Little Men, Big World

by W. R. Burnett

  He started slightly at the sound of a footstep on the stairs. Opening the night-table, he took out the automatic and shoved it into his pocket; then he opened the bedroom door cautiously and listened.

  A voice spoke intensely in the outer hall: “Oh, God, Zand, I hate this. He’ll…” Lola!

  “It’s not our fault, damn it! We couldn’t…” came Zand’s voice.

  Arky sighed with relief, crossed the hall in one stride, and opened the front door of the apartment; then he took a step back and stared in astonishment. Lola had Orv in her arms, and Zand was carrying his basket.

  Lola talked and cried at the same time. “I know what you’ll think, Arky. But ... but we just couldn’t help it. Wasn’t anything to do but bring him back. We…”

  Zand cut in, showing weak defiance. “We been to hell and gone, Arky, trying to find them kids, but nobody knows where they went. They moved out of that first place right away. Honest to God, Arky, we’re both worn out chasing all over Polishtown. Lola’s about to drop.”

  “Well,” said Arky, mildly, “if you couldn’t find ’em, you couldn’t find ’em. Come on in.”

  Lola turned and stared at Zand in blank bewilderment, then she turned back to Arky. “You mean you’re not sore?”

  “No,” said Arky. “I’m not sore. What is there to be sore about?”

  Lola began to cry. “Oh, we were so worried. Zand said you’d think we didn’t try to find the kids because you knew I wanted the baby so.”

  “Never mind. Never mind, Lola,” said Arky. “Bring him in. Put him back in the bedroom. I guess you and Zand better move in here with me if you’re going to look after him. Okay, Zand?”

  Zand stared open-mouthed, then he began to look about him at Arky’s “swell” apartment. “Sure, sure, Arky, if you say so. Sure. How about all this stuff of the baby’s, the crib and all? I got a carful.”

  “I’ll help you bring it in,” said Arky.

  He and Zand went down the stairs. Lola stood staring after them, jiggling Orv, who was tired and peevish and beginning to whimper. “Well, I’m damned,” said Lola. “Men are all crazy. Here we been worrying ourselves grey and…” Orv gave a loud yell, startling her. “All right, little man,” she cooed. “All right, doll-dear. You been an angel all day. I guess you’re entitled to give out now. Come with Aunt Lola. Aunt Lola change oo, then oo feel better!”

  Zand and Arky lounged around in the spare bedroom while Lola gave Orv his midnight feed. Zand smoked a cigarette, and with his legs crossed took his ease, looking about him with deep satisfaction at the big, beautifully-furnished bedroom. He and Lola had been pigging it downstairs before: this was the life!

  Arky was not at ease, however. Lola made him nervous, the way she handled Orv, and he could hardly keep from cutting in; but what the hell did he know about babies? With Anna everything always went smoothly and Orv had always seemed calm and happy. But Lola did not even seem to know how to hold him, and kept jiggling him about and once almost dropped the bottle. Arky got up and began to pace the floor. In a moment Orv drew back from his bottle abruptly and threw up some of his milk.

  “Oh, God!” cried Lola, almost letting Orv slip from her hands. “Look—he’s sick. What’s the matter, honey-bunch? Don’t like your nice milk?”

  “Give him a chance, give him a chance,” cried Arky. “If somebody stuffed a bottle in my kisser like that I’d throw up, too.”

  “What did I do wrong?” asked Lola.

  “Don’t stick it in his mouth so far,” cried Arky. “Anna never did. Let him do it. Just put it out there for him.”

  Finally Arky got up and went out. Zand followed him.

  “No place for us, anyway,” said Zand. “Babies give me the creeps.”

  “How about some gin rummy?” asked Arky.

  “Okay. Okay,” said Zand. “But I’m going to hit the hay pretty soon. All that chasing around wore me out.”

  They sat down at the table in Arky’s bedroom and began to play, arguing mildly.

  “Give Lola a chance, will you, Arky?” said Zand finally. “She may not be no Anna with kids, but she’ll learn.”

  “Okay. Okay,” said Arky.

  In the spare bedroom Orv began to howl at the top of his lungs. “Well,” said Arky to himself, “at least I’m not lonesome.”

