It took Jesso no time at all to get to the room with the ash tray. He stood by the chair, walked to the window, went back to the chair, and sat down. He was lighting a cigarette when the door opened. Jesso threw the cigarette in the ash tray and got up again. But it hadn’t been the door to Gluck’s office. The butler was back, holding the door wide so the two men could pass. The tall one came first, looking anonymous in a black ulster and a stiff hat. The short one followed in step. He seemed stout but walked with a spring and made sharp little sounds with his heels. He wore black, too, with a Persian-lamb collar folding wide over his shoulders and down the front.
They stopped in the middle of the room and Jesso watched a fast ritual with gloves, hat, scarf, and overcoat. Holding the stuff, the tall one bowed to the chair, and before Jesso had taken all of it in the stout one was sitting down.
“You’re welcome,” Jesso said.
No answer.
“My chair is your chair,” Jesso said.
The tall one took off his hat and looked around.
“If you will take these,” he said. He held out the clothes over his arm without even looking as if he were waiting.
Jesso took the bundle and watched the man remove his coat. “You’re welcome,” he said.
When the tall one draped his coat over the rest of the stuff on Jesso’s arm, put his hat on top, and turned away, Jesso started to get the picture. He hefted the load and made a laugh.
“Bundles for the Bowery don’t get picked up except Monday and Tuesday. Today is Friday.”
Nobody laughed back. The tall one stood next to the chair like a standard bearer. He ran his hands through his long hair and then folded his arms over his chest.
“What I mean to say is, perhaps it doesn’t show, but I haven’t got my moth bags and clothes hangers along.”
Jesso looked from one to the other, making an expectant face. He still thought it was funny. He stepped close to the squat man in the chair and leaned down confidentially.
“Now, Bean Pole has said his daily words and I’m not going to be unfair to him. How about it, Porker? You haven’t talked yet.”
But Porker looked right through him. His small white hands lay peacefully in his lap, and Jesso was surprised at the hands, because they were so different from the bull neck and the thick face of the man. His skull was shaved to a stubble except for a full-grown patch over the forehead, and that patch was arranged in a fat shiny wave.
“I’m gonna count till three,” Jesso said.
The heavy face turned slightly to the tall man, turning with a muscled twist of the neck as if it were going to creak any minute.
“You may hang up the clothes,” said the tall one. Jesso noticed the precision in the voice.
“One,” he said.
“Your conduct will be reported, at any rate.”
“Two.”
For the first time the squat man’s face showed interest. He had very light eyes and they traveled from Jesso’s feet to his head, as if the man were thinking of buying a side of beef.
“Ready or not,” said Jesso, looking at the light eyes. There was something else about them. The way the man’s nose was tilted, it looked as if his eyes and nostrils were all in one line. The long upper lip and thin mouth finished the picture. Just like a porker.
“Three,” Jesso said, and he dropped the clothes on the floor. The man in the chair didn’t move, but the tall one started to scramble. He was halfway across the room before Jesso knew how he got there, and then the man started to crouch. It wasn’t as if he were preparing to jump. It was more scientific. Jesso saw the shoulders hunch, the long arms held still, one hand held higher than the other. Those hands stayed open, the fingers stiff. Jesso pushed away from the wall and started to lean. The man’s face didn’t tell him a thing, just cold, light eyes and the lips bunched hard over the teeth. Jesso couldn’t figure why the man looked like murder or why dropping his lousy coats should bring on all this seriousness. But he wasn’t going to stop and argue. He got set for the rush, leg ready, because once Bean Pole was close enough he was going to get it where it hurts. When the man started to dip on his feet there was a snap. Somebody had snapped his fingers.
Bean Pole straightened up abruptly, turning to his buddy in the chair, who snapped his fingers once again and pointed to the clothes. Bean Pole was picking up the overcoats while Jesso was still standing there. Then he relaxed.
“Boy,” he said.
Nobody answered.
“Boy, that’s training,” he said.
Bean Pole was holding the coats neatly and the squat one in the chair looked as if he weren’t even there.
“And no whips, even,” Jesso said. “Just snapping the fingers. Tell me, Porker—” but then the door to Gluck’s office opened.
But it wasn’t Gluck and it wasn’t for Jesso.
