David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America) (76 page)

Just then, through the sound of the blows, through Gerardo’s yowls and pleas, he heard the voice of Celia.

He heard Celia saying, “What are you doing, Bertha? What are you doing to him?”

“What’s—” Bertha grunted, her arm swinging, her hand making contact with the battered, swollen face. “What’s it look like?”

Celia’s voice was calm. “You keep that up and he won’t have a face.”

“But he’ll have brains,” Bertha said. Then another grunt, another wallop, an animal scream from Gerardo, and Bertha saying, “You see what I’m doing? I’m putting brains in his head.”

Gerardo was crying out, blubbering, talking in Spanish.

“You calling me names?” Bertha asked. “You cursing me?”

Sharkey said, “All right, Bertha. Leave him alone.”

“Was he cursing me? I’d like to know if he was cursing me.”

“He wasn’t cursing you,” Sharkey said. “Let go of him. Let him sit down. I wanna talk to him.”

“You think he’ll hear you?” It was Celia. “Look at his ears.”

And again the dry laugh from Chop, and Chop saying, “The left one ain’t so bad.”

“But look at him,” Celia said. “Look at his face. God Almighty. Give him some water. Give him something.”

“I think—” It was Gerardo and he’d stopped crying. He spoke quietly and solemnly. “I think I die now.”

“You won’t die,” Bertha said. “You’ll sit there and listen to Sharkey.”

“Wait,” Sharkey said. “Give him a napkin. He’s dripping blood all over the table.”

Bertha said, “Where we keep the napkins?”

“I no want napkin,” Gerardo said. “I want I should bleed more. I want I should die.”

Whitey heard the sound of a cabinet drawer being opened. After that the sounds were minor and he knew they were taking time to stop the flow of blood from Gerardo’s face. He wondered how long it would take to get Gerardo out of the fog. It was more or less evident that Sharkey wanted Gerardo’s full attention. Whitey hoped it wouldn’t take too long to bring Gerardo back to clear thinking. It was getting somewhat difficult, standing here and not making a sound. It was definitely uncomfortable because there wasn’t much space here at the top of the cellar stairs. He told himself to quit complaining, all he had to do was stand still and listen. And yet it wasn’t easy. He wanted to move around, make some noise, do something, anything, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy to stand here like some Buffalo Bill in a wax museum.

He heard Gerardo talking dully, dazedly, in Spanish.

And Chop was saying, “Hey, this ain’t so good. He’s in bad shape. His eyes—”

“I’ll bring him out of it,” Bertha said. “Here. Let me—”

“You keep away from him,” Sharkey said quietly. “You’ve done enough already.”

“All I wanna do is—”

“No,” Sharkey said. “Stay away from him. Stay the hell away from him.”

“Whatsa matter?” Bertha asked. “Whatcha getting peeved about?”

“Oh, he ain’t peeved.” It was Celia again. “He likes the way you work. Don’t you, Sharkey? Go on, Sharkey, tell her. Tell her how much you admire her work.”

Bertha’s voice said, “You still here?”

“Yes,” Celia said slowly and distinctly, “I’m still here.”

“I wonder why,” Bertha said.

“Me too.” Celia said it very slowly. “I always wonder about that.”

“You got a problem, honey,” Bertha said. “You oughta do something about it.”

“No.” And then a long pause. “There ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Bertha’s voice was gentle but sour, soft yet sneering, and dripping with sarcasm. “You can always take a walk, you know.”

“Can I? Let’s hear what Sharkey says. How about it, Sharkey? Can I take a walk?”

“Drop it,” Sharkey said.

Bertha said, “She’s asking a question, Sharkey. She wants to know if she can take a walk.”

“I said drop it.” Sharkey’s voice was low and tight. “The two of you, drop it.”

“I guess he don’t want me to go for a walk,” Celia said.

“Yeah,” Bertha said. “That’s the way it figures.”

“Well, anyway, I asked him. You satisfied, Bertha?”

“Sure, honey. I’m always satisfied. I feel very satisfied right now.”

“That’s nice,” Celia said.

“
And how is it with you?” Bertha asked, with each word aimed like a jab. “Are you satisfied?”

