by David Goodis
13
HE HEARD the velvety voice of Sharkey saying, “First thing, Gerardo, I wanna get it across again, like when I told you this was a big-time operation and every move hadda be handled with style. With making sure it’s perfect timing. And above all, keeping cool. You remember, I said the important thing is to keep cool.”
“I try very hard to—”
“It ain’t a matter of trying, Gerardo. I didn’t tell you to try. I said keep cool, period.”
“Yes. Keep cool. Yes. But—”
“Another thing I made clear, the schedule. I said we gotta stick to the schedule. I meant stick to it no matter what happens. So let’s have a look at what you did. You messed up the schedule and almost messed up everything.”
“Sometime comes bad luck. If comes bad luck is maybe not my fault.”
“You weren’t due here until tomorrow night. You know what’s fixed for tomorrow night and how we got it figured. It’s the big move. The big left hook. We’re hoping it’s the knockout punch so then we go out and celebrate. You listening, Gerardo? I’m talking about tomorrow night.”
“I understand about tomorrow night. But—”
“But nothing.” And now Sharkey sounded as though he were trying hard to keep his voice down, keep it gentle and very patient. He said, “Look, Gerardo. See if you can get this. It ain’t no ordinary action, it’s a full-dress show, and we’re in it deep. In this kind of job there’s no such thing as excuses.”
“Is maybe excuse when—”
“No, Gerardo. Believe me. There’s no excuse at all for what you did tonight. Making all that noise outside. Running in here like a wild man. All that commotion. What if the cops were around?”
“Was no police.”
“But suppose there was? Suppose they got curious and came in to ask questions? And then they’re taking a look around. They’re looking in the cellar. They’re seeing what’s down there—”
“Sharkey, please. Tonight was emergency. I no have time to think.”
“Think? I never told you to think. All I told you was what to do. And what not to do.”
“Yes. You right, Sharkey. Is very stupid what I do tonight. But you no give me chance to explain about emergency. Was bad emergency. Was—”
“I don’t care what it was. I’m not interested. I asked you if it was heat and you said no, so that checks it off. As long as it wasn’t heat, it ain’t important, and we’re not gonna worry about it. Only thing worries me is this caper you pulled. I wanna be sure it won’t happen again.”
“But sometimes is coming an emergency and—”
“God give me strength.” Then a long pause. And then, almost pleadingly, “Listen, Gerardo, you gotta understand we can’t afford these mistakes. There’s too much on the table to let it slip off. To lose it now, when we’re so close to getting it.”
“Get what?” Gerardo asked. “You never tell me what we get.”
“Sure I told you. I made a promise. I said like this, I said if it paid off you’d wind up with a fat wallet.”
“How fat?” Gerardo sounded different now. He sounded as though he’d abruptly forgotten his bleeding, swollen face and was thinking in practical terms. “How much money you give me?”
“Well, let’s see now. It’s all a matter of—”
“I tell you something,” Gerardo cut in quickly. “This job I am doing for you, Sharkey, like you say, it is big-time business. Takes much time. Much trouble. And much risk. Is no easy work for me to do.”
“Well, sure. We both know that. I told you in the beginning it wouldn’t be easy.”
“In beginning you tell me I will get much money. But you no say how much. And all these weeks I work for you, I wonder sometimes, I feel in my pockets and there is nothing. The nickels and dimes you give me, they go fast, Sharkey.”
“How you fixed now? You need some cash? I’ll give you—”
“Two bits? Four bits? No, Sharkey. Is no good this way.”
“For Christ’s sake—”
“Is no way to do business. I make big special job for you and you pay me off in little bits.”
Sharkey took a deep breath. “Look, you don’t get the drift. This small change ain’t your pay envelope. It’s just to keep you going until the loot comes in.”
“How much loot? I like to hear numbers.”
“If I told you how much, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Take chance. Tell me anyway.”
“I can tell you like this. It’s gonna be important money. Heavy cash.”
“Is nice to think about,” Gerardo said. “But tonight for supper I eat one piece stale bread and two bananas.”
