there.”
“Yeah. Those birds are the best on this stretch of coast,” Fulton said. “Make no mistake about that. Okay, you can go to Alfredo’s, the Carlton, the Blue Room, or if you can get in, even the Musketeer Club. They serve chicken too. They give it to you with five waiters, silver forks and orchids. The bill will knock your right eye out. Here, they just throw it at you, but, brother, is it good. And it’s cheap.” He finished his drink, put down his glass and sighed. “I come here twice a week. Sometimes I bring my girl; sometimes I come alone. It makes me laugh to think of all the rich suckers going to the shakedown joints and paying five times what I pay and getting something not so good. The joke is none of them would dare be seen here because their rich pals would imagine they were economizing, and in this town, to economize is a deadly sin.”
I made him another drink and freshened mine to give him the illusion that I was drinking level with him.
“But, and there’s always a but,” he said, shaking his head, “this place is beginning to slip. A year ago we got guys and dolls in here who were friendly, nice and homely. Now the tough boys have discovered it. They are as fond of stuffing their bellies as I am, so they come. We’ve got this gambling ship anchored out in the bay: that attracts them the way rotten meat attracts flies. Sam’s worried. I was talking to him only the other week. He tells me the people who made his business are fading away and these tough boys are taking their place. There’s nothing he can do about it. Last month there was a fight here and a knife was flashed. Sam got it under control quick, but that’s the kind of thing that’ll scare people away. He reckons if there’s another knife fight in here, he’ll be owning just another racketeer’s restaurant.”
I said it was bad and looked over at the group of men standing at the bar. They were big and flashily dressed, with the hard watchful eyes of men who don’t care how they make their money so long as they make it.
“Bookies,” Fulton said, following my gaze. “They’re okay so long as they stay sober. The boys who cause the trouble don’t show until it’s dark.” He lit another cigarette and pushed the pack over to me. “Well, how did you get on with the old man: lovely character, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. That long room of his and his searchlight eyes. I’d hate to have to work for him.”
“You said it, brother! I’ve got me a nice little job now driving an old lady to the shops, holding her shopping bag and generally helping to make life easier for her. She’s a nice old thing, and, after Creedy, I reckon she’s going to do my ulcer a lot of good.”
“Talking about nice old ladies,” I said, “who is this character Hertz?”
Fulton grimaced.
“What are you trying to do—spoil my evening? Have you run into him?”
“He was with Creedy when I blew in. He struck me as a pretty tough egg. Who is he? What’s Creedy doing mixing with a type like that?”
“He takes care of people,” Fulton said. “Creedy employs him now and then as a bodyguard.”
“What’s Creedy want with a bodyguard?”
Fulton shrugged.
“These rich punks get inflated ideas. They think people are going to shoot or stab them. Have a bodyguard and people imagine you’re important: window dressing, like the signs in his parking lot. Big-shotting himself to death. But you don’t want to get the wrong idea about Creedy. He’s tough. Maybe he doesn’t look like it, but he’s as tough and as dangerous as any of the gun-and-knife punks who come in here. He practically runs this town. It was his idea to have a gambling ship in the bay. He reckoned it would encourage the tourists and it certainly did. He couldn’t care less if it also brought the tough boys as well. He owns half the ship anyway, and takes half the profits.”
“And Hertz is as tough as he looks?”
Fulton nodded.
“He certainly is. Creedy has
“Yeah. Those birds are the best on this stretch of coast,” Fulton said. “Make no mistake about that. Okay, you can go to Alfredo’s, the Carlton, the Blue Room, or if you can get in, even the Musketeer Club. They serve chicken too. They give it to you with five waiters, silver forks and orchids. The bill will knock your right eye out. Here, they just throw it at you, but, brother, is it good. And it’s cheap.” He finished his drink, put down his glass and sighed. “I come here twice a week. Sometimes I bring my girl; sometimes I come alone. It makes me laugh to think of all the rich suckers going to the shakedown joints and paying five times what I pay and getting something not so good. The joke is none of them would dare be seen here because their rich pals would imagine they were economizing, and in this town, to economize is a deadly sin.”
I made him another drink and freshened mine to give him the illusion that I was drinking level with him.
“But, and there’s always a but,” he said, shaking his head, “this place is beginning to slip. A year ago we got guys and dolls in here who were friendly, nice and homely. Now the tough boys have discovered it. They are as fond of stuffing their bellies as I am, so they come. We’ve got this gambling ship anchored out in the bay: that attracts them the way rotten meat attracts flies. Sam’s worried. I was talking to him only the other week. He tells me the people who made his business are fading away and these tough boys are taking their place. There’s nothing he can do about it. Last month there was a fight here and a knife was flashed. Sam got it under control quick, but that’s the kind of thing that’ll scare people away. He reckons if there’s another knife fight in here, he’ll be owning just another racketeer’s restaurant.”
I said it was bad and looked over at the group of men standing at the bar. They were big and flashily dressed, with the hard watchful eyes of men who don’t care how they make their money so long as they make it.
“Bookies,” Fulton said, following my gaze. “They’re okay so long as they stay sober. The boys who cause the trouble don’t show until it’s dark.” He lit another cigarette and pushed the pack over to me. “Well, how did you get on with the old man: lovely character, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. That long room of his and his searchlight eyes. I’d hate to have to work for him.”
“You said it, brother! I’ve got me a nice little job now driving an old lady to the shops, holding her shopping bag and generally helping to make life easier for her. She’s a nice old thing, and, after Creedy, I reckon she’s going to do my ulcer a lot of good.”
“Talking about nice old ladies,” I said, “who is this character Hertz?”
Fulton grimaced.
“What are you trying to do—spoil my evening? Have you run into him?”
“He was with Creedy when I blew in. He struck me as a pretty tough egg. Who is he? What’s Creedy doing mixing with a type like that?”
“He takes care of people,” Fulton said. “Creedy employs him now and then as a bodyguard.”
“What’s Creedy want with a bodyguard?”
Fulton shrugged.
“These rich punks get inflated ideas. They think people are going to shoot or stab them. Have a bodyguard and people imagine you’re important: window dressing, like the signs in his parking lot. Big-shotting himself to death. But you don’t want to get the wrong idea about Creedy. He’s tough. Maybe he doesn’t look like it, but he’s as tough and as dangerous as any of the gun-and-knife punks who come in here. He practically runs this town. It was his idea to have a gambling ship in the bay. He reckoned it would encourage the tourists and it certainly did. He couldn’t care less if it also brought the tough boys as well. He owns half the ship anyway, and takes half the profits.”
“And Hertz is as tough as he looks?”
Fulton nodded.
“He certainly is. Creedy has
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