the general poverty of the neighborhood and the times, but there were plenty of bettors to make up for the lack. I was in the wrong business if I wanted to make money. Maybe I should invest in a good solid, tried-and-true gold-plated vice, then sit back and watch the dollars roll in until I had my own mansion and twelve-car garage. Of course, there’d be the tough part of explaining it all to the tax man, but that’s where accountants like Opal come in, making fancy with the bookkeeping until it looks all clean and sweet. But then there’s other guys in the same vice business, your rivals, all trying to take the butter off your toast, so you either make a treaty or shoot’em, simple as that. Then you hire lawyers to keep you out of court, or have enough dough to pay off the judge when they can’t, or buy off the whole goddamned jury when . . .
I shook my head. Too much trouble. When I wound this up I wanted to go back to my battered typewriter and make up nice simple stories about man-eating spiders, and then maybe Bobbi wouldn’t worry so much.
Being just another face in dim light I had no problems making my way from one side of the hall to the other. Everyone was more concerned trying to figure a new angle on how to get some free money than to notice a fake in the crowd. The bouncers were another matter, though. As I worked my way around I checked each one against my memory on the theory that if I knew one, he’d know me, then it’d be time for my vanishing act again and the hell with the consequences.
There were a few closed doors at the far end of the long hall, one held a sheet of pebbled glass that had a light showing through. Maybe it was
the manager’s hiding place. Might as well start there. I did the same as in the men’s room, put my back to a wall, waited until no one was looking my way, and disappeared again.
Invisible now in a forest of feet, I slipped along, keeping the baseboard on my left so I wouldn’t get mixed up until striking the end wall, then it was a matter of pouring through the gap where its door didn’t quite meet the threshold.
Unlike the other mugs out there, this was my lucky night. The first voice I heard was Angela Paco’s. I found an unused corner, took up post there, and waited and listened.
“They should have called in by now,” she snarled. She seemed to be moving, probably pacing back and forth. This was one gal who didn’t know how to hold still.
“Every hour on the hour,” added a man in an agreeable tone. I recognized the voice as belonging to Doc, a joyfully inebriated crony she’d inherited from her father. Whether Doc was a real lieutenant with power in the organization or just a sometimes useful hanger-on, I still hadn’t figured out. Last night, when some morphine-laced blood I’d been forced to take to keep alive knocked me flat, he’d pronounced me to be deader than Dixie, which decided Angela about dropping me in the lake. It was no reflection on his medical abilities—not that I had much trust in them—but when I’m out for the count and unable to speak or move, anyone could mistake me for dead. Depending on how things went tonight, Angela was in for a hell of a shock.
“Where are they?” Another snarl from her, and it sounded like she’d been asking that same question for some time now.
“You can try calling them.”
She muttered and grumbled out a negative reply. “If he’s pulling a double cross on me with Sullivan, I’ll string ’em both up by their balls.”
So . . . she definitely knew about Sullivan coming into town and was obviously not happy about it.
“Now, now, you know your daddy doesn’t like such language.”
“You and I both know he hardly notices stuff like that anymore. Why the hell don’t you do something about him? You’re supposed to be a doctor.”
“Indeed I am, good for busted bones, lancing boils, and patching up the odd bullet hole or two. Frank needs a head doctor to fix him, not a quack like me.”
“They’re all quacks with their hands out for cash and none of ’em doing him a damn bit of good as far as I can see. I had him in that sanitarium for months and all they did was make him worse.”
“They got him so he could dress himself and eat okay.”
“He’s like a kid, I don’t want a kid for a father, I want my dad back and running things like before.”
“I know, girl, but sometimes we can’t get what we—”
“For God’s sake, Doc, don’t give me that load of crap again or I’ll start screaming.”
Doc subsided, and I heard Angela’s heels clacking on the floor as she walked back and forth.
“Where the hell are they?” she repeated.
This time Doc made no attempt at an answer. I wished he’d take a trip to the john so I could do something about her; I was getting tired of concentrating to stay invisible.
“Where?” A loud crash across the room as a heavy object hit the wall. I got the impression she’d thrown something.
“I do want to remind you that this is not your office and that was not your property,” said Doc.
“Screw it. With the money he makes here, Dunbar can buy himself another bowling trophy. I know he skims off the top, they all do. As soon as Opal gets herself set up I’m going to nail the whole pack of ’em to the wall to dry out in the sun.”
Someone knocked and the door opened. “Angela . . . ?” Another man’s voice.
“That’s Miss Paco to you now.”
“Uhh—yeah, Miss Paco. What’s wrong? I heard—”
“Nothing, you heard nothing.”
“Yes, Miss Paco. Ahh, as long as I’m here, you got a minute?”
“What do you want?”
A shuffling as the owner of the voice and several others came into the room.
