Little Men, Big World Page 8

  Arky got out. “I may be a little longer than usual, Zand,” he said. “That is, if I’ve got it figured right. Don’t get nervous.”

  “Okay,” said Zand, then as Arky disappeared he got out and went over to study the convertible. It fascinated him. He made up his mind that one day, when he had enough moo to leave the big town, he’d have a hack like that, only maybe pink with cream-colored upholstery. This kind of green was all right—but for clothes, not automobiles.

  When Arky entered Leon’s outer office, the Indifferent One glanced up quickly at him. This time her eyes showed some emotion, but what it was Arky couldn’t make out.

  “Hello, ball of fire,” said Arky.

  Robbie smiled slightly. “Hello, country boy.”

  “Oh, a tumble.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t realize what an important guy you were before. I like important guys.”

  Arky hesitated. Whatever this was, he didn’t like it. Had Leon been talking? “I tried to tell you I was a big stockholder,” he said.

  “Must be pretty big,’’ said Robbie, “the hell I got from Leon. Say, Elmer, what’s the idea giving Leon the run? You know you called me up and tried to fix a call!”

  “Maybe you got your days mixed up or your men.” Arky smiled slightly. Apparently Leon had not talked; only in general, that is.

  “All right, all right,” said Robbie. “Play games. But you got me one masterpiece of a bawling out. Don’t I even get an orchid, or something?”

  Arky decided that it might not be a bad idea to have an “in” with Robbie. Could come in handy. He slipped a bill out of his fob pocket and palmed it. “Sorry, girl; I don’t carry orchids around with me. But you’re a good kid. Shake.”

  Robbie stared at him blankly but shook hands. When she felt the bill in her palm, she drew back. “I don’t take money from men,” she said. “It’s one thing my mother always warned me about.” Then she glanced down at the bill Arky was now displaying between his fingers. “Unless, of course, it is in very large denominations.” She daintily extracted the bill with her pointed finger-tips. “Thanks, Elmer.”

  Just as Arky started for the inner office, the door burst open and Leon came charging out, his face red with annoyance.

  “Say, where in hell...!” he began, then he noticed Arky. “Oh, hello, Arky. I saw you drive up the alley and I just wondered—Come on in.”

  Arky winked at Robbie and followed Leon into his private office, looking about him with veiled disappointment. He had expected Leon to have a visitor. Maybe Leon was smarter than he’d thought, and was going to play his cards very close to his vest.

  Leon seemed nervous and kept running his hands through his hair. “Let’s get our business over quick, Arky,” he said. “There’s a couple of guys waiting to see you. I had a hell of a time getting them to stick around for a day or so. They’re big guys, used to having their own way. They won’t wait for anybody.”

  Arky smiled to himself. He’d been right after all.

  Leon took the thick, sealed, manila envelope out of his desk and tossed it to Arky, who caught it and put it carelessly into his coat pocket.

  “Twelve G’s short,” said Leon.

  “It figures, I guess. Anything else?”

  Leon lit a cigarette, combed his hair nervously with his fingers, then shook his head. “No. Think not.”

  Wasn’t he going to mention the Bandbox? Arky wondered.

  “Sure there’s nothing else?”

  Their eyes met. After a moment, Leon lowered his gaze uneasily. “They went over my head, Ark,” he said. “The sonsabitches—after all I’ve done for them…”

  “I thought Augie was a particular friend of yours.”

  “I thought so, too. And here he puts me behind the eight-ball with you, with the Mover—with everybody. Swear to God, I didn’t know a thing about it till I read the papers and talked to you. The guys who bought in were on the square, too. You’ll talk to ’em in a minute. Augie lied to them like he lied to me. Told ’em it was okay with the Front Office.”

  “Augie leave town by any chance?”

  “Took a plane out. He’s gone, and with a load of dough. Even jumped his bond. That costs us, too. What do we do about Augie?”

  “I’ll have to ask the Mover. Look, Leon. If you can’t control these guys better…”

  “I know. I know,” said Leon nervously. “It’s always a guy’s friends that eventually get him in a comer. He trusts them.”

  “I didn’t know you trusted anybody, Leon.”

