Papa waved his hand excitedly. “I don’t want to hear about it,” he said. “We’ll see what you do.”
“You’ll never see me close the door on my sons,” Sam snapped.
Papa stared at him for a moment, his face turning very white. Then he walked silently out of the room.
I looked at Sam. His face was still flushed. “What did you do that for?” I asked. “You’re only wasting your breath.”
Sam made a gesture of disgust. “I was gettin’ tired of listening to the old man. He’s so right about everything. I was getting tired of his cracks about you and what he expected from you and the disappointment you were to him.”
“So what’re you gettin’ sore about?” I asked. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you. It’s me he’s talkin’ about.”
“He knows I wanted you to be a fighter,” Sam said, “an’ it’s his way of gettin’ even with me because you listened to me instead of him. Some day I’m gonna make him realize that he’s been wrong about a lot of things.”
I stared at Sam, then turned away and lit a cigarette. “You’ll never do that, Sam,” I said to him over my shoulder. “You’ll never get him to change his mind about anything. Take my word for it. I ought to know. After all, he’s my father.”
Chapter Seven
I LOOKED at my watch as I walked through the small repair room. The mechanic was adjusting one of the cigarette machines. He grinned at me.
“I’ll have this working in a couple of hours, Mr. Fisher.”
“Take your time,” I told him. “There’s no use in sending it out again.”
An understanding look crossed the man’s face. “Nothing coming in?”
I shook my head. “Not a cigarette in a carload.” I continued on through the room.
And that was putting it mildly. For almost six months now cigarettes had been harder to get than money, and crowds lined up wherever the word got out that there were cigarettes to be had. If I hadn’t been smart and guessed something like this was coming, I’d have been out of business by now. But I had guessed right and with the help of a few men who were not averse to making an extra buck I had been able to stock up on them. The way I figured it, I couldn’t lose, no matter what happened. I could always push the butts out through the machines. But the shortage had come and now I was one of the few guys in the business with stock. It was my turn to make a buck.
I stuck my head in the small room at the back of the shop that served as the office. “Did Sam Gordon call back yet?” I asked the girl sitting there.
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Fisher.”
“Well, call me when he does,” I said, and walked back into the shop. Sam would call back, I knew he would. He had to whether he wanted to or not.
I felt satisfied with myself. If this shortage lasted for a little while longer I would make a bundle of dough. Then I could really set myself up. I ought to be able to raise enough money out of this operation to grab all the best locations in the city.
I went back to the repair room and watched the mechanic. After a few minutes he walked across to me. “It’s okay now, Mr. Fisher,” he said.
“All right, Gus. If yuh got nothin’ else to do, you knock off for the day.”
“Thanks, Mr. Fisher.” The man grinned at me gratefully. He turned to the machine. “Too bad we can’t get enough cigarettes to keep it working, though,” he said.
“Yeah.” I smiled back at him. “It’s too bad. But maybe we’re worried over nothin’. The papers say there’s no cigarette shortage.”
The man nodded. “I read that,” he answered vehemently. “It’s them lousy hoarders. They’re keepin’ honest men like us from makin’ a livin’.”
I agreed with him. He was absolutely right. I watched him climb out of his jumper, wondering what he’d say if he knew about the cigarettes I had socked away. He’d probably holler copper. He was that kind of an honest shnook. I felt glad I had enough brains to store them in private warehouses away from the shop. That way nobody knew what I had.
I heard the girl’s voice. “Mr. Gordon returning your call.”
“I’m on my way.” I dropped the paper on the bench and hurried back to the office. I picked up the phone. The girl was straightening some papers on her desk, not paying any attention to me.
“Hello, Sam,” I said into the telephone.
“What’s the black market on butts today, Danny?” he asked.
I grinned into the phone. “Easy, Sam, easy. You know how sensitive I am. You’re hurting my feelings.”
“Nothin’ can hurt your feelings,” Sam snapped sharply, “excep’ losin’ a buck!”
“Is that a way for my only brother-in-law to talk?” I kidded him. “Specially when I’m tryin’ to do him a favour?”
“Nuts! I know you,” Sam replied in a friendly voice. “What are you gettin’ for ’em today?”
“It all depends,” I said evasively. “How much do you need?”
“Five thousand cartons,” Sam answered.
I whistled. “That’s a lot of smoke,” I said. “I think you can dig it for three and a half per.”
“Three and a half dollars a carton?” Sam’s voice almost split the receiver.
“What are yuh bitchin’ about?” I asked easily. “Your girls get a half a buck a throw or better.” I knew what I was talking about. I hadn’t worked those years for him for nothing. Those pretty little half-dressed babes walking around in night clubs with a cigarette tray sticking out in front of them knew how to milk the suckers for a buck.
“Three and a quarter,” Sam bargained. “Gimme a break. After all, if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be in that racket.”
“Three and a half,” I insisted. “I think the world of you, Sam, and I still owe yuh six grand, but a cuter is cuter.” That was true. I hadn’t repaid Sam yet because all the dough that came through I was sinking in location set-ups.
“Danny,” Sam pleaded.
