Read Online The Peddler by Richard S Prather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard S Prather
Ads: Link
a chair. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the man. Still smiling strangely Alterie asked, “Who’d be taking over, Romero? Couldn’t be you, could it?”
“Could and is. I don’t figure you’ll give me no trouble.”
Frank shrugged and leaned his head back against the cushion behind him. “Not likely, is it?” He laughed. “I might work up nerve enough to kill you one of these days, but otherwise I won’t give you no trouble.” He laughed again.
Tony walked across the room and slapped the other man twice across the face. “That tongue of yours got you in a hospital sack once already. It could happen again.”
Alterie didn’t say anything. He pressed his palms together and squeezed his fingers around them. He looked at Tony, then looked away.
Tony said, “You got it straight, Alterie? I just had a talk with Angelo, in case you might be wondering a little. You’re out. And take it from me, I don’t even want to see you around. Might be a good idea for you to blow Frisco.”
Alterie didn’t answer, closed his eyes. Tony turned and went out. Well, that was that, he thought. By God, he was in now. For no good reason he didn’t feel as swell about it as he’d expected to. The hell with it, it was that dumb talk with Angelo, and the screwy way Alterie had acted. Well, to hell with Alterie—and Angeto. To hell with them all. He’d got in, got the start he’d been after. It hadn’t been too tough. Sharkey, though, was going to be tougher. You couldn’t just walk in and slap a guy like him around. Yeah, he’d have to spend a lot of time on the Shark.
chapter six
The next twelve months of Tony Romero’s life went by faster than any others he had known. At first he worked harder and longer than he ever had, then the work became routine and easier. He learned that there was more to the job than just going around picking up the cash every night. He was responsible for everything in his district; any squabble that had to be solved, any trouble that came up, any pressure for extra payoffs from the beat cops or an occasional vice-squad cop, were strictly Tony Romero’s responsibility.
He was making fifteen-hundred dollars a month and he had a new wardrobe, a new convertible Buick sedan, and he was living in a $250 a month flat in an apartment hotel three blocks from Sharkey’s place. Maria Casino wasn’t working now; she was living with Tony.
After a year Tony knew the business as well as any of the others. He knew that he’d be warned in advance of any raids—and another part of his job was to see that the houses were “respectable” when the raids came off. By now he knew all about the one-to-one-hundred chance he had of ever doing time for breaking the law, because he was now part of the world of professional crime, and the fix was in. He knew about bonds and habeas corpus, bribed and intimidated witnesses, bribed police and grafting politicians; he knew that just one bribed juryman could cause a hung jury, and that professional perjurers were cheap. He knew the .sickening story of “Justice,” particularly in some local courts, and he was already friendly with a “right” judge, who laughed with him about the 12 ignorant “peers” who generally sat in judgment in the jury box. He knew about copping pleas; probation; parole; the laughable “life” sentences even for such crimes as murder; delays and continuances and appeals and reversals; and the hundred other weapons in the hands of the professional criminal.
He still occasionally saw Leo, too, although Leo wasn’t quite as friendly as he’d once been. And now Tony figured it was time to start working on Sharkey.
There’d never be a better chance; Sharkey didn’t interfere with the three men under him, but at the same time he never did anything to help them. He just sat in his luxurious apartment, transmitting orders from Angelo, and drank his bonded whiskey. He was drinking too much of that whiskey, and Tony heard continuing
“Could and is. I don’t figure you’ll give me no trouble.”
Frank shrugged and leaned his head back against the cushion behind him. “Not likely, is it?” He laughed. “I might work up nerve enough to kill you one of these days, but otherwise I won’t give you no trouble.” He laughed again.
Tony walked across the room and slapped the other man twice across the face. “That tongue of yours got you in a hospital sack once already. It could happen again.”
Alterie didn’t say anything. He pressed his palms together and squeezed his fingers around them. He looked at Tony, then looked away.
Tony said, “You got it straight, Alterie? I just had a talk with Angelo, in case you might be wondering a little. You’re out. And take it from me, I don’t even want to see you around. Might be a good idea for you to blow Frisco.”
Alterie didn’t answer, closed his eyes. Tony turned and went out. Well, that was that, he thought. By God, he was in now. For no good reason he didn’t feel as swell about it as he’d expected to. The hell with it, it was that dumb talk with Angelo, and the screwy way Alterie had acted. Well, to hell with Alterie—and Angeto. To hell with them all. He’d got in, got the start he’d been after. It hadn’t been too tough. Sharkey, though, was going to be tougher. You couldn’t just walk in and slap a guy like him around. Yeah, he’d have to spend a lot of time on the Shark.
chapter six
The next twelve months of Tony Romero’s life went by faster than any others he had known. At first he worked harder and longer than he ever had, then the work became routine and easier. He learned that there was more to the job than just going around picking up the cash every night. He was responsible for everything in his district; any squabble that had to be solved, any trouble that came up, any pressure for extra payoffs from the beat cops or an occasional vice-squad cop, were strictly Tony Romero’s responsibility.
He was making fifteen-hundred dollars a month and he had a new wardrobe, a new convertible Buick sedan, and he was living in a $250 a month flat in an apartment hotel three blocks from Sharkey’s place. Maria Casino wasn’t working now; she was living with Tony.
After a year Tony knew the business as well as any of the others. He knew that he’d be warned in advance of any raids—and another part of his job was to see that the houses were “respectable” when the raids came off. By now he knew all about the one-to-one-hundred chance he had of ever doing time for breaking the law, because he was now part of the world of professional crime, and the fix was in. He knew about bonds and habeas corpus, bribed and intimidated witnesses, bribed police and grafting politicians; he knew that just one bribed juryman could cause a hung jury, and that professional perjurers were cheap. He knew the .sickening story of “Justice,” particularly in some local courts, and he was already friendly with a “right” judge, who laughed with him about the 12 ignorant “peers” who generally sat in judgment in the jury box. He knew about copping pleas; probation; parole; the laughable “life” sentences even for such crimes as murder; delays and continuances and appeals and reversals; and the hundred other weapons in the hands of the professional criminal.
He still occasionally saw Leo, too, although Leo wasn’t quite as friendly as he’d once been. And now Tony figured it was time to start working on Sharkey.
There’d never be a better chance; Sharkey didn’t interfere with the three men under him, but at the same time he never did anything to help them. He just sat in his luxurious apartment, transmitting orders from Angelo, and drank his bonded whiskey. He was drinking too much of that whiskey, and Tony heard continuing
Similar Books