“Mr. Johannes Kator,” said the butler, and the man in the chair and the tall one with the overcoats moved as one. The heels made sharp little clicks. Kator went first, then Bean Pole. Jesso and the tall one looked at each other, but it didn’t mean a thing. Jesso was thinking that he didn’t like Johannes Kator at all.
They came out again before ten minutes were up, which was just about as long as Jesso was willing to wait. So when the two men came out, Jesso walked through the open door before he was called. It was the kind of thing Gluck didn’t like.
But Gluck didn’t show it. When the door banged shut and Jesso walked across to the desk, Gluck turned to look and he was ready with his smile.
“Greetings, boy.” He took the dead cigar out of his mouth and tapped it. “Make yourself comfy for a sec, huh?” Gluck carried a folder to the room with the filing cabinets. He had a flat-footed walk, probably because of the weight he carried in his rear, and he made a grunt each time he took a step.
“You shoulda waited outside,” he said when he came back. Then he sat down and the jowls around his face made a quick shimmy.
“I waited. What in hell did you think I was doing out there besides waiting?”
“Now, Jack boy, let’s act like buddies. You and me—”
“Stop licking, willya, Gluck?”
“Jackie boy, what’s eating you?” Gluck put the dead cigar back in his mouth.
Jesso didn’t answer right away. He held it for a minute because it wouldn’t do to buck Gluck all the time. Not when it wasn’t important. Save your strength. Ignore the bastard, just the way Gluck knew how to ignore the things he didn’t like. It wasn’t easy to figure what he liked and what he didn’t like. Most of the time he took just about anything as long as he could call a man his buddy boy And then somewhere along the line buddy boy would get the shaft.
“You know why I’m boss and you aren’t, Jackie boy?”
The cigar came out and there was a friendly smile.
“No,” said Jesso. “You tell me, President.”
“I will,” and the cigar went back. “Because you don’t know people, boy. You never studied how to get along. Take me, for instance.”
“Don’t. Don’t put yourself out, Gluck. Just keep the secret.”
“Like right now, boy. You’re riled because I let you wait.”
Jesso lit a cigarette and tossed the match at the ash tray. He missed. “Now I know why you’re president and I’m the punk around here. You know everything. So now let’s talk about Vegas. You read the stuff and papers I brought back?”
“No.” Gluck smiled. “I didn’t have to. On account I read minds.” He sat back and gave Jesso a wink.
“You’re not doing so hot, Gluck, or else you’d be reading right now you should stop clowning around.” Jesso got up and ground his cigarette out. “Let me know when you’re ready for a cabinet meeting, Gluck, about Vegas and so forth. Or better yet, go out there yourself next time and don’t send a flunky.” He turned to the door and then he heard Gluck’s chair creak.
“I didn’t,” said Gluck.
Jesso stopped. That was another thing about Gluck. He always got the last word or the last lick. And once Jesso turned around there would be jolly old Gluck swishing his cigar around. Jesso turned and went back to the desk. He put his hands flat on the top and leaned.
“How did you mean that, President?” He sounded calm as hell. “You mean you didn’t send a flunky or you didn’t send me?”
“I didn’t send a flunky.” Suddenly Gluck wasn’t smiling any more. “So you shouldn’t have gone there, Jesso.”
Gluck hardly ever insulted a man in a straightforward way. And he hardly ever had a lit cigar in his mouth. Gluck was lighting it now and he never even blinked when the strong smoke crawled up around his face.
“Sit down, boy. I want to talk about Vegas.”
Jesso didn’t sit. He pushed himself away from the desk and thought about walking around to the other side, where Gluck was sitting, and starting out by grabbing lapels.
“This is important. It’s all about you, Jesso.”
Jesso sat.
“You goofed, Jesso.”
But this time Gluck made no impression. Jesso never goofed unless he knew about it.
“And I’m taking the time to explain it to you because in this new setup, you working for us, you can goof and not know it. You haven’t got the background to know it.”
Jesso kept still because Gluck was making sense.
“Who told you to go to Vegas, Jackie boy?”
“Nobody.”
“So you goofed.” Gluck sat back and started smiling.
Jesso sat back too. He took his time lighting a smoke, and this time he didn’t toss the match, but placed it in the tray as if he had nothing else on his mind.