“Where do you want ’em shipped?” I asked, ignoring the sound in his voice. I knew he could afford the price. Sam was making dough as he’d never made it before.
There was a moment’s silence; then his voice came wearily through the phone. “The usual place.”
“C.O.D.”
“Yeah,” Sam answered without enthusiasm. “And I hope the O.A.P. gets yuh. Goodbye.”
I put the phone down, smiling. That was a fast ten grand. They only cost me a buck and a half a carton. I reached into my desk and took out my little book. I studied it carefully. I had made a list of all the locations I wanted to clinch. This dough would come in handy. I was almost all through the book now. Soon I could start making arrangements to get in my machine orders.
I looked up at the calendar. It was near the end of May. A few more days and I would be twenty-seven years old. Time was running away from me; I was getting old.
I came into the apartment smiling. Nellie was bending over the stove, peering into a pot. She turned her face toward me, without straightening up, and I kissed her cheek.
“What’s for dinner, baby?” I asked gaily.
“Pot roast,” she answered, “with stewed white onions.”
I put my head over her shoulder and sniffed at the odours coming up from the pot. “Man, that smells good!” I grinned. “How’d yuh manage it?”
“It’s so close to the end of the month that the butcher took some of next month’s points,” she explained.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said in an admiring voice. “Work out at that stinkin’ plant all day, then come home an’ cook a meal like that.”
“So many compliments!” she kidded me. “You must be looking for something.”
I shook my head. “Uh-uh. I mean it. We don’t need the dough. Why don’t you quit?”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, half-seriously, “but the boys are depending on us. Now more than ever.”
“And I’m depending on you,” I said quickly. “The boys aren’t. How’ll I manage if you wear
yourself out?”
“Don’t be silly, Danny,” she said.
“I’m not being silly. I just love pot roast with stewed little white onions.”
She pushed me toward the bathroom. “Go in and wash,” she said, laughing happily. “Supper’s almost ready.”
I went toward the bathroom smiling. It was good to see her so happy. It had been a long time since I had seen her looking as content as that.
“Yuh want some help with the dishes?” I asked, without looking up from the evening paper.
“You pick the right time to ask,” she answered dryly. “I’m all through already.”
I grunted and settled back in the easy chair and turned to the sports pages.
She came into the parlour and sank on the couch opposite me. “How’d it go today?” she asked in a tired voice.
I couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of my voice. “I hooked Sam for five thousand cartons. That’s a clean ten grand.”
A worried look appeared on her face. “Danny,” she said quietly, “I’m scared. What if they catch you?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Stop worryin’. They ain’t gonna.”
“But, Danny,” she protested, “I saw in the paper that——”
“The papers are full of nonsense,” I interrupted her. “They’re just fishing. Besides, what can they do to me? It ain’t against the law to sell cigarettes.”
The worried look remained on her face. “The money isn’t worth it,” she said soberly. “Nothing’s worth it. It’s getting so I can’t sleep nights any more.”
I dropped the paper and looked at her. “You’d like it better if I was like the rest of the shnooks? We had enough of that, remember? You liked being without enough dough to eat? Not me. I’ve had enough of it.”
Her eyes met mine levelly. “I don’t care about that,” she said quietly. “All I want is for you to stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t worry about me. Nellie,” I said confidently, picking up the paper again. “I’ll be okay. Before this is over, baby, you’ll be wearin’ minks and diamonds.”
“I can live without them,” she said, her eyes still troubled. “All I want is for you to be around.” She drew a deep breath and I could see her hands clench into tight little fists. “After all, I wouldn’t like having to tell Junior that his father is in jail.”
The paper slipped out of my fingers to the floor. “What did you say?” I asked incredulously.
She smiled at me calmly, with the secret pride of a woman who carries a child under her heart lurking in her eyes. “You heard me,” she said matter-of-factly. “We’re going to have a baby.”
I was out of my chair in a second, standing excitedly over her. “W-why didn’t yuh say something?” I sputtered.
Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement. “I wanted to make sure first,” she answered.
I dropped to my knees beside her. “You been to the doctor already?” I asked, taking her hand.
She nodded. “This morning, on the way to work.”
I pulled her toward me gently and kissed her cheek. “At least you could have called me up and told me.”
“Don’t be silly.” She laughed. “You wouldn’t have been able to work.”
“An’ I been sittin’ here like a damn’ fool lettin’ you knock yourself out,” I reproached myself. I looked at her. “When are we expectin’?”
“In about seven months,” she replied. “Around the end of November.”
I sank on the couch beside her. I felt good. I had been right about many things. Somehow I had known that as soon as Nellie felt secure we would have another child. I sighed contentedly.
“Happy, Danny?” she asked.
I nodded my head, remembering the last time we had been through this. Things were different now. It was a lot better this way. “Now we can get out of here,” I said.
“What for?” she asked. “This place is all right.”
“This ain’t the right neighbourhood to bring up a kid if you can afford somethin’ better,” I said confidently. “Let’s find a place where there’s some air and sunshine.”