“I hafta go to the bathroom,” Celia said.

Bertha spoke to Sharkey. “You hear what she says? She has to go to the bathroom. She got your permission?”

“I better make a run for the bathroom,” Celia said. “I don’t wanna throw up in here.”

Whitey heard Celia’s footsteps running out of the adjoining room. He heard Sharkey muttering to Bertha, “What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you leave her alone?”

“She started it,” Bertha said.

“You’d do me a favor if you’d leave her alone.”

“But she’s always starting, Sharkey. She’s always making remarks.”

Gerardo was still mumbling in Spanish. And Chop was saying, “Maybe if we give him smelling salts—”

Bertha said, “I don’t like when she makes remarks. I don’t like it and I don’t hafta take it.”

“Then do like I do. Let her talk. Don’t listen to her.”

“You kidding? Come off it, Sharkey. You know you’re always tuned in. You take in everything she says.”

“It goes in one ear and—”

“And stays inside,” Bertha said. “Deep inside. I watch your face sometimes when she says them things to you, little things, but it’s like little knives, and I see you getting cut. Real deep.”

Chop again: “We got any smelling salts?”

“Like earlier tonight,” Bertha went on, “she makes with the routine about maybe if you’d see a specialist—”

“All right,” Sharkey interrupted quickly. “Let it fade, Bertha. I don’t wanna hear no more about it.”

But Bertha had it going and she couldn’t stop it and she said, “Not a heart specialist, either. Not a brain specialist. She meant something else. I know what she meant. It’s bedroom trouble. You can’t give her nothing in the bedroom. Only thing you do in the bed is sleep.”

Then it was quiet. Whitey waited for Sharkey to say something. But the quiet went on. It was a dismal quiet, like the stillness of a stagnant pool. He could almost feel the staleness of
it, as though the adjoining room were a sickroom and the air was thick with decay.

Finally Chop said, “I think we got smelling salts in the—”

“He don’t need smelling salts,” Sharkey said quietly. “He’s coming around.”

“Sure he is,” Bertha said. “How you doing, Gerardo?”

“Very nice.” Gerardo spoke as though he had glue in his mouth. “I am doing very nice.”

“Want a cigarette?” Bertha asked.

“All right,” Gerardo said. “I smoke a cigarette. Then everything is fine. Cigarette fixes everything.”

Whitey heard the sound of a match being struck. He heard Gerardo saying, “Is question I have, maybe you can answer. How can I smoke when there is no mouth?”

“You can smoke,” Bertha said. “Go on, smoke. And quit singing the blues. It ain’t as bad as you make it.”

“How you know? Is not your face banged up. Is mine. You no can say how it feels.”

Whitey heard Chop laughing and saying, “That’s right, Gerardo. Tell her.”

“I no tell her anything. I say more, she hit me again.”

Sharkey said, “That’s using your head, Gerardo. I think you’re getting with it now.”

“Not hardly,” Bertha said. “If you’re gonna talk to him, Sharkey, you’ll hafta make it later. He ain’t ready to listen.”

“I listen,” Gerardo said. “I just sit here and listen. What else for me to do?”

“You see, Sharkey?” she said. “He just ain’t ready yet. Look at him. He can’t pay attention to you. He’s too burned up at me.”

“No,” Gerardo said. “I no burn up at you, Bertha. I just afraid of you, that’s all.”

“You are?” Bertha sounded pleased. “Well, now, that’s good. That’s the way it should be.”

But then Sharkey was saying, “You think so, Bertha? I don’t think so. I don’t want it that way.”

“Why not?” Bertha asked. “He’s gotta be made to understand—”

“Sure, I know,” Sharkey cut in softly. “But I don’t want him all s
cared and nervous and upset. He’s got important work to do. Ain’t that right, Gerardo?”

There was no reply from Gerardo.

“Come on, Gerardo. Get with it.” The voice of Sharkey was velvety, soothing, very gentle. “Look at me. And listen, Will you do that? Will you listen careful?”

Whitey stood motionless at the top of the cellar stairs with his head bent forward slightly in the three-inch gap of opened door between stairway and kitchen. Without sound he was saying to Sharkey: All right, Mac, we’ll listen very careful. We ain’t gonna miss a word.

