kids?“ I said.
Sal opened his mouth, and closed it, and shook his head. I shrugged and hit Sal a modified version of the left hook I’d hit him with before. It sat him down.
”I can hit you with that left hook until evening,“ I said. ”Who hired you to roust those kids?“
Sal’s head sank forward. ”Nolan,“ he said, ”Louis Nolan.“
”Who’s he?“
”A guy around.“
”He connected?“
Sal nodded.
”Who with?“
Sal shook his head. ”I don’t know,“ he said. ”He’s just connected, you know? He’s one of those guys that’s in touch with the big boys. You know that. Everybody knows that. He asks you to do something, you’re glad to do it. Glad to do him a favor, you know?“
”So he told you to lean on these kids?“
”Not them kids especially. Just any Alexander person. Didn’t matter who. Whoever was handy.“
”Why did he want that done?“ I said.
”Said he wanted to send Alexander a message.“
”What message?“
Sal shook his head again. ”He don’t tell guys like me anything he don’t have to. Just give us the deuce and said to get it done.“
”Where do I find Louis Nolan?“
”You won’t tell him you got it from me?“
”You don’t tell him I’m coming,“ I said, ”I won’t tell him I saw you.“
”Wheeler Avenue,“ Sal said. ”Up Sumner past the X.“ He gestured the direction. ”I don’t know the number.“
I said, ”Thanks, Sal, see you around.“
He was still sitting on the ground when I turned down Sumner Avenue toward my car.
I drove up Sumner Avenue. When I passed the X-shaped intersection Sal had mentioned I started looking for Wheeler Avenue. I almost missed it. It wasn’t much of an avenue. It had been overnamed. It was a short residential street that ran one block between Sumner and Allen Streets. I drove past it a little ways and stopped at a drugstore and looked up Louis Nolan in the phone book. The number was 48. I drove back and turned up Wheeler Avenue.
Forty-eight Wheeler Avenue was a modest white Cape with a one-car garage, at the Allen Street end of the block. I parked on Allen Street in sight of the house and looked at it. Nothing happened. I looked some more. Same result. No clue appeared.
I got out of the car and walked to the house and rang the front doorbell. Inside I could hear a vacuum cleaner. I rang the bell again. The door opened and a man in a suit and vest said, ”Yes?“
His white hair was in a crew cut and his white mustache was trimmed close. He was middle-sized and blue-eyed and erect.
I said, ”Mr. Nolan?“
He nodded. His face was pink and healthy-looking and his eyes were bright and opaque, like polished metal.
”Vinnie Morris sent me,“ I said.
He nodded again and gestured with his head into the house. I went in. He closed the door behind me. The living room was to my left, the dining room to my right. A plump woman about Nolan’s age was vacuuming the living room. Nolan gestured me toward the dining room.
”Kitchen,“ he said. ”Want some coffee?“
”No, thanks.“
We walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. The house looked like it had been built in the thirties. The kitchen counters were still surfaced in black rubber tile. The yellow porcelain gas stove was on long, curved legs.
We sat at the kitchen table. The vacuum continued to hum in the living room. Nolan took a black leather cigar case from his inside coat pocket and offered me a cigar. I shook my head. He took one out and bit off the end, spitting the fragment into the sink without leaving the chair.
”Fruit or anything?“ he said.
I shook my head again. Everything in the kitchen shone as if it were on display. Nolan lit his cigar with a fancy lighter, put the lighter into the pocket of his vest, let some cigar smoke out, and said, ”Okay.“
I said, ”Vinnie’s a little“-I shrugged and wobbled my hand-”about the two stiffs you hired to rough up Alexander’s people.“
”Which two stiffs?“ Nolan
Sal opened his mouth, and closed it, and shook his head. I shrugged and hit Sal a modified version of the left hook I’d hit him with before. It sat him down.
”I can hit you with that left hook until evening,“ I said. ”Who hired you to roust those kids?“
Sal’s head sank forward. ”Nolan,“ he said, ”Louis Nolan.“
”Who’s he?“
”A guy around.“
”He connected?“
Sal nodded.
”Who with?“
Sal shook his head. ”I don’t know,“ he said. ”He’s just connected, you know? He’s one of those guys that’s in touch with the big boys. You know that. Everybody knows that. He asks you to do something, you’re glad to do it. Glad to do him a favor, you know?“
”So he told you to lean on these kids?“
”Not them kids especially. Just any Alexander person. Didn’t matter who. Whoever was handy.“
”Why did he want that done?“ I said.
”Said he wanted to send Alexander a message.“
”What message?“
Sal shook his head again. ”He don’t tell guys like me anything he don’t have to. Just give us the deuce and said to get it done.“
”Where do I find Louis Nolan?“
”You won’t tell him you got it from me?“
”You don’t tell him I’m coming,“ I said, ”I won’t tell him I saw you.“
”Wheeler Avenue,“ Sal said. ”Up Sumner past the X.“ He gestured the direction. ”I don’t know the number.“
I said, ”Thanks, Sal, see you around.“
He was still sitting on the ground when I turned down Sumner Avenue toward my car.
I drove up Sumner Avenue. When I passed the X-shaped intersection Sal had mentioned I started looking for Wheeler Avenue. I almost missed it. It wasn’t much of an avenue. It had been overnamed. It was a short residential street that ran one block between Sumner and Allen Streets. I drove past it a little ways and stopped at a drugstore and looked up Louis Nolan in the phone book. The number was 48. I drove back and turned up Wheeler Avenue.
Forty-eight Wheeler Avenue was a modest white Cape with a one-car garage, at the Allen Street end of the block. I parked on Allen Street in sight of the house and looked at it. Nothing happened. I looked some more. Same result. No clue appeared.
I got out of the car and walked to the house and rang the front doorbell. Inside I could hear a vacuum cleaner. I rang the bell again. The door opened and a man in a suit and vest said, ”Yes?“
His white hair was in a crew cut and his white mustache was trimmed close. He was middle-sized and blue-eyed and erect.
I said, ”Mr. Nolan?“
He nodded. His face was pink and healthy-looking and his eyes were bright and opaque, like polished metal.
”Vinnie Morris sent me,“ I said.
He nodded again and gestured with his head into the house. I went in. He closed the door behind me. The living room was to my left, the dining room to my right. A plump woman about Nolan’s age was vacuuming the living room. Nolan gestured me toward the dining room.
”Kitchen,“ he said. ”Want some coffee?“
”No, thanks.“
We walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. The house looked like it had been built in the thirties. The kitchen counters were still surfaced in black rubber tile. The yellow porcelain gas stove was on long, curved legs.
We sat at the kitchen table. The vacuum continued to hum in the living room. Nolan took a black leather cigar case from his inside coat pocket and offered me a cigar. I shook my head. He took one out and bit off the end, spitting the fragment into the sink without leaving the chair.
”Fruit or anything?“ he said.
I shook my head again. Everything in the kitchen shone as if it were on display. Nolan lit his cigar with a fancy lighter, put the lighter into the pocket of his vest, let some cigar smoke out, and said, ”Okay.“
I said, ”Vinnie’s a little“-I shrugged and wobbled my hand-”about the two stiffs you hired to rough up Alexander’s people.“
”Which two stiffs?“ Nolan
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