Read Online Appointment in Samarra by John O'Hara - Free Book Online Page B

most important things you can have. He had about ten dollars, his earnings in prison, but that was not enough for a big night. He wanted twenty. So he got in a game of pool, to get his eye and his stroke back, and surprised himself by being pretty good. That gave him confidence, and he asked if he could take a cue in a money game. He lost all his money in the game and Joe Steinmetz, the crippled man who owned the place, would not stake him. Steinmetz would give him a job, he said, but no money to shoot pool with. So Al walked out of the place, wishing he had insulted Joe. Outside the poolroom, which was the next building to the Apollo hotel and restaurant, Al saw Ed Charney, sitting in his Cadillac sedan. Ed was smoking a cigar, and seemed to be waiting for someone. Al waved his hand and said, “Hyuh, Ed.” All the poolroom gang spoke to Ed, although Ed did not always answer. Now he beckoned to Al. Al made the distance to the car in three jumps.
    “Hello, Ed,” he said.
    “When’d you get out? Somebody spring you?” said Ed. He took his cigar out of his mouth and smiled benevolently at Al. Al was surprised and pleased that Ed Charney should know so much about him.
    “No, I did my time,” he said. “I got out today.” He leaned with one arm on the rear door of the sedan. “I didn’t know you knew me.”
    “I make it my business to know a
lot
of people,” said Ed. “How’d you like to make a sawbuck?”
    “Who do you want knocked off?” said Al.
    Ed glared and put the cigar back in his teeth, but then took it out again. “Don’t talk tough, kid. That don’t get you any place. That don’t get you any place except up in that jail house or else—” he snapped his fingers. “Nobody has to knock anybody off, and the sooner you get them ideas out of your head the better off you are.”
    “You’re right, Ed,” said Al.
    “I know I’m right. I make it my business to be right. Now if you want to make that sawbuck all I want you to do—can you drive a car?”
    “Yeah. What kind? This one?”
    “This one,” said Ed. “Take it out to the Gibbsville Motors or whatever you call it. English’s garage. Tell them I sent you out to have it washed and wait till they’re done with it and then bring it back here.” He reached in his pocket and took a ten-dollar bill from a roll. “Here.”
    “A sawbuck for that? Do you want me to pay for washin’ it?”
    “No. Charge it. I give you the sawbuck because you just got outa the can. Keep your nose clean.” Ed Charney got out of the car. “Keys in the car,” he said. He walked toward the Apollo, but turned after a few steps. “Say,” he said. “Who the hell ever told you you was a prizefighter?”
    Al laughed. There was a guy for you: Ed Charney, the big shot from here to Reading and here to Wilkes-Barre. Maybe the whole State. What a guy! Democratic. Gave a guy ten bucks for doing nothing at all, nothing at all. Knew all about you. Made it his business to know all about you. That night AlGrecco did not get quite so drunk as he had planned; he waited until the next night, when he had thirty dollars from a crap game.
That
night he got good and drunk, and was thrown out of a house for beating up one of the girls. The day after that he took a job with Joe Steinmetz.
    For three years he worked for Joe Steinmetz, more or less regularly. No one could beat him shooting straight pool, and he had great skill and luck in Nine Ball, Ouch, Harrigan, One Ball in the side and other gambling pool games. He saw Ed Charney a couple of times a week, and Ed called him Al. Ed seldom played pool, because there were only six tables in the place, and though he could have had any table by asking for it or even hinting that he wanted to play, he did not take advantage of his power. When he played he played with Snake Eyes O’Neill, the wisecracking, happy-go-lucky guy from Jersey City, who was always with Ed and, everybody said, was Ed’s bodyguard. Snake Eyes, or Snake, as Ed