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Authors: Richard S Prather
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almost yellow.
He said, “You’re Tony Romero?” The guy had a silky voice, soft and quiet.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down, Tony.”
Tony sat down. “I’m Angelo,” the man said. He opened a desk drawer and took out a cigar, clipped off the end and stuck the cigar in his mouth. Angelo’s mouth was even too small for that Utde face, Tony thought. Just a small, puckered ring, like rubbery lips squeezing together all the time. There was hardly room for the big black cigar. Angelo didn’t look much Uke the Top, sitting there with that big cigar drooping out of his mouth.
Tony sat without speaking while Angelo got his cigar going and puffed on it a couple times, looking at it. Tony leaned back and crossed his legs, then Angelo said abruptly, “You’re taking over Frank Alterie’s district. I know everything you’ve done the last four months; I wouldn’t be surprised if I know half the things you’ve thought. You’ll be working for me.” He looked away from his cigar for the first time and fixed the odd, yellowish eyes on Tony. “That means you never question anything I tell you, or anything Mr. Sharkey tells you for me. Understood?”
Tony hesitated only a moment but Angelo said sharply, “Well?”
“Yes, sir. That’s understood.”
“Be sure it is. If it isn’t, you won’t work for me.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. What you say goes. All the way.”
Angelo puffed a couple times on his cigar. He said, “You’re very fortunate, you know. You’re young to be starting with me—and in Alterie’s district. You were bom there, weren’t you, Tony?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“You’re a liar. Never lie to me again about anything. How old are you, Tony?”
“I’m twenty.”
“You might do well, if you’re a better man than Alterie. Are you?”
“Why, yes, sir.”
“Because you beat him up, ruined his face? Because you’re stronger than he is? Does that make you a better man than he is?”
Tony swallowed. This Angelo made him uncomfortable. He talked like a loony. Tony wondered if the guy had all his marbles.
Angelo went on without pausing, speaking softly, looking at the tip of the cigar in his small hand. “Frank Alterie forgot some of the things I told him. He forgot to conduct himself exactly as I wished. You won’t do that. You’ll do exactly what I wish. Right?”
“Why … sure. Yes, sir.”
“I tell you to jump out the window, you jump. Right?”
Tony licked his lips. What was the bastard trying to do? The bastard was like one of them hypnotists. He got you saying yes, yes, yes, till you couldn’t stop, hardly. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Angelo puffed on his cigar. “Fine, Tony. Just don’t forget. All right, that’s all. You can go. Anything you want to askf”
“Well … Alterie know I’m taking over?”
“No.”
“You want me to start tonight?”
“Yes.”
Tony stood up. “All right. And thanks very much, Mr, Angelo, for the chance.”
Frank Alterie lived in the Gordon Hotel on Stockton. Tony knocked and waited as footsteps came closer, then the door was opened and Alterie stood facing him, three feet away. When he saw Tony, he frowned. That was all; he didn’t speak or move. Tony walked inside, brushing past Alterie and waited till Frank shut the door and turned around.
The guy really looked sad, Tony thought. He was thinner and his skin had a pale, sickly tint. He looked almost ten years older than he had three months ago.
Alterie leaned back against the door, still not speaking, his eyes hard and full of hate, fixed on Tony. He was wearing slacks and a white shirt, and Tony could see he wasn’t wearing a gun.
Finally he spoke. “Well, what you want, Romero?”
“You don’t need to work tonight, Alterie. Take a vacation. From now on.”
Alterie smiled slightly, lip curling alongside the red scar. “That’s it, huh?”
“That’s it. You’re washed up.”
Alterie walked away from the door and slumped in
He said, “You’re Tony Romero?” The guy had a silky voice, soft and quiet.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down, Tony.”
Tony sat down. “I’m Angelo,” the man said. He opened a desk drawer and took out a cigar, clipped off the end and stuck the cigar in his mouth. Angelo’s mouth was even too small for that Utde face, Tony thought. Just a small, puckered ring, like rubbery lips squeezing together all the time. There was hardly room for the big black cigar. Angelo didn’t look much Uke the Top, sitting there with that big cigar drooping out of his mouth.
Tony sat without speaking while Angelo got his cigar going and puffed on it a couple times, looking at it. Tony leaned back and crossed his legs, then Angelo said abruptly, “You’re taking over Frank Alterie’s district. I know everything you’ve done the last four months; I wouldn’t be surprised if I know half the things you’ve thought. You’ll be working for me.” He looked away from his cigar for the first time and fixed the odd, yellowish eyes on Tony. “That means you never question anything I tell you, or anything Mr. Sharkey tells you for me. Understood?”
Tony hesitated only a moment but Angelo said sharply, “Well?”
“Yes, sir. That’s understood.”
“Be sure it is. If it isn’t, you won’t work for me.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. What you say goes. All the way.”
Angelo puffed a couple times on his cigar. He said, “You’re very fortunate, you know. You’re young to be starting with me—and in Alterie’s district. You were bom there, weren’t you, Tony?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“You’re a liar. Never lie to me again about anything. How old are you, Tony?”
“I’m twenty.”
“You might do well, if you’re a better man than Alterie. Are you?”
“Why, yes, sir.”
“Because you beat him up, ruined his face? Because you’re stronger than he is? Does that make you a better man than he is?”
Tony swallowed. This Angelo made him uncomfortable. He talked like a loony. Tony wondered if the guy had all his marbles.
Angelo went on without pausing, speaking softly, looking at the tip of the cigar in his small hand. “Frank Alterie forgot some of the things I told him. He forgot to conduct himself exactly as I wished. You won’t do that. You’ll do exactly what I wish. Right?”
“Why … sure. Yes, sir.”
“I tell you to jump out the window, you jump. Right?”
Tony licked his lips. What was the bastard trying to do? The bastard was like one of them hypnotists. He got you saying yes, yes, yes, till you couldn’t stop, hardly. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Angelo puffed on his cigar. “Fine, Tony. Just don’t forget. All right, that’s all. You can go. Anything you want to askf”
“Well … Alterie know I’m taking over?”
“No.”
“You want me to start tonight?”
“Yes.”
Tony stood up. “All right. And thanks very much, Mr, Angelo, for the chance.”
Frank Alterie lived in the Gordon Hotel on Stockton. Tony knocked and waited as footsteps came closer, then the door was opened and Alterie stood facing him, three feet away. When he saw Tony, he frowned. That was all; he didn’t speak or move. Tony walked inside, brushing past Alterie and waited till Frank shut the door and turned around.
The guy really looked sad, Tony thought. He was thinner and his skin had a pale, sickly tint. He looked almost ten years older than he had three months ago.
Alterie leaned back against the door, still not speaking, his eyes hard and full of hate, fixed on Tony. He was wearing slacks and a white shirt, and Tony could see he wasn’t wearing a gun.
Finally he spoke. “Well, what you want, Romero?”
“You don’t need to work tonight, Alterie. Take a vacation. From now on.”
Alterie smiled slightly, lip curling alongside the red scar. “That’s it, huh?”
“That’s it. You’re washed up.”
Alterie walked away from the door and slumped in
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