a slaughterhouse. Hymie Weiss and his boys burned it to the ground for a thousand bucks from a committee of reform. Now Hymie Weiss is dead.’ He added tonelessly, ‘No, I ain’t John Law.’
Pronzini gave a meaningless grunt and jerked his head.
‘Let’s barber.’
They took the end booth, next to a split in the drapes behind which Atkinson assumed would be a rear exit. Three tables away a very young man with a shock of blond wavy hair was talking with a petite girl in a bright red satin cocktail dress. The young man looked drunk and intense, the girl sober and bored.
Pronzini snapped his fingers at the bartender. To Atkinson,he said, ‘What’s your grift? The eastern mobs don’t send nobody around ever since a couple of their boys went home in the baggage car.’
Atkinson relit his stogie.
‘How about one man with money to spend, and willing to play by the house rules?’
‘He might find some action,’ Pronzini admitted.
The bartender appeared at the table. Pronzini looked at Atkinson.
‘It was supposed to be Antiquary.’
‘Yeah. Tony, bring my friend here some of the real stuff. The real stuff, you got that?’ The bartender went away. Atkinson flicked ash on the floor. The darkly handsome bootlegger leaned forward confidingly.
‘Wait till you taste this Scotch. Smooth as a baby’s butt.’
‘Word I pick up around the speakies is that you gotta juice the cops in this town if you want to make connections.’
Pronzini chuckled complacently. ‘I ain’t saying you’re wrong.’
‘Anyone special who—’
Tony set down Pronzini’s beer and Atkinson’s Scotch. Prewar, right enough, rich smoky taste with an edge of bitterness that woke up the throat and nose. Pronzini was watching with delighted eyes.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of bottles to take—’
The golden-haired youth was on his feet, shouting at the girl in the red dress. As he shouted, he jerked greenbacks from his wallet and threw them on the floor.
‘Go ahead, take it, take the money!’ he cried, tears running down his face. ‘That’s all you’re after, isn’t it? Isn’t it? That’s all you’re after.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ grumbled Pronzini. The bartender and the bouncer were already converging on the table. ‘Ya gotta let him in, his daddy’s on the Board of Supes, but I tell ya, he gives the place a bad name. Can’t hold his liquor and can’t hold his dames.’
The girl was down on both knees like a washerwoman, scrabbling after the money. The boy threw the empty wallet at her head. The bouncer grabbed his arm from behind. The boy spun gracefully, yelling, and threw a right-hand lead at the blued jaws. The bouncer kneed him in the crotch. He fell on the floor. The girl was on her feet, backing away, her face composed and sullen.
Pronzini stood up, shaking his head sourly. ‘C’mon, we can’t talk in all this racket.’
Atkinson, carrying the bottle casually by the neck, followed him through the break in the drapes. He was glad to get out of the suddenly stuffy barroom.
Beyond the door was a long narrow room stacked floor to ceiling with wooden crates of liquor. Over his shoulder, Pronzini said, ‘We got a private room back here we won’t be disturbed.’
The door at the far end led to another room, this one small and square with a bed and table and dresser and chairs. Three other doors: bathroom, closet, and one probably opening on stairs down to the dark narrow alley he could see from the window. Pronzini sat down at the table and gestured Atkinson to a seat across from him.
‘Okay, bo, you tell me what sort of financing you’ve got, I’ll tell you whether there’s any chance we can deal.’
‘Maybe you could lay out your setup for me a little first.’
He treated himself to Scotch as Pronzini talked about payoffs and which cops had to be juiced on a regular basis. Atkinson drank and listened and reminded himself to go easy on the hootch; he had a long night
Pronzini gave a meaningless grunt and jerked his head.
‘Let’s barber.’
They took the end booth, next to a split in the drapes behind which Atkinson assumed would be a rear exit. Three tables away a very young man with a shock of blond wavy hair was talking with a petite girl in a bright red satin cocktail dress. The young man looked drunk and intense, the girl sober and bored.
Pronzini snapped his fingers at the bartender. To Atkinson,he said, ‘What’s your grift? The eastern mobs don’t send nobody around ever since a couple of their boys went home in the baggage car.’
Atkinson relit his stogie.
‘How about one man with money to spend, and willing to play by the house rules?’
‘He might find some action,’ Pronzini admitted.
The bartender appeared at the table. Pronzini looked at Atkinson.
‘It was supposed to be Antiquary.’
‘Yeah. Tony, bring my friend here some of the real stuff. The real stuff, you got that?’ The bartender went away. Atkinson flicked ash on the floor. The darkly handsome bootlegger leaned forward confidingly.
‘Wait till you taste this Scotch. Smooth as a baby’s butt.’
‘Word I pick up around the speakies is that you gotta juice the cops in this town if you want to make connections.’
Pronzini chuckled complacently. ‘I ain’t saying you’re wrong.’
‘Anyone special who—’
Tony set down Pronzini’s beer and Atkinson’s Scotch. Prewar, right enough, rich smoky taste with an edge of bitterness that woke up the throat and nose. Pronzini was watching with delighted eyes.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of bottles to take—’
The golden-haired youth was on his feet, shouting at the girl in the red dress. As he shouted, he jerked greenbacks from his wallet and threw them on the floor.
‘Go ahead, take it, take the money!’ he cried, tears running down his face. ‘That’s all you’re after, isn’t it? Isn’t it? That’s all you’re after.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ grumbled Pronzini. The bartender and the bouncer were already converging on the table. ‘Ya gotta let him in, his daddy’s on the Board of Supes, but I tell ya, he gives the place a bad name. Can’t hold his liquor and can’t hold his dames.’
The girl was down on both knees like a washerwoman, scrabbling after the money. The boy threw the empty wallet at her head. The bouncer grabbed his arm from behind. The boy spun gracefully, yelling, and threw a right-hand lead at the blued jaws. The bouncer kneed him in the crotch. He fell on the floor. The girl was on her feet, backing away, her face composed and sullen.
Pronzini stood up, shaking his head sourly. ‘C’mon, we can’t talk in all this racket.’
Atkinson, carrying the bottle casually by the neck, followed him through the break in the drapes. He was glad to get out of the suddenly stuffy barroom.
Beyond the door was a long narrow room stacked floor to ceiling with wooden crates of liquor. Over his shoulder, Pronzini said, ‘We got a private room back here we won’t be disturbed.’
The door at the far end led to another room, this one small and square with a bed and table and dresser and chairs. Three other doors: bathroom, closet, and one probably opening on stairs down to the dark narrow alley he could see from the window. Pronzini sat down at the table and gestured Atkinson to a seat across from him.
‘Okay, bo, you tell me what sort of financing you’ve got, I’ll tell you whether there’s any chance we can deal.’
‘Maybe you could lay out your setup for me a little first.’
He treated himself to Scotch as Pronzini talked about payoffs and which cops had to be juiced on a regular basis. Atkinson drank and listened and reminded himself to go easy on the hootch; he had a long night
Similar Books