  14

  PAY DAY, again. For the first time, Zand strapped on a shoulder holster and took his big .45 with him; before, he had always carried a small .38 in his inside coat pocket. Arky waited impatiently while Zand got into his coat. The bookie room was deserted but all the lights were still on; the floor was littered with newspapers and Racing Forms, and bluish tobacco-smoke hung in thick strands in the heavy air. Almost time for the roustabouts to appear with their brooms.

  “Come on, Zand,” said Arky. “I want to be there on the dot.”

  “This thing binds me,” said Zand, trying to get the holster-strap into a comfortable position. “Not used to it.”

  “You think this Turkey kid is okay?”

  “Sure,” said Zand. “Toughest boy in the neighborhood—kicks these young hoods around like they were dogs. I give him a twenty and I thought he was going to kiss me.”

  “Okay,” said Arky. “Come on, will you? A guy would think you were getting dressed for a party.”

  “Maybe I am,” said Zand. “Maybe my last one.”

  “Want to stay home?”

  “Christ Almighty, where’s your sense of humor?” cried Zand, flaring up. “I got as much guts as you have—maybe more.”

  “Stop bragging—and let’s go.”

  As they went out the alley door, Arky cuffed the little jockey-sized Syrian and they both laughed.

  Turkey was at the wheel of the Ford, waiting for them. He had a tough, square face, a corrugated brow, and a small round head covered with short, stubby blond hair. He was wearing a checked shirt and a pair of dirty corduroy pants. He was about eighteen years old and occasionally fought a club fight for five bucks and a couple of tickets. He was a very rough young man, and seemed like a cinch for the Walls later in his life, but he was very much in awe of Zand and Arky. Zand weighed a hundred pounds but he carried a spring-blade knife in his pocket at all times and would gizzard you if necessary. Arky was a smiling, polite fellow, never raised his voice to anybody, but he was Zand’s boss, so…!

  “You know where we’re going?” asked Arky as they got in.

  “Yes sir,” said Turkey.

  “Know all about how to get there—park?”

  “I told him everything,” said Zand impatiently.

  Arky leaned across and handed Turkey a short-barreled revolver of high caliber, known as a belly-gun. “Don’t let nobody take the car away from you.”

  Turkey took the gun with a proud look. “Don’t worry, sir. I won’t.”

  Almost eight o’clock; everything as usual—the Front jammed with people going to the theatre in taxis, private cars, and buses. The air was still and damp, and there was a heavy mist from the river, wetting the pavements and turning them into mirrors that sharply reflected the street lights, the car headlights, and the flashing neon signs above. The wheels of the Ford passed over a distorted, upside-down version of the Front, a surrealist image more striking than the thing itself.

  A prowl-car whipped past them, then went on, siren going, tires skidding and slithering on the wet car-tracks. Arky glanced at Turkey. The kid drove with set face, giving no indication that he’d seen or heard the prowl-car. Maybe he was okay. They had nothing to fear from a Pier 7 prowl-car, but how would the kid know that?

  Arky began to wonder just exactly what was going through the kid’s head. Zand had said that he’d told him everything; but he’d only meant everything about getting there and parking. Turkey was absolutely in the dark about what Arky’s real intentions were. For all he knew, it might be a stick-up. Didn’t seem to bother him. But why make it tougher on him?

  “Kid,” said Arky, “this is nothing. We got a date with a guy, that’s all.
Some guys would just as lief we didn’t keep this date, see? So we want the car in the parking-lot when we come out.”

  “It’ll be there,” said Turkey, keeping his eyes on the street.

  Overhead the big golden sign of the Club Imperial flashed on and off as usual. Eight o’clock struck someplace, the strokes of the bell vibrating and giving off overtones in the heavy air.

  The parking-lot was deserted. Turkey eased the Ford into the right stall, and Zand leaned out to stare.

  “Look, Arky.”

  “As I live,” said Arky. “The goosey-green convertible.”

  “You figure Leon’s back?”

  “I doubt it. The coppers had the car impounded, but maybe Rudy managed to talk ’em out of it.”

  As they got out, the colored boy in the gold jumpers came round the comer of the alley, took a look at them, and went away again.

  “We won’t be long,” said Arky, and the kid at the wheel nodded, his face set.