“What is this, a convention?” she demanded.
“We really need to talk to you, Miss Paco.” He sounded more confident, probably because of all the people backing him up. There seemed to be seven or eight of them.
“What about?”
“The way the business is going.”
“Last I looked it was just peachy. Those roulette wheels are still spinning and the slot machines are raking in more dough than a bakery. You complaining?”
“I don’t mean what’s in here, it’s the rest of it.”
“Which isn’t exactly your concern.”
“We don’t think that way, Miss Paco.”
“Oh, you’re thinking now. Please enlighten me, Mr. Dunbar.”
“Well, it’s like this, we know that Big Frankie ain’t feeling so good lately an’ that you been running things for him.”
“So?”
“So we wanted to know how long it would be going on.”
“Only until Big Frankie’s better.”
“But how long?”
“As long as it takes. I’m not making you poor, am I?”
“Well, no, but it just—it just ain’t right for a girl to be doing this kinda thing.”
“Says who?”
Dunbar hemmed and hawed, then finally came out with it. “We know that Sean Sullivan’s comin’ in to take over for Kyler. There might be trouble.”
A long silence on Angela’s part; then: “And you boys don’t think I can handle him?” Her voice was low, clear, and very cold.
“Maybe if Big Frankie was—”
“Answer me, Dunbar.”
“You’re—you’re just a girl, Miss Paco.”
A very brief silence, then a gun went off. Loud, but not too loud, like a balloon popping. A .22 perhaps, great for indoor work. I heard a thud as a body hit the floor, a man’s drawn-out cry of extreme pain, then a series of grunts and groans mixed with cursing.
“Any of you other bastards think I can’t handle myself?” she asked, her voice even, like she’d commented on the weather. “Come on, talk to me about it.”
Not too surprisingly there were no takers.
“All right, now I’m going to give it to you straight: Sullivan’s coming into town, and yes, he’ll try to make some trouble, but you can make book that I’ll be able to dish back anything he throws at us, but doubled. Anyone got any doubts, then have another look at Dunbar.”
“You damned bitch,” said Dunbar, apparently through pain-clenched teeth.
“You’re right about that,” she said. “I am a damned bitch through and through and you’re one lucky bastard. You caught me in a good mood tonight or I’d have aimed higher and changed your voice the hard way. As for the rest of you, if you plan to give me any grief, then you’d better put that out of your heads right here and now because I’ve got no belly for it. This is a steady, profitable organization that’s made you a ton of money and will continue to do so while I’m running things for Big Frankie Paco. Nothing’s changed and nothing will change. Got that?”
“But—but what about Sullivan?” asked one brave soul.
“We treat him the same as any other asshole trying to muscle in on Paco territory. Kyler tried and failed, this won’t be any different, because I’m going to run it the same as Big Frankie, which means I need you to do your jobs same as before. I’ve got all the account books, and you know they mean I’ve got the world by the short hairs. I’m not afraid to give ’em a yank when it’s needed.”
A murmur and a nervous laugh of approval for that one.
“When my father’s recovered I’m handing the whole caboose back to him, and you can bet that I’ll have a list in hand of anyone who turned chicken and let him down. You want to face that? I didn’t think so.”
I heard more shuffling and murmurs. No one seemed ready to disagree with her.
“All right. I’m not saying things are going to be smooth. I’ll need every one of you he
lping out before the dust settles, but when it does, you won’t find me ungrateful. I’m thinking a hundred-dollar bonus for each and a couple of free nights at the Satchel with all the booze you can handle might cheer you up. All I ask is that you don’t break the girls,’cause I’ll need ’em for the regular customers later.”
That garnered the start of a general laugh. “Sure, Miss Paco,” someone said.
“That’s better. Big Frankie’d be proud. Now, a couple of you get Dunbar out of here, he’s making such a mess I’ll have to call for the night maid.”
Another short laugh, followed by movement. Dunbar cried out again as he was carried away.
“Doc?” she said when they were gone.
“Don’t worry, girl, I’ll get my bag. I swear, you keep this up and I’ll run out of bandaging.”
“I do whatever it takes.”
“That you do, that you do. You put this fire out well enough. You impressed the hell out of this bunch by making sure Dunbar ain’t gonna be bowling again for the rest of his life, but what about Sullivan? You won’t sweet-talk the likes of him out of town with a promise of free booze and broads.”
“I told you: whatever it takes.”
“Huh. I’d warn you not to get carried away, but what’s the point?”
“That’s right. A dozen down, three to go.”
“What?”
“Deiter, Tinny, and Chick. Finding out what the hell happened to them. If I don’t hear from them in the next five minutes I’m going over myself to see what’s wrong.”
Invisible and formless, I still managed to grin. Good luck to her in trying to find her missing stooges.
“Be better if you send someone else.”