“Gluck,” he said, “there’s two things I don’t like. One, I’m not working
for
you. I didn’t before you came, I’m not doing it now. Two, I don’t goof. We been after a tie-in with those two clubs in Vegas for a long time. Those two were outsiders and we wanted in, right? They been using our bonding company, the money outfit that started right here with dough I put out long before you ever came along. We put up their bond and they never came across with their percentage off the tables. Now, you know I want in, I know you want in. So what did you and your glorified bookie friends do about it? Nothing. So I did. I don’t horse around sending messages on business stationery. I go out there. We’re in for a cut on those clubs right now. What would have taken you another year I did in twenty-four hours. And that was yesterday.”
“Bravo,” said Gluck, but he wasn’t smiling. “And now I tell you why you goofed.” He squeeked his chair around and lit the dying butt again. “Let’s not talk about your taking off without my say-so. With you, I’ll overlook that. Let’s talk about what Limpy told me. Limpy called from Vegas and says you’re there seeing Buchanan and that sidekick of his. You’re seeing them about the percentage from their clubs. Next thing, you’re ready to leave town, the percentage guarantee all settled in your favor—and Buchanan in the hospital.”
Gluck paused, trying to make an impression. Jesso just sat, because it didn’t mean a thing to him.
“You roughed him up!” Gluck yelled, and it came so suddenly that Jesso wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. “You caused a stink, you lousy moron!”
Gluck sat down again, and except for the color of his face he looked as settled as before.
So did Jesso. He crossed his legs and said, “Say that again, President?”
“This is the deal,” Gluck said, and for once he talked straight. “We do things in a new way around here, and that includes you. We don’t rough-house, we don’t attract attention, we don’t act like hoodlums in a gang war. It’s big business all around, which means be nice, do what you’re told, and when you shaft a guy you make him like it. Understand?”
“Sure. But that’s not for me, President.”
Gluck sighed. “You know, you’re asking for it, Jesso.”
“What?”
“The boot.”
“Try it, Gluck,” and Jesso smiled.
“Not me, buddy boy The syndicate.”
Jesso just laughed.
“What if I asked you to fade, Jackie boy? Blow, scram, never come back?”
Jesso shrugged. “I wouldn’t go. I got some interests to protect.”
“That’s what I like to hear, boy.” Gluck looked friendly. “I like to hear you’re interested in your skin and that it’s all tied up with us.”
“So?”
“So you can stay. Like on probation.”
This time it stung. Jesso got out of his chair like a shot and slammed his hands on the desk.
“Gluck, you sonofabitch, try pushing me! Just try.” Jesso’s voice was like a knife. Then it sounded foolish to him, because it wasn’t really Gluck that mattered. It was the spidery web of one big clique that nobody ever saw, a thing much bigger than one man. He stood still, waiting.
“You listening, Jackie boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I got a job for you.”
“Thank you. I got one.”
“An easy job, Jackie boy, but it’s like probation.”
“Like what? Apologize to Buchanan?”
Gluck laughed. “We wouldn’t do that to you, boy. This job is easy.”
“What?”
“I’m farming you out.”
Jesso got tense. He had to hold on, bide his time, stall them long enough to get his things in order. The syndicate might look polite, but in the end they handled things just about the way he did. One fast punch, or push, or shot, and the problem was solved. For good.
Jesso sat down again. “What job, Gluck boy?”
“They want you to find a man. That’s all.”
“How much?”
“Twenty grand. For me, not for you.”
Gluck sat back, obviously hoping that Jesso would bust something. He watched as Jesso’s neck swelled and the eyebrows made a sudden line grow down the middle of the forehead. But Jesso didn’t do anything else.
“I won’t do you the favor, President. I won’t goof,” he said. “I’m a good little boy taking his licking.” He took a breath. “Who’s the outfit?”
“Here’s the card with the address.” Gluck handed it over. “Just an address, Jack boy, and it isn’t an outfit.”
“No name, even?”
“The name’s Kator,” Gluck said.
Jesso got up and went to the door. “I’m going to do you the favor, buddy boy,” he said. “I’m taking that job.”
Kator had a suite in an uptown hotel and Jesso got there at eight in the morning. If Kator wasn’t out of bed yet, that would be fine too.