Hot Shot (15 page)

When I came around I was still lying on the God-damn bed, but I didn’t have anything on but my stinking shorts and was lying around the long way instead of crossways, and I had a hell of a headache, and my mouth tasted like I had my socks in it. No one was on the bed but me, but I could tell that someone
had
been on it, and there was a racket going on somewhere that turned out to be the shower in the bathroom, and pretty soon Candy came out in a blue robe and said, “Well, Junior, how you feeling?” and I said I felt like hell, a little from the gin and whisky, but mostly because I’d missed the lousy bus, and she said I sure as hell had and started to laugh about it.

“Well,” I said, “you miss the first bus, you can always catch one later,” and she came over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside me and said, “Look, honey, you’re a cute kid, and all this business about your being a star basketball player and everything is just too precious, but now it’s the morning after the night that was almost before, and it’s time to look at the facts. What I mean is, it looked like it might be fun, so I gave you a free pass for one ride, but I can’t make a habit of it. To put it bluntly, Junior, I like to go lots of places and do lots of things and wear lots of what makes a girl pretty, including precious stones, and I’ve got to save my time and talent for the guys who can afford to give me what I like.”

That was laying it on the line, all right, and it was fine with me, and I said, “Maybe I got more in the sock than you think,” and she said, “If you got more than your foot in it, it’d damn sure be more than I think. Tell me, Junior. How much you making out of this damn game?”

“Well,” I said, “I’m only getting a hundred a month to play out at Pipskill, but there are things on the side,” and she said, “Such as?” and I said, “Such as fifty bucks a week plus commissions from Hamshank’s Automobile Agency,” and she laughed and patted my cheek in the way she had and said, “You see? You don’t even know the meaning of big dough. In a way it’s a shame, too, because you’re cute and I really go for you and there ought to be ways a guy in your position could cash in.”

The way I looked at it, I didn’t want this to slip away from me without another chance at it, and I said, “Well, this basketball thing has room to grow. I’ve been thinking about quitting out at the university after this year and turning pro. Pros make a pot of dough if they’re good enough,” and she said, “Are you good enough?” and I said I sure as hell was, and she said, “Well, come around then and maybe we can pick it up again,” and I said, “That’s a year. Who the hell wants to wait a year?” and she smiled this little smile and reached up and let her fingers trail down my cheek, and all the time she was looking at me like she was trying to make up her mind whether she should say what she had on it or not, and after a long time she said, “Would you really like to make a potful, honey?”

As far as I could see, that was nothing but a foolish question, and I said I would, and she said, “Maybe I can put you in a way to do it,” and I said, “How?” and she said, “There’s a man I know might be able to use you,” and I said, “Who?” and she said, “His name is Francis Z. Ketch. You hear of him?” and I said I couldn’t remember hearing of him but I’d be willing to see him if it meant getting in the way of making a potful, and she laughed and gave my cheek a last little pat and said it wasn’t that easy, you didn’t just go see Francis Z. Ketch, but that she’d work on it and try to arrange it.

The blue robe she was wearing didn’t hide a hell of a lot, and I still had the idea of picking it up where we’d left it off, but she ducked away and clucked her tongue against her teeth in this cute way she had and stood up. This made me a little sore, if you want to know it, and I got up, too, and started to pull on my pants with the idea of getting the hell out of here, if that was the way she wanted it, and she stood there watching me and laughing a little, and after a second she said, “Don’t get sore, honey. I’m strictly a night girl. In the daytime I just feel foolish.”

Well, I felt pretty damn foolish myself, to tell the truth, standing there pulling on my pants and her laughing about it, and altogether it wasn’t the kind of situation to make a guy look or feel his best by a damn sight. When I had all my clothes on, she came over and gave me another one of those pats on the cheek and said, “Do you really want me to see if I can get you an appointment with Franzie?” and I said, “Who the hell’s Franzie?” and she said, “Why, Francis Z. Ketch, the man I told you about,” and I said she could just suit herself as far as I was concerned, and she said I was still sore, and I said the hell I was, and she said, “Look, honey, don’t be a damn baby about it. It just went sour on us this time, and it wouldn’t be any good at all to try to pick it up now, but there’s always the next time. How’d you like to come around to the Gay Gander and catch my songs tonight and bring me home afterward?”

