Trick Baby (12 page)

Mule said, “He gets fifty percent of what's left after the sticks and the outside man are paid, minus maybe a half a hundred a night for the district rollers.

“Blue should clear for himself something like a bill, twenty-five for the night's work. It ain't bad scratch. But the outfit gets the real gravy.

“They ain't doing nothing but collecting and they get fifty percent of every flat-joint box on this lot.”

We saw two sharply dressed white men go behind Blue's counter. They unlocked the box and started counting money.

Mule said, “That skinny, baby-faced dago is Nino Parelli. He's only twenty-two. His old man is a powerful wheel in the syndicate.

“Nino is learning the ABC's of the rackets. Don't let that baby face fool you. He's cold as a grave. His old man beat a murder rap for him in his teens. He blew his best pal's brains out in a dime card game.”

Blue had dismantled the wheel and taken the flash dolls and stuffed animals off the back wall when the dapper hoodlums finished their counting. They handed Blue a roll of money and went to a flat-joint at the corner of the lot.

Pocket finally scratched his chin. We went to the joint. Blue slapped thin rolls of bills into our palms.

He said, “The box was six and a half bills. You got thirty-three slats each, a half a buck overpay. It's almost midnight. You sticks take the car keys, grab that wheel and that box of flash. Put them in the trunk of the car. We're getting the hell out of here.”

Blue and Pocket came moments later. It really felt fine to sit down on the Cadillac's soft seat after bellying up to the joint for almost twelve hours.

We were crossing Cermak Road going south on Michigan Avenue when Blue said, “Pocket, that punk Nino lopped that double saw I gave the heat from our end of the take. I should have held out a C-note or so from that box.”

Pocket snorted like a dog with pepper up his muzzle.

He said, “Bullshit, Blue, even if you had guts like that, you'd rather put the heist on Fort Knox. You ain't stupid. You ain't never gonna fuck with one mill of syndicate scratch.

“If Nino ever heard you crack it, the odds are he'd dump you in a sewer with a mouth full of your balls. He'd figure you'd burned him all along. In fact, Nino could shove his bare ass in your face and you'd kiss his dago ass cherry red.”

Blue chuckled and said, “You're right, Pocket. But I can dream, can't I?

“Mule, you repaired stills for the Genna brothers back in the Twenties. You've seen a lot of tough young hoods come and go. How do you rate Nino?”

Mule said, “He ain't nothing but a baby. If he don't get croaked, ain't no doubt that down the road he'll make a lot of mob bigshots shit bloody turds. He ain't the type to be happy with crumbs.”

Blue turned into Forty-seventh Street. He turned again at Calumet Ave. and stopped in front of the poolroom.

He said, “Tomorrow is Sunday. Anybody that wants to work, be here at noon.”

We all got out. Pocket and the two sticks went into the poolroom. I stood on the sidewalk thinking about where I could rent a room by the week. I watched Blue pull out.

He went about thirty feet up Calumet. He braked hard and blew his horn. I walked over to the driver's side.

He said, “White Folks, are you showing for work tomorrow?”

I said, “I sure am. That was the easiest thirty-three dollars I ever made. Thanks a lot for the chance.”

He said, “I've never seen you around here. Where do you live?”

I said, “On Thirty-ninth Street.”

He said, “Well, get in. I'll drop you off down there.”

I said, “I can't stay there anymore. I'm dodging some people.”

Blue said, “If you're in trouble maybe I can help you. Get in and tell me about it.”

I got in. He parked on Calumet. I told him all about Phala and Pearl. And about how I was afraid the juvenile officers would lock me up.

When I finished, he said, “I would never have guessed you were only sixteen years old. You're tall and big enough to be twenty at least. You've got problems all right.

“White Folks, I like you. You've got lots of heart and class. Tell you what. You can stay at my place until you get things straightened out. Midge, my daughter, is your age. You'll like her.

“You'll get work in the flat-joint for the rest of the summer. I'll find out the score on your mother in the morning. You haven't any reason to worry when Blue's your friend. Okay?”

I said, “Mr. Blue, I appreciate everything. But I was going to pay rent some place anyway. I've got to pay you if I stay in your house. Would seven bucks a week be all right with you?”

