could get back at me.
As I walked up to the elevator he feinted a left at my ribs and
popped a lazy right into the valise I threw up to block the punch.
“Christ, kid, you getting too quick. You’ll knock me on my ass
next time.”
“Count on it.”
“Name the day,” he said.
“Been out of town a lot. I’ll let you know.”
“Do that, kid.”
The old guy working the elevator nodded hello and took me up.
The Studio Lounge was loud and smoky and dimly lit, jammed
with revelers, the band hammering out “Let’s Fall in Love,” the
dance floor swirling with couples. The Maceo offices were in a hallway on the other side of the room and I made my way through the
crowd between the dance floor and the bar. A lot of the customers
knew who I was, and they pulled each other out of my way. No
telling what kind of stories they’d heard about me except that all of
them were scary and probably half of them bullshit, but that was all
right with me. The more such stories got around, the easier it sometimes made my job.
As I entered the hallway, a door at the far end opened and Big
Sam came out, adjusting a gardenia in his lapel. A blond cigarette
girl I’d never seen before was with him, holding to her tray and
straightening her pillbox hat over her slightly disheveled hair. She
had the right body for the little shorts and low-cut vest of her
uniform. ••
She’d missed a button on the side of her shorts and Sam pointed it
out to her. Then he saw me and said, “Hey now... Jimmy the Kid!”
He’d started calling me that from the time we’d first been introduced and he heard how Rose and I had met in San Antonio. “You
should’ve seen this guy in action, Sammy,” Rose told him. “Like
fucken Billy the Kid or somebody.”
“Only this one’s Jimmy the Kid,” Sam said with a big grin—and
that was his name for me from then on, though he usually just called
me Kid. Then Rose took up the name, and Brando and LQ sometimes
used it, sometimes Goldman the bookkeeper. But nobody else. Even
people who knew me well enough to say hello—and there weren’t
many—rarely called me by any name at all, but when they did, it was
just Jimmy.
Sam gave the girl a smack on the ass and she hurried past me with
a fetching blush. She gave off a sweet warm smell with a tinge of sex
in it. I watched her disappear into the crowd, then arched my brow
at Sam.
He laughed and said, “Just getting a happy start on the new
year, Kid.”
Sam and Rose were both married, but you never saw their wives
and children, and the brothers rarely spoke of them. Their business
lives and their home lives were completely separate worlds—except
that their families and luxurious homes were protected around the
clock by a crew of Ghosts and special police patrols.
Sam put a hand on my shoulder and stood with his back to the
lounge so no one who looked down the hall could see his face.
“So?” he said, his aspect serious. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
His face brightened again and he patted me on the arm. “You always do good work, Kid.”
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder into the lounge behind him and said, “Listen, do yourself a favor and take a spin with
••
that doxy was just here. New girl. Suzie Somebody, from . . . I don’t
know, Hick City, Nebraska. She’s a regular carnival ride, I swear.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
Sam liked to hire small-town girls who’d been brought up so
straitlaced they couldn’t wait to run off on their own. Girls who’d
been hit over the head with religion all their life, who’d been told
over and over that if they let a boy so much as touch their tit they
were no better than whores. But the girls would see broads like Harlow and Crawford having all that slutty fun in the movies, and some
of them wanted to have that kind of fun too, wanted it bad . When
they finally couldn’t take any more preaching, they’d run off to some
big city and dive into
As I walked up to the elevator he feinted a left at my ribs and
popped a lazy right into the valise I threw up to block the punch.
“Christ, kid, you getting too quick. You’ll knock me on my ass
next time.”
“Count on it.”
“Name the day,” he said.
“Been out of town a lot. I’ll let you know.”
“Do that, kid.”
The old guy working the elevator nodded hello and took me up.
The Studio Lounge was loud and smoky and dimly lit, jammed
with revelers, the band hammering out “Let’s Fall in Love,” the
dance floor swirling with couples. The Maceo offices were in a hallway on the other side of the room and I made my way through the
crowd between the dance floor and the bar. A lot of the customers
knew who I was, and they pulled each other out of my way. No
telling what kind of stories they’d heard about me except that all of
them were scary and probably half of them bullshit, but that was all
right with me. The more such stories got around, the easier it sometimes made my job.
As I entered the hallway, a door at the far end opened and Big
Sam came out, adjusting a gardenia in his lapel. A blond cigarette
girl I’d never seen before was with him, holding to her tray and
straightening her pillbox hat over her slightly disheveled hair. She
had the right body for the little shorts and low-cut vest of her
uniform. ••
She’d missed a button on the side of her shorts and Sam pointed it
out to her. Then he saw me and said, “Hey now... Jimmy the Kid!”
He’d started calling me that from the time we’d first been introduced and he heard how Rose and I had met in San Antonio. “You
should’ve seen this guy in action, Sammy,” Rose told him. “Like
fucken Billy the Kid or somebody.”
“Only this one’s Jimmy the Kid,” Sam said with a big grin—and
that was his name for me from then on, though he usually just called
me Kid. Then Rose took up the name, and Brando and LQ sometimes
used it, sometimes Goldman the bookkeeper. But nobody else. Even
people who knew me well enough to say hello—and there weren’t
many—rarely called me by any name at all, but when they did, it was
just Jimmy.
Sam gave the girl a smack on the ass and she hurried past me with
a fetching blush. She gave off a sweet warm smell with a tinge of sex
in it. I watched her disappear into the crowd, then arched my brow
at Sam.
He laughed and said, “Just getting a happy start on the new
year, Kid.”
Sam and Rose were both married, but you never saw their wives
and children, and the brothers rarely spoke of them. Their business
lives and their home lives were completely separate worlds—except
that their families and luxurious homes were protected around the
clock by a crew of Ghosts and special police patrols.
Sam put a hand on my shoulder and stood with his back to the
lounge so no one who looked down the hall could see his face.
“So?” he said, his aspect serious. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
His face brightened again and he patted me on the arm. “You always do good work, Kid.”
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder into the lounge behind him and said, “Listen, do yourself a favor and take a spin with
••
that doxy was just here. New girl. Suzie Somebody, from . . . I don’t
know, Hick City, Nebraska. She’s a regular carnival ride, I swear.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
Sam liked to hire small-town girls who’d been brought up so
straitlaced they couldn’t wait to run off on their own. Girls who’d
been hit over the head with religion all their life, who’d been told
over and over that if they let a boy so much as touch their tit they
were no better than whores. But the girls would see broads like Harlow and Crawford having all that slutty fun in the movies, and some
of them wanted to have that kind of fun too, wanted it bad . When
they finally couldn’t take any more preaching, they’d run off to some
big city and dive into
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