  Leon threw his cigarette away, paced back and forth. “For instance, Ark,” he said. “I trust you.” Now he glanced at Arky to get his reaction, but Arky’s face was blank. There was a short silence. Then Leon spoke again. “All right. Let’s talk to these guys. Okay?”

  Arky nodded, crossed his legs comfortably, and lit a cigarette. Leon went out through an alcove at the back which led to some small business offices and to a little apartment where Leon often spent the night when he’d been late at the club. In a moment two strangers entered the room through the alcove, followed by Leon, who seemed to be showing exaggerated deference.

  Leon introduced them to Arky, who got up, nodded, shook hands solemnly. The short, fat one was Mr. Riebe: he was about fifty and had a pink, chubby, almost blank face. His glasses gave off sharp reflections under the lights. He was wearing a curled blond toupee and it gave him a too-young, rather unnatural look, like an actor made up for a character part. An enormous blue-white diamond flashed from a ring on his right hand: otherwise he was dressed drably and correctly, and could pass among any crowd of businessmen.

  The other one was introduced as Mr. Kelly, but it was obvious that that was not his name. He was a little above medium height, slender, wiry-looking, and as conventionally dressed as Mr. Riebe, except that he wore his businessman’s uniform with a certain strange air, as if the clothes did not quite belong to him and had been rented for the occasion. He was very dark and his face was not unlike Zand’s, except that the features were larger and coarser; he could be a Syrian, an Armenian, an Arab, or even a Sicilian.

  He said nothing and sat in the background. Nevertheless, it was obvious to Arky after a moment that Mr. Kelly was the boss. Leon and Riebe gave it away by the looks they cast in his direction and by an indefinable something in their attitudes. In fact, gradually, as time passed, Arky got the impression that Mr. Kelly was a very big boy indeed. Sure of himself, contemptuous, even slightly amused.

  Arky did not once catch Mr. Kelly looking at him, but he knew that he was being observed, pigeonholed if possible, carefully weighed.

  With Riebe it was a different matter. He seemed to be trying to give the impression that he was a rather befuddled and cheerful soul, which of course, obviously, he was not, or he wouldn’t have been the spokesman for a hundred-million-dollar mob.

  “... You may ask,” Riebe was saying, “why we even want to come in? Sounds silly, doesn’t it?” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Here we are, you’ll say to yourself, with a city of three million people and yet we would like to move into a town, co-operating, of course, with the locals—co-operation—I want to emphasize that ... now where was I? Lord, I don’t even seem to know what I’m talking about. Oh, yes! Why should we be interested in a town of nine hundred thousand souls when we are already operating in a town of three million? First, let me say that expansion is a very normal phenomenon. You know that, Mr. Uh ... yes, you know that well. But that’s not all. We have a population of three million—yes; but two million of them are, shall we say, pea-nuteaters?” He chuckled again. “I’m sure you know what I mean. At the dog-tracks, they eat peanuts and bring the family. They don’t bet. At the horse-tracks it’s the same. Every place the same. Here it’s different. This is one of the biggest gambling towns per capita in the whole United States; a real field for the operation of a smooth-running corporation like our own, a corporation which—I don’t like to boast, being a member of it—but a corporation with state-wide influence; I mig
ht even say nation-wide…”

  “Why not international?” Mr. Kelly asked with a straight face. “Don’t undersell yourself, Chub.” Kelly’s voice was soft and flat, almost inaudible.

  Arky looked at him, then at Riebe, who was flushing. The little fat man had just been rebuked and showed some nervousness. Arky glanced at Leon, who seemed pale and remote, and overawed by the presence of Mr. Kelly.

  “Mr. Kelly thinks I am overdoing it,” said Riebe with a chuckle. “A very modest man, Mr. Kelly. As I am myself ordinarily, but … well, where was I...?”

  “Maybe I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Arky, cutting in. “But I don’t get all this about you operating here. We're operating here right now—and doing all right…”

  “You’ll pardon me,” said Riebe, “I don’t mean to offend, but you are not even scratching the surface, Mr. Uh. ... Not even scratching the surface. Besides, and Mr. Kelly will bear me out, and also Mr. Sollas, I believe, you will not be able to operate at all—not on any city-wide scale, I mean—if something isn’t done here, and done fast.”