She leaned back on the couch. “A place like that is so expensive, Danny,” she protested mildly. “You know they’re hard to get, and you have to pay under the table for any kind of an apartment now.”
“Who said anything about an apartment?” I asked. “I want to buy a house!”
“A house!” It was her turn to be surprised. “That’s out altogether. Too much money. I’d rather make do here and hold on to the money.”
“To hell with that!” I said definitely. “What am I makin’ the dough for, if not for you—and the kid?”
Chapter Eight
THE steaming August sun straddled my neck and shoulders, squeezing the last drop of perspiration out of me as I got into the car and switched on the ignition. I pressed down on the starter. The engine sputtered and gasped. I pulled the choke and pressed the starter again. The engine coughed and began to turn over slowly; then it sputtered and died.
I looked at the dashboard. The ammeter needle was flickering over on “discharge.” I stepped on the starter again. No use; the battery had gone. Resignedly I turned off the ignition and got out of the car. I stood staring at the automobile as if it had betrayed me. I cursed silently. I had promised Nellie I would be home early too.
I checked my watch. Four-thirty. By the time I could get the battery recharged or replaced I’d have lost an hour and Nellie would be mad as hell. I locked the car and started for the subway. The nearest station was six blocks away and I was sweating by the time I reached it. I dropped my nickel into the turnstile and went down to the platform. As soon as I reached the platform I was thirsty, I looked for a newsstand. Some of them sold cold Cokes. One would go real good the way I felt now. There was a stand down at the far end of the platform, and I covered almost half the distance to it before I noticed it was closed. I stopped, disgusted. Nothing had gone right this afternoon. First the car conked out on me, now I couldn’t even get a drink. The thirst came back stronger than ever, renewed by frustration.
A train roared into the station and I boarded it, idly glancing at my fellow passengers. Their faces gleamed eerily at me in the yellow light, shining with sweat from the damp heat. After a while I began to get bored. I wished I had thought to buy a newspaper. All the faces were the same in the subway, dull and tired and blank. They were all probably as hot and thirsty as I, and equally uncomfortable.
I began to read the signs strung out on the side of the train just over my head. The first one to catch my eye was a Coca-Cola ad. There was the usual picture of the usual pretty girl smiling. She looked fresh and cool, and behind her was the usual pale blue-green cake of ice. In her hand she held a bottle of Coca-Cola, and beneath it were the usual words: “THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES.” My mouth watered.
The train had stopped again and I looked out of the window. A man was dropping a coin into a chewing-gum machine. His face was red and flushed with the heat and I could hear the coin tinkling into the box as the man pulled the handle.
The doors began to close and I looked up at the Coke sign again. To hell with the gum machines. I thought wearily; what they could use on the subway was a few of my cold-drink squirters. They would really do a business. Then it hit me. I remembered something a girl had said once when I worked at a soda fountain. “They ought to have places on the subway where you can get a Coke if you’re thirsty,” she had said.
I stared up at the sign. Talk about shnooks, I could take the prize! It had been here under my nose all the time and I hadn’t seen it! The best location in the world: the New York subways. All I had to do was make a deal with the city and I was on Easy Street. I wouldn’t have to do another lick of work all my life.
The people in the train all looked hot and thirsty. In my mind’s eye I could picture them dropping nickels into my Coke dispensers. And it wasn’t only cold drinks; in the winter I could serve them hot coffee.
I began to feel e
xcited. I couldn’t afford to fall asleep over this thing. This was the baby I had been looking for, the location to beat all locations. I was glad my car had stalled. It took something like that to wake a guy up. If you really wanted to grab a buck you had to get down where the people were. Where they were was where the dough was. Woolworth had the right idea: grab the nickels and dimes. If you could do that, you were set. And the nickels and dimes on the subways added up to more dough than there was in all the department stores on Fifth Avenue.
I pressed the buzzer impatiently. I looked at Nellie standing in the dull white glow of the hall light. I pressed the buzzer again and smiled at her. I liked the way she looked. Her slightly swollen frame made her look even more attractive.
“I still don’t see why you had to come running up here to see Sam,” she said in an annoyed voice. “You could have done it tomorrow.”
I looked at her understandingly. It was hot and she was uncomfortable. “Maybe I could,” I answered quickly, “but if I got the idea, it’s better’n even money that somebody else got it too. An’ this can’t keep, we gotta——” I stopped talking as the door opened.
Mimi was standing there. A look of surprise crossed her face as she saw us. “Danny! Nellie! We didn’t expect you.” She smiled and stepped back to let us in.
I was in the foyer already. “I came up to see Sam on a deal,” I explained, looking for him in the living-room. “Is he home?”
Sam’s voice bellowing from inside the apartment gave me my answer. “Who is it, Mimi?”
“Danny and Nellie,” Mimi called back. “Danny wants to see you.” She turned back to us. “Go on in,” she invited us. “Sam will be down in a minute.”
We followed her into the living-room. “How are you feeling?” she asked Nellie sympathetically.
“Wonderful,” Nellie replied happily. “If the doctor hadn’t told me I was pregnant I never would have believed it, I feel so good.”
A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Page 33