H
E HEARD
the velvety voice of Sharkey saying, “First thing, Gerardo, I wanna get it across again, like when I told you this was a big-time operation and every move hadda be handled with style. With making sure it’s perfect timing. And above all, keeping cool. You remember, I said the important thing is to keep cool.”

“I try very hard to—”

“It ain’t a matter of trying, Gerardo. I didn’t tell you to try. I said keep cool, period.”

“Yes. Keep cool. Yes. But—”

“Another thing I made clear, the schedule. I said we gotta stick to the schedule. I meant stick to it no matter what happens. So let’s have a look at what you did. You messed up the schedule and almost messed up everything.”

“Sometime comes bad luck. If comes bad luck is maybe not my fault.”

“You weren’t due here until tomorrow night. You know what’s fixed for tomorrow night and how we got it figured. It’s the big move. The big left hook. We’re hoping it’s the knockout punch so then we go out and celebrate. You listening, Gerardo? I’m talking about tomorrow night.”

“I understand about tomorrow night. But—”

“But nothing.” And now Sharkey sounded as though he were trying hard to keep his voice down, keep it gentle and very patient. He said, “Look, Gerardo. See if you can get this. It ain’t no ordinary action, it’s a full-dress show, and we’re in it deep. In this kind of job there’s no such thing as excuses.”

“Is maybe excuse when—”

“No, Gerardo. Believe me. There’s no excuse at all for what you did tonight. Making all that noise outside. Running in here like a wild man. All that commotion. What if the cops were around?”

“Was no police.”

“But suppose there was? Suppose they got curious and came in to ask questions? And then they’re taking a look around. They’re looking
in the cellar. They’re seeing what’s down there—”

“Sharkey, please. Tonight was emergency. I no have time to think.”

“Think? I never told you to think. All I told you was what to do. And what not to do.”

“Yes. You right, Sharkey. Is very stupid what I do tonight. But you no give me chance to explain about emergency. Was bad emergency. Was—”

“I don’t care what it was. I’m not interested. I asked you if it was heat and you said no, so that checks it off. As long as it wasn’t heat, it ain’t important, and we’re not gonna worry about it. Only thing worries me is this caper you pulled. I wanna be sure it won’t happen again.”

“But sometimes is coming an emergency and—”

“God give me strength.” Then a long pause. And then, almost pleadingly, “Listen, Gerardo, you gotta understand we can’t afford these mistakes. There’s too much on the table to let it slip off. To lose it now, when we’re so close to getting it.”

“Get what?” Gerardo asked. “You never tell me what we get.”

“Sure I told you. I made a promise. I said like this, I said if it paid off you’d wind up with a fat wallet.”

“How fat?” Gerardo sounded different now. He sounded as though he’d abruptly forgotten his bleeding, swollen face and was thinking in practical terms. “How much money you give me?”

“Well, let’s see now. It’s all a matter of—”

“I tell you something,” Gerardo cut in quickly. “This job I am doing for you, Sharkey, like you say, it is big-time business. Takes much time. Much trouble. And much risk. Is no easy work for me to do.”

“Well, sure. We both know that. I told you in the beginning it wouldn’t be easy.”

“In beginning you tell me I will get much money. But you no say how much. And all these weeks I work for you, I wonder sometimes, I feel in my pockets and there is nothing. The nickels and dimes you give me, they go fast, Sharkey.”

“How you fixed now? You need some cash? I’ll give you—”

“Two bits? Four bits? No, Sharkey. Is no good this way.”

“For Christ’s sake—”

“
Is no way to do business. I make big special job for you and you pay me off in little bits.”

Sharkey took a deep breath. “Look, you don’t get the drift. This small change ain’t your pay envelope. It’s just to keep you going until the loot comes in.”

“How much loot? I like to hear numbers.”

“If I told you how much, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Take chance. Tell me anyway.”

“I can tell you like this. It’s gonna be important money. Heavy cash.”

“Is nice to think about,” Gerardo said. “But tonight for supper I eat one piece stale bread and two bananas.”

“You hear him, Sharkey?” It was Bertha. “You got labor trouble.”