Finally I said okay, I’d do it, and she said, “In the meantime I’ll see if I can get Franzie to see you,” and I said, “Why the hell do you call him Franzie?” and she told me this stuff about how his real close friends had called him Fran, and then someone had run it into the Z, and after that they called him Franzie as a result, and I said, “Are you one of his real close friends?” and she said, “Why? Jealous?” and I said why the hell should I be jealous, and she said, “Maybe because you go for me,” and I said I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t, and next time, what was more, I was going all the way, and she said, “My
God,
how you
push!”

After that I left and found a telephone and called Arnold Hamshank and told him I was sick as a dog and wouldn’t be in to work, and he said it was okay, boy, to take good care of old Pipskill’s most valuable player, and I went back to my room at the hotel and went to bed and didn’t wake up until evening. I fooled around and did this and that until about ten o’clock and then went around to the Gay Gander, and Hershell Goans saw me at the bar where I was having a highball and came over and said, “Well, well, the big star’s back again. You must like us here, boy,” and I said I damn sure liked some of them at any rate, and he said, “You mean Candy?” and I said what did he think, and he laughed and thumped me on the shoulder and said, “Well, I don’t mind telling you she seems to go for you, too, boy, and to tell the truth, it sort of surprises me because Candy’s a high class dame with a million guys after her, more or less, and this is the first time I ever saw her go for one in a big way like this.”

The bastard meant well and thought he was giving me a good word, but personally I couldn’t see why the hell he should be so surprised about it, and to tell the truth, it made me kind of sore to hear him say it. I said thanks, though, I was glad he thought so, and I waited for him to tell the bartender to make everything on the house, like he’d done last night, but this time he didn’t do it, and damned if I didn’t have to pay for everything I drank, which was three highballs by the time Candy came on. She sang songs for half an hour, which was until eleven-thirty, and then it was another God-damn half hour before she came out to the bar, which made it twelve, and when we got outside to the Crosley, she said, “I tried to get Franzie to see you tonight, honey, but he said he couldn’t do it and would try to find time for it some time later,” and I said, “Well, isn’t that just too God-damn big of him!”

She gave me this quiet look that was like she was trying to decide whether to tell you something or not, and pretty soon she said, “Look, Junior, you’re a cute guy, and you’ve got more brass than an old-fashioned saloon, God knows, but take my advice and don’t go throwing your weight around with Franzie Ketch,” and I said, “Well, I’m just scared to death,” and she said, “You damn well better be,” and I said, “I don’t mind telling you I’m not afraid of anyone in the God-damn world, and I don’t intend to wet my pants over this Ketch guy even if he’s one of the big shots Gravy Dummke was supposed to know in the city,” and she said, “Gravy Dummke? Who the hell’s Gravy Dummke?” and I said he was the guy I’d told her about that was on the ladder I’d pushed over, and she said, “Well don’t get any God-damn ideas about pushing any ladder over with Franzie Ketch on it.”

To tell the truth, I was pretty sick of this God-damn Ketch character before I’d even met him, and didn’t give much of a damn whether
I ever
met him or not, and I said, “Well, to hell with him. Just between the two of us, I didn’t hit the booze at the Gay Gander so hard tonight, and I don’t have any God-damn intention of passing out again, so I got better things to think about than some spook named Francis Z. Ketch, and you may not know it yet, but so have you.”

She patted me and laughed and said, “Jesus, Junior, I wouldn’t miss it for the world because there’s just an outside chance you’re maybe
half
as good as you think you are,” and we drove on around to her apartment and went upstairs, and I had another drink but didn’t pass out from it, and everything was different and a damn sight better than the night before. About three o’clock she told me I’d have to get the hell out, and I didn’t want to go, but she said I’d damn well have to go whether I wanted to or not, and I could see she meant it, so I got ready and started, but at the door I turned and said, “I’ll see you tonight at the Gay Gander,” and she said, “The hell you will,” and I said, “Why not?” and she said, “Listen, Junior, I got a soft spot in my heart where you’re concerned, but don’t get the idea I’m reorganizing my whole God-damn life to accommodate, you. I’ll work you into the schedule when I can, but that damn sure doesn’t mean every night.”