“You hear him, Sharkey?” It was Bertha. “You got labor trouble.”
“Keep quiet,” Sharkey told her. Then again he was talking to Gerardo. “If things go right tomorrow night, you’ll soon be living like a prince. It’s gonna be real gold rolling in, in wagonloads, and you’re due for a thick slice. I wasn’t just talking when I said you’d be a partner.”
“Partner.” Gerardo said it very slowly, rolling the “r’s,” biting hard on the “t.” And then with a grunt, saying it aloud to himself, “Fine partner.”
“I know what’s wrong here.” It was Bertha again. “I didn’t hit him hard enough.”
“Will you please keep quiet?” Sharkey said. Then, to the Puerto Rican, “All right, let’s have it. What’s the major complaint?”
“You say I am partner,” Gerardo said. “Now I ask you something. Partner in what?”
“In what? You kidding? You know what. I told you—”
“You told me what my job is. But you no make clear what business we are in.”
There was no reply from Sharkey.
And Gerardo went on: “You say we make much money but you no say how. I think is maybe good idea you put all cards on table. Is better partnership that way.”
Then quiet again. Nothing from Sharkey. It went on like that for some moments. And then there was the sound of Sharkey’s footsteps pacing the floor.
Whitey listened to the footsteps going back and forth. He thought: It’s like on the radio when you tune in late and you only hear part of the game, and some of these announcers, they won’t tell you the score, it drives you bughouse waiting to hear the score.
Just then he heard Gerardo saying, “Is not fair, Sharkey. Why you no tell me? Maybe you think I will know too much? I will open my mouth?”
“You might.” It was Bertha.
“And if I did, I would be a fool,” Gerardo said. “Would be like putting knife in my own throat.”
“You know it too?” Bertha said.
“Yes, I know it,” Gerardo replied solemnly. And then, sort of sad and hurt, “Another thing I know. From very beginning I play straight game with you people. I do what Sharkey tells me to do. I follow orders, no matter what. Five weeks ago—”
“Skip it,” Sharkey said. “I know what orders I gave you. I know you carried them out. You don’t need to remind me.”
“Is maybe better if I remind you.” And then, saying it slowly, distinctly, “Five weeks ago you tell me to start race riot.”
Well, now, Whitey said without sound. That’s interesting. That’s very interesting.
And he heard Gerardo saying, “So I do what you tell me. On River Street I see an American girl and I follow her. Then I jump on her, I beat her up, I take off her dress. She runs away screaming and then Americans they come and chase me. I get way from them, I tell Puerto Ricans that Americans chase me for no reason. Just like you tell me to do, I make loud speech that Americans hate Puerto Ricans and give us rough time and we must fight back.
“So then it starts. I get Carlos and some others and we go to River Street and make noise, break windows, throw bottles and bricks at gringos. Is nice riot that night. And later that week is another riot, bigger crowd, many people getting hurt. And then more riots with some getting killed, and each time is me who leads the Puerto Ricans into fight, is me who takes
chance with my life. Is me who—”
“All right, all right,” Sharkey said, and he sounded impatient. “I know what chances you took. It ain’t as if I’m forgetting. I’m not fluffing you off.”
“Of course not.” Gerardo gave a little dry laugh. “You are in no position to fluff me off. You need me tomorrow night when we have biggest riot. With guns.”
Sharkey’s voice was somewhat tight. “You trying to make a point?”
“What you think?”
Sharkey didn’t answer.
And Gerardo said, “You smart man, Sharkey. Very smart. I learn much from you. So now I am smart too.”
“Don’t get too smart.” It was Bertha again.
Gerardo gave another dry laugh. “I get just smart enough to know is my turn now, my turn to deal the cards.”
“You’re talking too much,” Bertha said.
“Let him talk,” Sharkey murmured tightly. “I like to hear him talk.”
“No,” Gerardo said. “Is you who do the talking, Sharkey. Is time for you to make the explaining. Is like this: You tell me reason for riots. Deep inside reason. All details. Is best you tell me everything.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then is nothing happen tomorrow night. No riot.”
