Only what was the boat? I’d have staked my reputation on them being clean about the killing and mugging. So it had to be that they knew something they wished they didn’t know, and that maybe Jo-Jo knew it, too. Then why had only Jo-Jo run? And what was there about a simple robbery-murder, and even a cop-mugging, that knowing it would worry Olsen and his family so much? It didn’t figure a smalltime heist man would worry them.
It was a good question, and I thought about it all the way across town in the sun. A good question, and I got a good answer a lot faster than I expected.
I told you that Marty was my girl. I had kept her waiting all day. Or maybe it’d be truer to say I’d kept myself waiting. I liked Petey Vitanza, but a man has to think of himself. It was too late for breakfast at Marty’s pad, so I met her at O.Henry’s. Outside, at one of the sidewalk cafe tables.
I needed a drink by then, two drinks, and Marty matched me all the way. She’s not so pretty, Marty, not really, but under the lights, and to me, she’s beautiful.
“That’s what counts,” I said. “To your audience and your man you’re beautiful.”
I got a nice smile. She’s small, and this month she was a red-head, and she’s built. But the real thing is she’s exciting, you know? She’s alive, she never stops moving even sitting there doing nothing. When I’m with her she keeps me busy. That was why I missed Pappas until he was sitting down at the table.
I’ve known Andy Pappas all my life. We’re the same age, we grew up together on the river, we stole together, we learned to like girls together and we graduated high school together. Andy, me, and Joe Harris. That was where it ended. Joe is poor and hardworking. I’m poor and not so hardworking. Andy is rich and no one knows what he works at.
I mean, Andy is a boss. For the record, Andy Pappas is boss of a big stevedoring company on the docks. Off the record, Andy is the boss of something else. Everyone knows this something else is a racket and illegal. Only no one really knows just what Andy’s racket is. He’s got a piece of a lot of dirty pies, is my guess, but the main one is keeping the riverfront peaceful. He gets the ships unloaded — for a price and by force.
“Hello, Patrick,” Pappas said. He’s got a nice voice, low and even. He took lessons everyone says, but I remember he always had a good voice.
“Hello, Andy,” I said. I nodded to Marty that she should leave. Andy grinned.
“Let the lady stay, I’ve seen her work,” Andy Pappas said. “Besides, we’re friends, right, Patrick?”
“You don’t have a friend, Andy,” I said. “You’re the enemy of everyone.”
Pappas nodded. He did not stop smiling. It was an old story with us.
“You don’t soften up, do you, Pat?” Pappas said.
“And you never change,” I said. “This isn’t a social visit.”
I nodded toward the lamppost a few feet away. It was one of those old gas-light lampposts O.Henry’s had put up for atmosphere. Just leaning against it, pretending he was watching the little girl tourists pass, Was Jake Roth. Roth wasn’t watching girls, he was watching me. They say that Andy Pappas never carries a gun. But Jake Roth went to bed with a shoulder holster under his pajama top. Roth is Pappas’s first lieutenant and top killer.
Across the street I could see Max Bangio. Bangio is Pappas’s next best gun after Roth, and the little gunman was trying to read a newspaper in front of the stationery store by spelling out the words in the headline. Actually, Bangio was watching me in the store-front window.
Just up the block toward Sheridan Square, Pappas’s long, black car was parked in front of a Japanese knick-knack shop. The driver sat behind the wheel with his cap down and his arms folded. I didn’t need a ouija board to know that there was a pistol ready beneath those folded arms.
Pappas shrugged. “You said it, Patrick, everyone’s my enemy.”
“That isn’t exactly what I said, but let it pass. What’s on your mind, Andy?”
“Let’s have a drink first, Patrick. You’re my friend if I’m not yours,” Pappas said.
“I don’t drink with you, Andy. Those days went a long time ago,” I said.
I know I go too far with Pappas. There was that glint in his cold eyes. I’ve seen it before, and I push too hard. It’s not brave to refuse to back off from a mad dog, it’s stupid. But with Andy I can’t help it. I know him, and that makes it worse. It’s one thing to hear about Andy Pappas and hate him, and another to really know him and hate him. I feel guilty around him, because in some way I failed and he’s my fault. I have to share the blame.
I can’t back off from Pappas, tread softly, because he is what is wrong with it all. A man like Andy Pappas is where we went off the track. All the men like Andy who believe that all that counts is some advantage, some victory, some success, here and now, no matter how or who gets hurt. The men who will destroy us all just to try to win something even if only King of The Graveyard.
“All right, Pat,” Pappas said at last, “I’ll make it short. Lay off Olsen and his family.”
And there was the answer. Somehow, Andy Pappas was mixed up with this. If I were the Olsens I would be worried, too. I’m not the Olsens, and I knew nothing, and I was still worried as I watched Pappas.
“Why?” I said.
“Olsen works for me,” Pappas said.
“Olsen?” I said, and the question was clear.
“Odd jobs, driving, stuff like that,” Pappas said. “But he gets my protection.”
“Does he need it now, Andy?” I said.
Pappas laughed. “Look, Patrick.
I don’t know everything. I don’t want to know everything. All I know is that Olsen doesn’t want you bothering him or his boys, okay?”
“Did he tell you why I’m bothering him?” I said.
“I didn’t talk to him,” Andy Pappas said. “I got the request through channels. If it was anyone except you, I’d have sent a punk to tell you.”
“His boy’s done a rabbit,” I said.
“So it’s a family matter,” Pappas said. “Since when you work for the cops on a rabbit?”
“I’m not working for the cops,” I said. “I’m working for a nice kid who wants to find his friend. A nice kid who got beaten ninety-percent to death today. You wouldn’t know about that, would you, Andy?”
“I don’t beat ninety percent, Pat,” Pappas said. Pappas stood up. He was smiling, but his eyes were not smiling. “He’s got my protection, Patrick, remember that.”
When Pappas stands up it is a signal. I heard the motor start in the big car up the block. Max Bagnio crossed the street toward us. Jake Roth stepped up to the table. Roth never took his eyes off me. I watched Pappas.
“Olsen must be in real trouble, Andy,” I said.
Jake Roth answered me. The tall, skinny killer leaned half down like a long necked vulture. He stank of sweat.
“Listen, peeper, Mr. Pappas said lay off, forget it, you got that? Mr. Pappas said cool it, he means cool it. Forget you ever heard about Olsen.”
Roth’s black, luminous eyes seemed to float in water. His breath was thick, his breathing fast as he bent close to me. Andy Pappas touched Roth lightly. The skinny gunman jerked upright like a puppet on a string.
“I told him, Jake, that’s enough,” Andy Pappas said. “You can tell Olsen that Kelly got the word.”
Roth nodded. Max Bagnio said nothing. The black car slid up to the curb. Andy Pappas touched his hat to Marty, and climbed into the back of his car. Roth climbed in beside him, and Max Bagnio went around to get in beside the driver. The car eased away into the traffic and turned uptown on Sixth Avenue. I didn’t breathe until it was gone. Then I ordered a double for both of us. Marty was still staring after Pappas.