  Arky went through the padded door, followed by Zand, who had dressed quietly but elegantly for the occasion in a black broadcloth double-breasted suit, a pink shirt with a black tie, black patent-leather shoes and a black snap-brim hat. He was more than a foot shorter than Arky, and seemed about half as wide, his smallness accentuated by the dark clothes.

  The back corridor was filled as usual by cooking smells from the vast kitchens: the front corridor was deserted, but at the end of it a piano tinkled in the bar and a girl with a husky voice was singing a blues. Arky wondered absent-mindedly if it was the same girl who had sounded so sexy to him weeks back. Very doubtful. The turnover at the Imperial was fast: the girls went in and out like the moving ducks at a shooting gallery; you could hardly tell the difference, anyway, and nobody cared; they all dressed alike, made up alike, and sang alike; some were redheads, some blondes, some brunettes—but this was a superficial difference and might have been merely a change of wigs. All chesty contraltos. A soprano would have been thrown out in the alley. Why? Arky could never figure that one out.

  He pushed open the door and entered the outer office, followed by Zand.

  Robbie looked up, gave a start. She seemed prettier than ever, but at the moment Arky felt nothing at all in regard to her.

  “What’s that behind you, Ozark?” cried Robbie. “Your shadow?”

  But Arky was in no mood for quips: he felt cold and sullen. Without a change of expression, he jerked his thumb toward the inner office.

  Robbie studied his face, then her smile faded. “Yeah,” she said. “Go ahead. Say, you been neglecting me. What is this?”

  Zand was staring at her openly, running his eyes over her. “Some kid,” he said.

  “Take it easy, shorty,” said Robbie. “Pull the lenses down over those eyes, will you? You make me self-conscious.”

  “Some kid,” Zand repeated, beginning to grin.

  “Things must be tough at the race-track,” said Robbie, looking to Arky for encouragement, then back at Zand. “What’s the matter, buddy-boy, couldn’t you get a mount?”

  Zand laughed with delight. “She kills me, like Lola used to, only prettier and funnier.”

  “Shut up,” said Arky, moving toward the door of the inner office.

  “What’s the matter with you?” called Robbie. “Did you meet one you liked better?”

  “Not a chance, baby,” said Zand. “Not a chance, unless he’s got mighty funny taste.”

  “You doll,” said Robbie. “Jump up on the desk and kiss me.

  “Don’t encourage him,” said Arky.

  “I see what you mean,” said Robbie, drawing back in mock fright, her hands raised as if to ward off a monster.

  At a look from Arky, Zand finally sobered, though he kept glancing at Robbie out of the comer of his eye. Arky opened the door and went in, followed by Zand. Rudy, plump and red-cheeked, was sitting behind his desk. He had a fixed grin, showing strong white teeth. Rudy was half Italian and half German, but looked like an Irishman. He had dark brown hair and light blue eyes. He was smoothly handsome, but much too fat. He ate spaghetti by the yard, cheese by the pound, and drank red wine all day long. Everybody who knew him well considered him a “good joe,” and some of the stuff that appeared in the papers about him convulsed his friends. He had once been referred to as “Rapacious Rudolph” by an overheated police reporter on a tabloid. Another paper had called him “that sinister figure of our nether-world.” Some people even insisted that Rudy had murdered Leon and disposed of his body, so he could “muscle in.”

  Rudy had started out as a saloon-keeper on Italian Hill, taking over from his father who had died. A gambler friend suggested opening a game in the back of the place. Rudy agreed; he always agreed—with everybody, complicating matters a little at times. The game prospered to such an extent that the police knocked it over. This made Rudy very sad. Who was he bothering? It was unjust. Somebody told him to get in touch with Leon. It took him eighteen months, but he finally made it. Leon took a liking to him and gave him money to open a bigger place in a better neighborhood. Rudy prospered; he served good food, good liquor, and his game was a hundred percent straight. “Why not?” Rudy would always ask. “I don’t have to cheat nobody to get along. The percentages do the cheating.” In a little while he was Leon’s closest friend and running unimportant errands. Leon felt like a very big man indeed in Rudy’s company. Rudy was slavishly devoted.

  So now, here he was, rattling around in Leon’s chair, running Leon’s big nightclub, and getting headlines, which at times frightened him.