Chop said, “Well, I’ll be a—”
Bertha breathed, “If this ain’t the limit!”
And Chop again: “He’s got you, Sharkey. He’s got you over a barrel.”
“Yeah, it looks that way,” Sharkey said mildly. There was a shrug in his voice. And then he laughed lightly and good-naturedly and said, “All right, Gerardo. Here’s the setup.”
Then Sharkey was explaining it. He spoke matter-of-factly and there were no pauses, no stumbling over the phrases. It was medium-slow tempo, it came out easily, and Whitey thought: This ain’t no made-up story, he’s giving Gerardo the true picture.
It was a picture of the Hellhole. Sharkey said the Hellhole was the goal he’d been seeking for a long time. He said the Hellhole was the only territory not covered by the big operators and sure as hell they’d missed a juicy bet when they’d overlooked this neighborhood. As it stood now, it was jam-packed with independent hustlers and scufflers who were always getting in each other’s way, with the law always on their tails and giving them a bad time. What the Hellhole needed was the establishment of a system, an organization, and for sure it needed a controlling hand.
Sharkey said he intended to take over the Hellhole. The way he had it figured, he’d soon be in charge of all activities—the gambling joints, the numbers banks, the sale of bootleg whisky and weed and capsules, and of course the whore houses. It would all be handled from one desk, one filing cabinet, and it would follow the general pattern of big-time merchandising.
The most important angle was the law. The layout he had in mind would require an arrangement with the law, a definite mutual-benefit agreement wherein the law would work closely with the organization. In return for a slice of the profits, the law would guarantee full cooperation; there would be no trouble, no raids, no squad cars cruising around and scaring away the customers. He said he’d already arranged for that, he’d made a deal with a certain party who was now a detective lieutenant and campaigning for promotion.
“This certain party,” Sharkey said, “he wants to wear a captain’s badge. He wants to be captain of the Thirty-seventh District.”
It was quiet for a moment.
Then Sharkey said, “The captain they got now is due to be tossed out. It figures he’s gonna be tossed because he’s losing his grip on the neighborhood. He’s going crazy trying to stop these race riots.”
More quiet. And Whitey could feel it sinking in.
He heard Sharkey saying, “You get the drift?”
Yeah, Whitey said without sound. Yeah, we’re getting it.
“I played around with a hundred ideas before I hit on the riots,” Sharkey said. “I hadda give him something that he couldn’t handle.”
“Bueno,” Gerardo murmured. “I begin to understand. Is seeming like good setup.”
“Yes. I think it’s pretty good,” Sharkey said. “I don’t see how it can miss. This party I’m dealing with is next in line for the captaincy. Each time there’s a riot he comes closer to getting it. As soon as he gets it, we’re in business.”
“Magnifico,” Gerardo said. And he laughed lightly and admiringly. “Is everything fits in place. Your man takes over Thirty-seventh and this gives you green light and you take over Hellhole.”
“That’s it,” Sharkey said. “But remember, the light ain’t green yet. I’m hoping it turns green tomorrow night.”
“It will,” Gerardo said eagerly. “You count on me, Sharkey. I guarantee big riot.”
“It’s gotta be more than that. It’s gotta be a shooting war. If it happens the way I want it to happen, they’ll blow their tops in City Hall, they’ll throw him out of that station house and put my man in. I get the wire they been playing with the idea these past couple weeks, so all it needs now is a final explosion.”
“I produce,” Gerardo said. “I come through for you.”
“And for yourself, too. Once we get started, you’ll be drawing a heavy salary. You do a good job tomorrow night and you’ll wind up with a penthouse.”
After that the talk became technical and it concerned the use of a pushcart. Gerardo was saying it would be best to use a pushcart for the transfer of the guns and ammunition to the Puerto Rican section. He said they had plenty of baseball bats and knives but they could use some meat cleavers. Sharkey asked how many meat cleavers and Gerardo estimated ten would be enough. Sharkey wondered aloud if the pushcart would be all right. Maybe they ought to do it the way they’d done it before, hiring a horse and wagon and covering the weapons with rags and papers. Gerardo said that the last time he’d had some trouble with the horse and he’d feel more secure with a pushcart. Sharkey said O.K., it would be a pushcart, and Gerardo could come for it early tomorrow night.