He frowned and said, “White Folks, I don't run a rooming house. Anybody who stays at my house is a guest. Keep your scratch and try to build a bankroll. No hustler is worth a bottle of shit without one.

“And for Chrissake, don't put a sucker handle on my name. Just call me plain Blue.”

It was one
A.M
. on the Caddie's dashboard clock when Blue pulled into the driveway of his house. It was on the far Southside, in the middle of the block on Langley Avenue between Sixty-second and Sixty-third Streets.

We got out. Blue locked the car. I stood there in the driveway for a long moment and gazed at the house. I swear to heaven that the very thought that I was going to live in the pink frame dream wobbled my knees.

We walked across the lawn that was like scented sable beneath my airy feet. We went down the walk toward the front door. The lush spice of honeysuckle floated about me.

I thought about Minnie. She had worn the scent beneath her golden pyramids, honey-dipped. And she had worn it between her yellow satin thighs. Tiny spasms jerked at the very root of my plunger when I remembered inhaling pungent little zephyrs of raw female and honeysuckle at each thrust when our bellies smashed together.

I followed Blue up four white steps to the latticed porch. Moonlight rippled indigo stripes across his white suit. Blue unlocked the door.

We walked through a deep red-carpeted hallway to the living room. He flicked a wall switch near the doorway. A crystal chandelier glittered like a cache of diamonds in the lavender ceiling.

Blue said, “White Folks, make yourself comfortable. It's getting late. I want to make sure Midge is home.”

He walked away to the hallway. I walked across the tawny oriental carpet to a long, red silk sofa. I eased down onto it. A huge fireplace yawned across the room. There was a wide mirror above it. I wondered who played the white grand piano squatting starkly against the midnight-blue backdrop of floor-to-ceiling drapes.

I was dazzled. It was like in the movies and pictures I had seen in the magazines that Phala had brought home from River Forest.

I looked at a wedding picture on a table at the end of the sofa. A slender black giant towered above a sweet-faced mulatto girl in a lace wedding dress. A shadow fell across the picture. I looked up. Blue was standing before me with a wry look on his face. He sighed and said, “I was a happy sucker the day that shot was taken. She was a fine wife and mother.

“For a helluva long time I thought Pauline and I would never take the marriage leap. Her old man was one of those highfalutin Nigger doctors. He lectured her goofy from the moment he met me. He wanted her to be a concert pianist. In his eyes I was just a black tramp with only the gutter to offer his pet.

“I had to take her away from him, kid. That yellow chump bawled more at the wedding than he did at her funeral a year ago.”

I said, “Is your daughter home?”

He bit his bottom lip and sat down beside me. He spun a red porcelain ashtray on the blue glass top of the coffee table in front of us.

He said softly, “No, she's still out. She hangs out in
Cocktails For Two
on Forty-seventh Street, under the el. She's gone wild since Pauline passed. It's a goddamn crime that I take this torture after those long hours in the flat-joint. She does it every Friday and Saturday.”

I said, “Blue, you could have stopped on our way to let us out at the poolroom. You could have brought her home then.”

He grunted and said, “I tried that not long ago. I went into that funky nest of pansies and freaks. When she saw me come in the door, she giggled and ran behind the bar.

“I chased her around the joint for ten minutes. Those bastard faggots and lesbians had a screaming cheering ball. I never did catch her. I felt like a goddamn circus clown who had done his bit in the center ring.”

I said, “Why does she hang around people like that?”

He said, “She claims they're more sincere and understand life and her better than other kinds of people, including me, her own father.
Too bad she isn't sweet and obedient like Pauline was. Come on, I'll show you your room.

I followed him down the red-carpeted hallway. He paused at a doorway on the left. I looked through it at the biggest, shiniest bedroom I'd ever seen.

The massive mahogany dresser and bed had a rich red glow. A large gold-framed print of Botticelli's “Allegory Of Spring” hung on the pearl wall over the carved headboard of the bed. The midnight-blue rug matched the floor-to-ceiling drapes. A fat candle burned inside a crystal jar sitting on a nightstand. The nymphs in the picture seemed alive with movement in the flickering light.