“Well,” I said, “when’s my next turn on the schedule?” and she said, “How the hell would I know? Didn’t you ever hear of a telephone? Give me a ring sometime,” and I could see that was the best I could get out of her right then, so I said I sure as hell would and went back to the hotel in the Crosley and went to bed. I didn’t want to get up in the morning, but I thought I’d better get on around to Arnold Hamshank’s just the same, so I went and when I came in he said, “Jesus, Skimmer, you really look pooped. You really must have been sick, boy,” which was a damn belly-laugh, as you can see, but I didn’t tell him why.

I thought I’d just let Candy sweat a little, since she was so damn independent, so I didn’t call her for a couple of days, but when I finally called her on the third day I’m bound to admit she didn’t seem to be in much of a sweat, and she told me she had other things to do and couldn’t see me again until Saturday night, which was still two days away. I figured she was just playing hard to get, even though she’d already been got once, and to tell the truth, it made me a little hot, and I said well, it just happened I had something else to do Saturday night myself and couldn’t make it, which was a damn lie, and she said, “Okay, Junior, have fun,” and hung up.

I was in a sweat myself after that, and I finally decided there wasn’t any use cutting off my nose to spite my God-damn face and called her again and said I’d found out I’d be able to make it to the Gay Gander after all and would be waiting for her after her eleven o’clock spot, and she said, “Well, it’s lucky for you that you can make it, Junior, because I’ve finally got an appointment with Franzie Ketch for you, and he’ll see you Saturday night. As a matter of fact, he wants me to bring you up to his place around ten, and I’ve got out of the eleven o’clock spot to do it, so you be at the Gander by nine-thirty.”

“Well,” I said, “I haven’t seen you for a hell of a long time, and I’m in no damn mood to waste any time talking to Franzie Ketch or anyone else,” and she said, “Push, push,
push!
My God, it won’t take all
night
to talk with Franzie,” and I said, “Any God-damn time is too much,” and she said, “Damn it to hell, Junior, can’t you get it through your head that Franzie can be important to you? Anyhow, he’s damn sure as important to you as I am, because I told you before and I’ll tell you again that I’m no lousy philanthropist to be trading time and talent for peanuts, and if you want to drop your shoes beside my couch any more you’d better believe me.”

I said okay, okay, I’d see him, and she said, “Good for you, Junior,” and hung up. I’d called her from Arnold Hamshank’s place, and I went in his office and said, “Who the hell’s Francis Z. Ketch?” and he looked at me and said, “No one but the biggest gambler and crook in this town. Why?” and I said, “Oh, I just heard someone mention him like he was supposed to be pretty hot stuff and just wondered who he was, that’s all,” and as a matter of fact I’d been pretty sure he was something like that all along, and I was pretty sure how he’d want to put me in the way of making a potful, too, and I didn’t know if we could work anything out about it, but it wasn’t any skin off my tail just to go see, so I went.

It turned out he lived in a hell of a big apartment house over on one of the fancy boulevards, and Candy and I buzzed over there in the Crosley and went up about a God-damn mile in the elevator to the floor he lived on. Candy pushed a button beside the door and started a mess of chimes going off inside, and the last few seconds while we were waiting, she whispered, “Now act your damn age, Skimmer, for Christ’s sake, because Franzie’s no guy to stand for any cute stuff,” and I said, “All right, God-damn it, I’ll be a regular lousy angel,” and just then the door was opened by no one but Francis Z. Ketch himself.

We went into a living room that was bigger than a barn and covered with a carpet up to your God-damn knees, and Candy said, “Skimmer this is Mr. Ketch. Skimmer’s the one I told you about, Mr. Ketch,” and this Ketch held out a hand and said, “How are you, Skimmer?” and I said I was fine, and as a matter of fact you could have slapped me ass over elbows with a feather, and this was because he didn’t look any more like a big crook and gambler than old Bugs’s grandmother, for instance. He was a little sawed-off bastard, to start with, not even as tall as Candy, and he was one of these plump guys with a round face that had rosy cheeks and a little red mouth like they paint on Kewpie dolls, and his hair was soft and pure white and combed back in little waves on both sides of a crummy center part, and his hands and feet were so God-damn little they looked like a woman’s. He talked in this soft, prissy voice that made you think he might be a fairy, and he told us to come on in and sit down, which we did, and some spook wearing soup and fish came in then with some drinks on a tray and gave us each one.