They went on talking but now Whitey didn’t hear. He was making his way very carefully and quietly down the cellar steps.
14
NOW IT was easier in the cellar and he didn’t need to crawl. Some moonlight came in through the opened window and he went toward it, passing the furnace and the ash cans, telling himself to take his time getting past the coal bin. He was getting near the window and it would be a damn shame if he hit the coal pile now and they heard it upstairs. It would certainly be a damn shame, and yet he wasn’t thinking about himself. He was thinking about the neighborhood and what it was in for tomorrow night. But maybe he could stop it from happening. Well, he hoped so. He’d give it a try. He had to make good on the try, he couldn’t let it happen.
He thought: Maybe what you oughta do is forget the window right now and do something about them guns and cartridge boxes. If you could hide them someplace—but no, that would take too long, and where the hell could you hide them, anyway? And another thing, there’s a chance you’d make noise and you better forget about the guns. But you can’t forget what the guns can do. Like your friend Sharkey says, he wants real hell on River Street, and like Gerardo said, he means to produce. That Gerardo. He’s one for the books, all right. What kind of books? Maybe the history books. Yes, in a way it’s on the order of history. That is, if you wanna start drawing parallels. I guess a lot of history is made by the sell-out artists, like Benedict Arnold and so forth. But he’d get worse than Arnold got if them Puerto Ricans found out what he was doing. For instance, if Chávez found out. Or if Luis found out. They’d give it to him, all right, they’d give it to him slow. Maybe for an entire day. Maybe a couple of days. Maybe they’d keep him alive for a week like it used to be in olden times when they’d cut off the fingers one by one and then start on the toes and— Or maybe with fire, like it says in the history books. There you go again with the history books. Say, what’s all this with history?
Well, it sorta follows a pattern, I guess. Whaddya mean, you guess? Who are
you to guess? Who are you to think about history? You better get your mind on that window. You better hurry up and climb through and get outta here.
Wait now, not so fast. Remember, no noise. Do it careful. Nice and easy, watch your step, you’ll hafta feel for a foothold to reach that window.
Benedict Arnold Gerardo. And what would you call Sharkey? What name in history applies to Sharkey? Well, there was more than one expert in that particular field. I mean the field of going for the big loot by getting some suckers to start a war. In Africa it was the English always doing business with some tribal chief and everything nice and friendly until they had it fixed the way they wanted and then good-by chief. So sooner or later it’s good-by Gerardo, with Chop and Bertha taking him out for a stroll or a ride. Well, they all get it sooner or later, if that helps your feelings any. But it doesn’t. Because your feelings got nothing to do with this. You’re strictly from Western Union, all you’re doing here is delivering a message. You’re taking it to the Thirty-seventh District and hoping they’ll do something with it.
Yeah. You’re hoping. As if there’s the slightest possible chance you can sell all this to the Captain.
Let’s say there’s one chance in a thousand.
And on the other side of it there’s every chance you’ll get your brains knocked out, your face mashed in, your name checked off the list marked “wanted” and placed on that other list of “cases closed” or something on that order.
Of course, there’s the water front. There’s them ships. They’ll be sailing a long ways off from here. Why, you sonofabitch, you. If you don’t drop that line of thought—
All right, all right, it’s dropped. We’re on our way to the station house. Our merry way. Crazy, like the man says. One chance in a thousand. And that makes it comical. Well, so it’s comical. But even so, it seems right. Somehow it seems right.
He was climbing through the window.
Then he was in the back yard and climbing over the fence. He went down the narrow alley, came to the cobblestoned street, and turned west. He walked four blocks west to Clayton and saw the one-story brick structure with the frosted-glass lamps on either side of the entrance. The lamps were like eyes coming closer. And the entrance with its opened doors was like an open mouth all set to swallow him. He moved slowly toward the station house, and he thought: You could walk right past it and go back to Skid Row, where there ain’t no worries at all.