“Keep quiet,” Sharkey told her. Then again he was talking to Gerardo. “If things go right tomorrow night, you’ll soon be living like a prince. It’s gonna be real gold rolling in, in wagonloads, and you’re due for a thick slice. I wasn’t just talking when I said you’d be a partner.”

“Partner.” Gerardo said it very slowly, rolling the “r’s,” biting hard on the “t.” And then with a grunt, saying it aloud to himself, “Fine partner.”

“I know what’s wrong here.” It was Bertha again. “I didn’t hit him hard enough.”

“Will you please keep quiet?” Sharkey said. Then, to the Puerto Rican, “All right, let’s have it. What’s the major complaint?”

“You say I am partner,” Gerardo said. “Now I ask you something. Partner in what?”

“In what? You kidding? You know what. I told you—”

“You told me what my job is. But you no make clear what business we are in.”

There was no reply from Sharkey.

And Gerardo went on: “You say we make much money but you no say how. I think is maybe good idea you put all cards on table. Is better partnership that way.”

Then quiet again. Nothing from Sharkey. It went on like that for some moments. And then there was the sound of Sharkey’s footsteps pacing the floor.

Whitey listened to the footsteps going back and forth. He thought:
It’s like on the radio when you tune in late and you only hear part of the game, and some of these announcers, they won’t tell you the score, it drives you bughouse waiting to hear the score.

Just then he heard Gerardo saying, “Is not fair, Sharkey. Why you no tell me? Maybe you think I will know too much? I will open my mouth?”

“You might.” It was Bertha.

“And if I did, I would be a fool,” Gerardo said. “Would be like putting knife in my own throat.”

“You know it too?” Bertha said.

“Yes, I know it,” Gerardo replied solemnly. And then, sort of sad and hurt, “Another thing I know. From very beginning I play straight game with you people. I do what Sharkey tells me to do. I follow orders, no matter what. Five weeks ago—”

“Skip it,” Sharkey said. “I know what orders I gave you. I know you carried them out. You don’t need to remind me.”

“Is maybe better if I remind you.” And then, saying it slowly, distinctly, “Five weeks ago you tell me to start race riot.”

Well, now, Whitey said without sound. That’s interesting. That’s very interesting.

And he heard Gerardo saying, “So I do what you tell me. On River Street I see an American girl and I follow her. Then I jump on her, I beat her up, I take off her dress. She runs away screaming and then Americans they come and chase me. I get way from them, I tell Puerto Ricans that Americans chase me for no reason. Just like you tell me to do, I make loud speech that Americans hate Puerto Ricans and give us rough time and we must fight back.

“So then it starts. I get Carlos and some others and we go to River Street and make noise, break windows, throw bottles and bricks at gringos. Is nice riot that night. And later that week is another riot, bigger crowd, many people getting hurt. And then more riots with some getting killed, and each time is me who leads the Puerto Ricans into fight, is me who takes chance with my life. Is me who—”

“All right, all right,” Sharkey said, and he sounded impatient. “I know what chances you took. It ain’t as if I’m forgetting. I’m not fluffing you off.”

“Of course not.” Gerardo gave a little dry laugh. “You are in no
position to fluff me off. You need me tomorrow night when we have biggest riot. With guns.”

Sharkey’s voice was somewhat tight. “You trying to make a point?”

“What you think?”

Sharkey didn’t answer.

And Gerardo said, “You smart man, Sharkey. Very smart. I learn much from you. So now I am smart too.”

“Don’t get too smart.” It was Bertha again.

Gerardo gave another dry laugh. “I get just smart enough to know is my turn now, my turn to deal the cards.”

“You’re talking too much,” Bertha said.

“Let him talk,” Sharkey murmured tightly. “I like to hear him talk.”

“No,” Gerardo said. “Is you who do the talking, Sharkey. Is time for you to make the explaining. Is like this: You tell me reason for riots. Deep inside reason. All details. Is best you tell me everything.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then is nothing happen tomorrow night. No riot.”

Chop said, “Well, I’ll be a—”

Bertha breathed, “If this ain’t the limit!”