  Although Rudy’s fixed grin remained, he quailed visibly in Arky’s presence. Zand studied him with contempt.

  “Everything okay, Arky?” he asked in his high-pitched, comical voice.

  Arky took off his hat. “I’m parting my hair different now.”

  “Yeah. I heard about it,” said Rudy. “Terrible! Awful!”

  “Leon around?”

  Rudy jumped eagerly in his chair. “Leon! Something I don’t know?”

  “We saw his car outside.”

  Rudy seemed to sag, like a slowly deflating balloon. “Oh! The coppers turned it back to me—after they give it a going-over for bloodstains, all that scientific stuff. They never catch nobody with it—but I guess it gives them something to do.”

  “You know where Leon is?”

  “No,” said Rudy. “I wish I did. He used to phone in—told me he phoned you, too. But he’s gone dead on me—I mean like a telephone wire. I don’t like it. That’s why I kinda took it big when you asked me. Where the hell could he be?”

  “He’ll turn up,” said Arky.

  Rudy took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I wish to hell he would. This is getting me.”

  “What about the take?”

  Rudy looked blank. “The ... take? Jesus, I forgot this was the day. Just a minute, Arky. Everything’s okay. I got the dough right here someplace. Now lemme think—did I put it all in the safe, or did I…?”

  Arky and Zand exchanged a disgusted look. Rudy buzzed the inter-com. Robbie’s voice answered sweetly over the wire, and Zand perked up and smiled. “My right arm up to here,” Zand told himself.

  “Honey,” said Rudy, “did I put all that stuff in the safe with the ledger, or did I…? Oh, sure, sure. That’s right. Come on in, honey.”

  “Jesus, Rudy,” Arky complained, “you mean this kid knows—”

  He broke off as the door opened and Robbie came in, patting her hair self-consciously and throwing a quick, veiled look at Arky.

  “It’s in the safe, Rudy,” she said. “I’ll open it for you. What a safecracker Rudy would make,” she added, crossing over in front of Arky, brushing him. “Even with the combination, he can’t open the thing.”

  As the three men looked on, Robbie stooped down, deftly opened the safe, took out a large thick manila envelope, shut the safe door, spun the combination, then rose slowly, showing considerable leg, walked across the room, and handed the envelope to Arky.

  “T
his is yours, I believe.”

  Arky took the envelope without a word, avoiding her eyes.

  “Thanks, baby,” said Rudy.

  Robbie shrugged, raised her eyebrows at Zand as she passed him, then went out, closing the door softly.

  Zand whistled sadly. “Some kid!”

  Arky turned to Rudy. “You damn idiot—when Leon was here she didn’t know the time of day. Now she runs the joint.”

  “Take it easy, Arky,” said Rudy, drawing back a little. “She don’t know anything. She thinks you own this place, that’s all. I had to tell her something because I needed help, brother. I got this wished on me. I didn’t want it. And if anybody else wants it, he’s welcome.”

  Owned the place, eh? Arky smiled to himself. No wonder he was getting such a big play from Robbie. On the make, strictly on the make, and why not? It was a rough world unless you had dough in your pocket and a place to light.

  “She’s a sharp cookie,” said Arky. “So watch it, Rudy. Don’t tell her anything you don’t have to. Collections okay?” Now Rudy beamed. “Forgot to tell you. Up about ten G’s from last week and last week was high. Since the Commissioner left, it’s been hand over fist. If Leon would only come back, things would be perfect.”

  “Yeah,” said Arky; then he slipped the manila envelope into his pocket, turned and started out, followed by Zand.

  “Goodbye, Arky,” Rudy called. “You got to excuse me; I been kinda befuddled today. Next week it’ll be different.”

  “What’s the matter, Rudy—wasn’t you expecting me?” Rudy stammered for a moment. “Well ... I read in the papers you got shot pretty bad. I didn’t know ... and so I was kinda befuddled when…”

  Arky went out. Zand gave Rudy a searching look, then closed the door.

  In the outer office Robbie was making coffee on a little electric burner.

  Zand leaned on her desk and gnashed his teeth at her. “Some kid,” he said.

  “Ozark,” called Robbie, “make Dracula let me alone, will you? How about a spot of coffee—as we say in Dee-troit?”