  “You mean the Commissioner?”

  “Yes. Naturally. Also several members of the city government are now taking heart due to the way Commissioner Stark is being backed up by a large section of the community ... Pretty soon you’ll have that ‘clean town’ business. A reform administration will be voted in and then you will have real trouble on your hands. A reform administration is very hard to deal with; we know, having weathered several. Am I right, Mr. Kelly?” he demanded, turning deferentially.

  Mr. Kelly did not even nod. He folded his hands on his knee, and stared in what seemed like profound boredom at the carpet.

  Riebe cleared his throat and went on. “No, Mr. Uh ... you haven’t even scratched the surface. If we come in and co-operate with you, no matter what we take out of the town, your share will be larger, much larger, than it is at present. Doesn’t that interest you?”

  “I’m here to listen,” said Arky. “I got no authority to say aye, yes or no. I’m—you might say—kind of an errand-boy.”

  Mr. Kelly looked up and glanced at Leon as if to say: “What does that make you?” Leon winced faintly, though Mr. Kelly said nothing at all and went back at once to his contemplation of the carpet.

  “I’m sure you are too modest,” said Riebe. “Now the Commissioner. Your problem is to get him kicked upstairs. That we can guarantee.”

  “Guarantee? You don’t know the Commissioner. He don’t want nothing but a clean town.”

  “Not even a seat on the Supreme Bench?”

  Arky started slightly. The Mover had broached the same subject. “Maybe, maybe,” he said.

  “A simple matter. Politically, it would be considered a fine appointment—and from every angle: not a single objection in the state. Our governor would be a hero. Everybody would be happy, including ourselves. We can guarantee that, Mr. Uh …”

  “You might be able to guarantee the appointment. But you can’t guarantee he’d take it—especially if anything got around.”

  “How could anything get around?”

  Arky hesitated, then he rose. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to the Mover. Then I’ll call Leon. One question. What’s George Cline got to do with all this?”

  Riebe smiled blandly. “Who, may I ask, is George Cline?”

  But Mr. Kelly cut in harshly. “He made a few suggestions. We pay him off. He don’t come in here. Satisfied?”

  Arky looked around him. Very pale, Leon avoided his eyes. Fat Mr. Riebe was cringing at the brutal way Mr. Kelly had taken the play away from him and made a liar out of him. Mr. Kelly returned Arky’s gaze calmly, his black eyes narrowed, opaque, as inhumane as those of a wolf.

  “It’s not up to me to be satisfied or not,” said Arky. “I’ll talk to the Mover.”

  Arky went out. Robbie looked up from her magazine.

  “’Night, honey-chile,” she said. “Home to your sorghum and corn-pone.”

  “How long the boys been around, baby girl?” asked Arky.

  Robbie hesitated, glanced at Leon’s door, then said in a low voice: “Moon-face has been here about three weeks. He’s a garter-snapper. The other one just got in—by plane. He’s the kind you run from—girls, I mean. Not you, you big, strong, silent man!”

  Arky winked at her and went out.

  In Leon’s office, Mr. Riebe was fuming. “Sending a big farmer like that to talk business with us! It’s … it’s an insult! A rank insult!”

  “Don’t underestimate him,” said Mr. Kelly, quietly.

  About ten o’clock Arky called Robbie and told her he wanted to speak to Leon.

  “Big party on in the banquet-room, Ozark,” she said. “Leon’s throwing a spread for our visitors. Dancing girls coming out of pies and things—so I hear. Traffic’s pretty heavy. If I go in there, I’ll get trampled—or worse. That Mr. Riebe’s an octopus. If you hold two of his hands, he still seems to have six or seven more.”

  “Ain’t there a phone in there?”

  “Just a house phone. And nobody would have the nerve to call Leon to it. The waiters like their jobs too well at the Imperial.”

  “Looks like you’re elected, honey. Sorry, but it’s important.”

  “All right, Ozark, if it’s that important. My last words are as follows: ‘She put up a gallant fight but what could one small girl do alone in this big city?’ I’m now putting on my suit of mail.”

  “What’s that?”

  “M-a-i-l! What’s the matter, don’t you ever see any of those movies where they write with feathers?”