And Chop again: “He’s got you, Sharkey. He’s got you over a barrel.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” Sharkey said mildly. There was a shrug in his voice. And then he laughed lightly and good-naturedly and said, “All right, Gerardo. Here’s the setup.”

Then Sharkey was explaining it. He spoke matter-of-factly and there were no pauses, no stumbling over the phrases. It was medium-slow tempo, it came out easily, and Whitey thought: This ain’t no made-up story, he’s giving Gerardo the true picture.

It was a picture of the Hellhole. Sharkey said the Hellhole was the goal he’d been seeking for a long time. He said the Hellhole was the only territory not covered by the big operators and sure as hell they’d missed a juicy bet when they’d overlooked this neighborhood. As it stood now, it was jam-packed with independent hustlers and scufflers who were always getting in each other’s way, with the law always on their tails and giving them a bad time. What the Hellhole needed was
the establishment of a system, an organization, and for sure it needed a controlling hand.

Sharkey said he intended to take over the Hellhole. The way he had it figured, he’d soon be in charge of all activities—the gambling joints, the numbers banks, the sale of bootleg whisky and weed and capsules, and of course the whore houses. It would all be handled from one desk, one filing cabinet, and it would follow the general pattern of big-time merchandising.

The most important angle was the law. The layout he had in mind would require an arrangement with the law, a definite mutual-benefit agreement wherein the law would work closely with the organization. In return for a slice of the profits, the law would guarantee full cooperation; there would be no trouble, no raids, no squad cars cruising around and scaring away the customers. He said he’d already arranged for that, he’d made a deal with a certain party who was now a detective lieutenant and campaigning for promotion.

“This certain party,” Sharkey said, “he wants to wear a captain’s badge. He wants to be captain of the Thirty-seventh District.”

It was quiet for a moment.

Then Sharkey said, “The captain they got now is due to be tossed out. It figures he’s gonna be tossed because he’s losing his grip on the neighborhood. He’s going crazy trying to stop these race riots.”

More quiet. And Whitey could feel it sinking in.

He heard Sharkey saying, “You get the drift?”

Yeah, Whitey said without sound. Yeah, we’re getting it.

“I played around with a hundred ideas before I hit on the riots,” Sharkey said. “I hadda give him something that he couldn’t handle.”

“
Bueno
,” Gerardo murmured. “I begin to understand. Is seeming like good setup.”

“Yes. I think it’s pretty good,” Sharkey said. “I don’t see how it can miss. This party I’m dealing with is next in line for the captaincy. Each time there’s a riot he comes closer to getting it. As soon as he gets it, we’re in business.”

“
Magnifico
,” Gerardo said. And he laughed lightly and admiringly. “
Is everything fits in place. Your man takes over Thirty-seventh and this gives you green light and you take over Hellhole.”

“That’s it,” Sharkey said. “But remember, the light ain’t green yet. I’m hoping it turns green tomorrow night.”

“It will,” Gerardo said eagerly. “You count on me, Sharkey. I guarantee big riot.”

“It’s gotta be more than that. It’s gotta be a shooting war. If it happens the way I want it to happen, they’ll blow their tops in City Hall, they’ll throw him out of that station house and put my man in. I get the wire they been playing with the idea these past couple weeks, so all it needs now is a final explosion.”

“I produce,” Gerardo said. “I come through for you.”

“And for yourself, too. Once we get started, you’ll be drawing a heavy salary. You do a good job tomorrow night and you’ll wind up with a penthouse.”

After that the talk became technical and it concerned the use of a pushcart. Gerardo was saying it would be best to use a pushcart for the transfer of the guns and ammunition to the Puerto Rican section. He said they had plenty of baseball bats and knives but they could use some meat cleavers. Sharkey asked how many meat cleavers and Gerardo estimated ten would be enough. Sharkey wondered aloud if the pushcart would be all right. Maybe they ought to do it the way they’d done it before, hiring a horse and wagon and covering the weapons with rags and papers. Gerardo said that the last time he’d had some trouble with the horse and he’d feel more secure with a pushcart. Sharkey said O.K., it would be a pushcart, and Gerardo could come for it early tomorrow night.

They went on talking but now Whitey didn’t hear. He was making his way very carefully and quietly down the cellar steps.