He had first met Abe when he was living on Ivar Street, in a hotel called the Chateau Mirabella. Another name for Ivar Street was “Lysol Alley,” and the Chateau was mainly inhabited by hustlers, their managers, trainers and advance agents.
In the morning its halls reeked of antiseptic. Tod didn’t like this odor. Moreover, the rent was high because it included police protection, a service for which he had no need. He wanted to move, but inertia and the fact that he didn’t know where to go kept him in the Chateau until he met Abe. The meeting was accidental.
He was on the way to his room late one night when he saw what he supposed was a pile of soiled laundry lying in front of the door across the hall from his own. Just as he was passing it, the bundle moved and made a peculiar noise. He struck a match, thinking it might be a dog wrapped in a blanket. When the light flared up, he saw it was a tiny man. The match went out and he hastily lit another. It was a male dwarf rolled up in a woman’s flannel bathrobe. The round thing at the end was his slightly hydrocephalic head. A slow, choked snore bubbled from it. The hall was cold and draughty. Tod decided to wake the man and stirred him with his toe. He groaned and opened his eyes. “You oughtn’t to sleep there.”
“The hell you say,” said the dwarf, closing his eyes again. “You’ll catch cold.”
This friendly observation angered the little man still more.
“I want my clothes!” he bellowed.
The bottom of the door next to which he was lying filled with light. Tod decided to take a chance and knock. A few seconds later a woman opened it part way. “What the hell do you want?” she demanded. “There’s a friend of yours out here who…” Neither of them let him finish. “So what!” she barked, slamming the door.
“Give me my clothes, you bitch!” roared the dwarf. She opened the door again and began to hurl things into the ball. A jacket and trousers, a shirt, socks, shoes and underwear, a tie and hat followed each other through the air in rapid succession. With each article went a special curse.
Tod whistled with amazement.
“Some gal!”
“You bet,” said the dwarf. “A lollapalooza-all slut and a yard wide.” He laughed at his own joke, using a high-pitched cackle more dwarflike than anything that had come from him so far, then struggled to his feet and arranged the voluminous robe so that he could walk without tripping. Tod helped him gather his scattered clothing.
“Say, mister,” he asked, “could I dress in your place?” Tod let him into his bathroom. While waiting for him to reappear, he couldn’t help imagining what had happened in the woman’s apartment. He began to feel sorry for having interfered. But when the dwarf came out wearing his hat, Tod felt better.
The little man’s hat fixed almost everything. That year Tyrolean hats were being worn a great deal along Hollywood Boulevard and the dwarf’s was a fine specimen. It was the proper magic green color and had a high, conical crown. There should have been a brass buckle on the front, but otherwise it was quite perfect.
The rest of his outfit didn’t go well with the hat. Instead of shoes with long points and a leather apron, he wore a blue, double-breasted suit and a black shift with a yellow tie. Instead of a crooked thorn stick, he carried a rolled copy of the Daily Running Horse. “That’s what I get for fooling with four-bit broads,” he said by way of greeting.
Tod nodded and tried to concentrate on the green hat. His ready acquiescence seemed to irritate the little man.
“No quiff can give Abe Kusich the fingeroo and get away with it,” he said bitterly. “Not when I can get her leg broke for twenty bucks and I got twenty.”
He took out a thick billfold and shook it at Tod.
“So she thinks she can give me the fingeroo, hah? Well, let me tell…”
Tod broke in hastily.
“You’re right, Mr. Kusich.”
The dwarf came over to where Tod was sitting and for a moment Tod thought he was going to climb into his lap, but he only asked his name and shook hands. The little man had a powerful grip.
“Let me tell you something, Hackett, if you hadn’t come along, I’da broke in the door. That dame thinks she can give me the fingeroo, but she’s got another thinkola coming. But thanks anyway.”
“Forget it”
“I don’t forget nothing. I remember. I remember those who do me dirt and those who do me favors.”
He wrinkled his brow and was silent for a moment. “Listen,” he finally said, “seeing as you helped me, I got to return it. I don’t want anybody going around saying Abe Kusich owes him anything. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a good one for the fifth at Caliente. You put a fiver on its nose and it’ll get you twenty smackeroos. What I’m telling you is strictly correct.”
Tod didn’t know how to answer and his hesitation offended the little man.
“Would I give you a bum steer?” he demanded, scowling. “Would I?”
Tod walked toward the door to get rid of him.
“No,” he said.
“Then why won’t you bet, hah?”
“What’s the name of the horse?” Tod asked, hoping to calm him. The dwarf had followed him to the door, pulling the bathrobe after him by one sleeve. Hat and all, he came to a foot below Tod’s belt. “Tragopan. He’s a certain, sure winner. I know the guy who owns him and he gave me the office.”
“Is he a Greek?” Tod asked.
He was being pleasant in order to hide the attempt he was making to maneuver the dwarf through the door. “Yeh, he’s a Greek. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” said Tod with finality.
“Keep your drawers on,” ordered the dwarf, “all I want to know is how you know he’s a Greek if you don’t know him?”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he clenched his fists.
Tod smiled to placate him.
“I just guessed it.”
“You did?”
The dwarf hunched his shoulders as though he were going to pull a gun or throw a punch. Tod backed off and tried to explain. “I guessed he was a Greek because Tragopan is a Greek word that means pheasant.”
The dwarf was far from satisfied.
“How do you know what it means? You ain’t a Greek?”
“No, but I know a few Greek words.”
“So you’re a wise guy, hah, a know-it-all.”
He took a short step forward, moving on his toes, an Tod got set to block a punch.
“A college man, hah? Well, let me tell…”
His foot caught in the wrapper and he fell forward on his hands. He forgot Tod and cursed the bathrobe, then got started on the woman again. “So she thinks she can give me the fingeroo.”
He kept poking himself in the chest with his thumbs. “Who gave her forty bucks for an abortion? Who? And another ten to go to the country for a rest that time. To a ranch I sent her. And who got her fiddle out of hock that time in Santa Monica? Who?” “That’s right,” Tod said, getting ready to give him a quick shove through the door.
But he didn’t have to shove him. The little man suddenly darted out of the room and ran down the hall, dragging the bathrobe after him. A few days later, Tod went into a stationary store on Vine Street to buy a magazine. While he was looking through the rack, he felt a tug at the bottom of his jacket. It was Abe Kusich, the dwarf, again. “How’s things?” he demanded.
Tod was surprised to find that he was just as truculentas as he had he had been the other night. Later, when he got to know him better, he discovered that Abe’s pugnacity was often a joke. When he used it on his friends, they played with him like one does with a growling puppy, staving off his mad rushes and then baiting him to rush again. “Fair enough,” Tod said, “but I think I’ll move.”