  Arky had quite a long wait. Finally Leon came on. He sounded nervous and eager.

  “No tricks this time, eh?” he said, with a forced laugh. “It’s really you, Ark.”

  “Yeah. I’m with the Paymaster. We just talked to the Mover over the phone.”

  “Yeah?” said Leon eagerly. “Well ... what did he say?”

  “Leon, he said for you to tell your friends to get out of town and stay out. And that means stay out, period! We don’t want ’em around here. The Mover’s keeping pretty good tabs and if they buy in again there will be real trouble, not just a raid. We need no help of any kind, nothing. The Mover’s got a real big deal on the fire, and if it cooks, we’re in clover.”

  “My God, Arky, I can’t tell these guys things like that. They’re big. They’re the biggest. They…” Leon broke off as if unable to continue. Arky could hear him panting with concern.

  “Oh, yes,” said Arky calmly, “another thing. The Mover says to tell Mr. Kelly he knows who he is and that all he can say is that things must not be going so good in the Big City or Mr. Kelly wouldn’t be trying to cut in in the sticks. Make it strong. As strong as you like. Give it to ’em hard, Leon.”

  “Arky, my God—I can’t. You want the shooting to start?”

  “Okay,” said Arky. “Hold the fort. I’ll be right down. I’ll tell ’em.”

  “No! No!” cried Leon, hastily. “I ... I’ll tell ’em. Don’t worry I ... I’ll make it strong. Just as the Mover says, Arky. He’s the boss. He calls the turn.”

  “Don’t forget now. Make it strong. The Mover don’t want ’em to misunderstand and keep trying. Somebody will get hurt that way, and it might be you, Leon. After all, you’re out in front. You get the publicity. You’re the newspaper Big Man.”

  “All right, Arky. I’ll do my best. But, Arky—just a minute. Something mighty puzzling to me. These guys got a wonderful angle. The Commissioner. If he moves up, things will go back to normal. What am I saying? They’ll double, triple. But if he don’t ... well, you can see how things are going with our take of 12 G’s this week.”

  “Look, Leon, just follow orders. Other people got angles too. Remember that; and be a good boy, Leon, be a good boy.”

  Arky grinned to himself as he heard a faint groan at the other end, then he hung up. Leon was slowly working himself out on a limb, and if he wasn’t careful somebody, maybe even one of his out-o
f-town friends, might saw it off. Arky waited for a while, then he rang Leon’s office again. Robbie answered.

  “Did you make it, ball of fire?”

  “In a photo finish,” said Robbie. “He almost had me at the door, but a big blonde just happened to be going in the other direction so I shook him off.”

  “Nice going. Thanks.”

  “Leon didn’t even get sore. Au ’voir, as we say at the Club Imperial.”

  “Skip the gutter,” said Arky, laughing, as he hung up. Then to himself: “That’s a right cute kid. And no bunk about her. She’s on the make and she don’t care who knows it.”

  Zand almost went to sleep driving home, so Arky took the wheel in spite of Zand’s yelps of protest. After a few miles of grabbing the door and almost putting his feet through the floorboards, Zand said:

  “Arky, why don’t you go back to the horse and buggy? An automobile’s too much for you.”

  “Relax, will you? What’s the matter, yellow? I was a chauffeur for over five years.”

  “Chauffeur!” cried Zand. “It must have been for a lunatic.”

  Arky laughed to himself remembering his old boss, the Mover; and how he used to sit rigid in the back of the car, too proud to tell Arky to slow down and take it easy. That was the Mover, all right. You’d never get a show of fear out of that fellow. He’d face down Old Horny himself.

  Arky, laughing, told Zand about his former boss, not mentioning that it was the Mover, of course. Zand tried to appear interested as they burst through an intersection like something shot out of a gun, not quite beating a red light. Trying to keep his voice from trembling he asked:

  “And who the hell is Old Horny? Sounds like my Uncle Alexander who used to chase his own daughters around.”

  “Old Horny is the devil,” said Arky, then with disgust: “Where was you brought up?”

  “Not in a cotton patch, anyway,” said Zand, feeling irritable because he was afraid for his life. “You mean to tell me you believe in the devil?”