He said, “This is my bedroom.” I was wondering about the candle when he said, “That seven-day candle is the only religion I have. I burn them for good luck. It never fails to keep suckers coming my way.”

We walked down the hallway. We passed another doorway. I got a glimpse of soft pink and white.

Blue said, “That's Midge's room.”

At the end of the hallway, we went into my bedroom. He nipped a wall switch. If I had been a dame I would have kissed him in joy. I stood on the cushiony beige carpet and gazed at the white furniture flecked with antique gold. Gold satin drapes at the windows matched the spread on the wide bed.

Blue opened a door to a gleaming green-tiled bathroom. He said, “My room has a private bath. You and Midge will have to share this one. Well, Folks, how do you like the setup?”

I said, “Blue, I'm in a dream. Don't worry, I'll keep the whole place clean.”

He said, “White Folks, hustlers don't do housework. Besides I have an old dame who comes in to clean and wash and iron. I have a gardener that comes once a week to do the yard. How about a snack?”

I said, “I'm not a bit hungry. I think I'll take a bath and go to bed.”

He said, “You'll find towels in the cabinet. I'll bring you a pair of pajamas. Christ! I wish Midge would come in.”

He went down the hall. I stripped and hung my slack suit in the closet. I went to the bathroom and drew a tub full of steamy water. I lay there in the giant tub, soaking the tiredness and carnival grime from my body.

It was wonderful. I'd never enjoyed a bath so much. And that's the guaranteed truth. I got out of the tub and toweled off.

I washed my socks, shorts and t-shirt in the bathtub and hung them on a towel rack. I scrubbed the tub clean and went into the bedroom.

I slipped into a pair of blue silk pajamas lying across the bed. The sight of the frosty glass of milk and ham sandwich made me suddenly hungry, I sat in a beige leather chair and wolfed down the sandwich. Blue was sure a thoughtful guy.

I remembered my toothbrush in my trouser pocket. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I opened the door to Midge's room. Her furniture was like mine.

I went back to my room and put the light out. Moonlight flooded the room when I pulled the drape cord. I looked out the window into the backyard. Clusters of tulips and roses swayed in the pale blueness.

I pulled back the covers and got into bed. I closed my eyes. I heard the gleeful chirping of crickets. And far away the bubbly song of a night bird echoed through the whispery rustle of trees and flowers.

It was the first time in my life I'd heard the music of a summer night. I fell asleep on the fresh white pillowcase.

I
awoke and felt the pajama silk plastered to my sweaty chest. I thought I'd heard an angry female voice.

Dawn's gray drab brush had blotted out the moon's soft-blue tapestry on the ceiling. For a pounding moment I thought I was back in the concrete swamp on Thirty-ninth Street.

Then I heard Blue's voice, loud and angry. He said, “Goddammit, Midge, I'm no sucker. If you must lie to me about where you've been all night, make up a good one. You know, one that at least a moron would believe. Midge, I'm warning you. You're going to get that fast little ass of yours in a sling.”

She said, contemptuously, “Blue, everybody knows you aren't a sucker. Oh, no! You're a thief, a robber who never gives a poor sucker an even break. You're sick, Blue, like your con pal, Dirty Red. You wouldn't know the truth if it walked up and blew your brains out. You lie for a living. Shit, I bet you're the biggest liar in Chicago.”

Blue shouted, “What the hell do you know? You dumb little broad, you'd starve to death in the gutter if you didn't have me to love you and take care of you. Now shut up and go to bed before I lose my temper.”

She laughed wildly and said, “I heard you say that word. But I
can't believe you really said it! Love! You never loved Mama or me or anything, except Blue and money.

“If I don't shut up, what will you do, Blue? Slap hell out of me and make me stand with my face in a corner like you did Mama.

“I'm not Mama, Blue. You wouldn't put your black paws on me but one time. You'd have to go to sleep sometime. I take an oath on Mama's grave that I wouldn't let you wake up.”

There was a long silence.

Then Blue said, “Midge, you don't realize what you're saying to your father. Those slimy freaks you hang out with are poisoning your mind against me, aren't they, baby?