The smells were thick and multifarious, the noise close to earsplitting. It was hard to stand in one place without being whacked and jostled; Gabe faded back against the face of MME. HERZ'S CLOTHING EMPORIUM, which was possibly the most disreputable Cheap John shop he had ever seen.
He remembered briefly the panic that had jabbed him when he'd thought, for an instant there, that Vangie was just going to turn away and leave him in the street. What a ridiculous way for a full grown man to behave. But still, it was the first time in his memory that he'd been in a city where he didn't know every alley and every doorway.
City? Not really. I mean look at these buildings. Not a substantial-looking structure in the lot. Everything was woodframe; it had all been built in a hurry out of green lumber. Everything was splintered, warped, the paint weathered. A sulfur match and one good breeze and the whole thing would go up in smoke.
Was that why she'd got so upset when he'd mentioned fire?
His speculations were interrupted by the arrival of two burly guys who came meandering along, glanced at him, stopped to give him a second look, went past him, stopped to give him a third look, turned around, came back to him, and eyed him up and down.
One of them licked a thick avaricious lip and said, "Howdy there."
"Hi."
"You lost, friend?"
Right there he knew it was time to get alert. He pushed his shoulder away from the wall so he could stand up straight; he spread his feet a little and gave himself maneuvering room. "No. I'm just waiting for somebody."
"That so," one of the burly guys said. "You're from the East, huh?"
"Damn right I am."
The two guys were starting to move around. One of them sort of turned left, and the other sort of turned right. Like the revolving wooden ducks he'd seen in shooting galleries. They kept shifting, and Gabe had to keep moving around too because otherwise one of them would have got behind him.
"Just get to town, did you?"
"Yeah."
You learned in Hell's Kitchen not to let a stranger get around behind you. You learned that right away, by the age of five, because if you didn't there wasn't too much chance you'd see the age of six. But also there was the matter of being polite. You should face the person you're talking to.
"Well what do you think of our fair city, friend?"
"It's all right," he said without much enthusiasm as they figure-eighted around the sidewalk.
"All kinds of interesting things to see in Frisco," one of the burly guys said.
"All kinds," the other burly guy murmured. His teeth flashed in what he evidently thought was a friendly grin. Gabe had seen some of Twill's toughs grin like that.
Maybe that was it. Twill's associate? Nobody had said anything about two associates. But that didn't mean anything. An associate could have an associate, couldn't he?
"Look, are you guys looking for somebody in particular?"
They both stopped figure-eighting around him long enough to look at each other and then look back at Gabe. "Huh?"
"Sorry. My mistake maybe."
The two guys were a little confused but they regained their footwork quick enough. One of them said, "Listen, there's lots of fascinatin' things to see in Frisco. What say you come on along with us; we'll show you the sights. How about it?"
"Thanks just the same. Like I said I'm waiting to meet somebody."
"Well you've been waiting quite a while. Maybe your friend's decided to stand you up, friend."
"I'll just wait a while longer and see."
"Wouldn't take long to see the best part of Frisco. It's all right around here."
Gabe put his hand in his hip pocket and clutched the knuckle-duster, out of sight of the two guys. "Thanks just the same," he said again, and he put an edge on his voice this time while he inspected them more closely. They both looked like the sort who lit sulfur matches on their jaws, but there was a little difference here and there. The one who did most of the talking was slightly higher and wider than the other one. He was also somewhat gamier-a fact to which the breeze attested every time Gabe got to his leeward side. In fact, he smelled like either a whole buffalo herd or a wolf that hadn't been rained on in three months. If he took a bath he'd be about twelve pounds lighter; if they didn't they'd soon be after him to pay real estate taxes on all that dirt.
The dirt was caked in his hair, crusted on his skin, imbedded in his clothes. The closer Gabe looked at him the more awed he became. This was definitely the filthiest guy he'd ever seen, and he'd seen them pretty filthy.
The reason he had time to scrutinize them both was that they had stopped pressing him in order to stand and stare at the vicinity of the front door of Mme. Herz's Clothing Emporium behind him. Their expressions changed, and Gabe turned to see what it was they were looking at.
Nothing. Or anyhow next to nothing. The guy who was emerging from the door and looking furtively over his shoulder was not exactly designed physically to strike terror into the hearts of men. In fact he was about the puniest specimen Gabe had seen since he'd stepped ashore.
"Ittzy Herz," the gamy guy whispered in awe. "Look at that, will you? Right out in bare-ass daylight!"
"Jeez, he must've slipped his leash."
Ittzy Herz's face looked as if it could hold a three-day rain. He was a little sorrowful sparrow with no shoulders and a caved-in chest. He had no visible chin. He was dressed in a little round hat and a cheap black suit that looked as if its seams would come apart any minute. His eyes looked like repositories for the anguish of the ages. Gabe had seen a look like that once in the hollow eyes of a ninety-six-year-old slum priest. Maybe you got to feeling that way and looking that way after you'd seen ninety-six years worth of disappointment and had finally come to the conclusion that there was nothing you could do about it.
The only trouble was, Ittzy Herz wasn't ninety-six years old.
In fact it wasn't clear whether he was even old enough to vote. Maybe it was just his diminutive size, but he looked nineteen.
None of which explained why the two tough guys were regarding him with such undisguised awe.
Ittzy Herz either ignored their stares or didn't even notice them. Probably the latter, Gabe judged; the little guy didn't seem to be aware of anything around him at all.
Ittzy Herz turned away from them and walked sorrowfully up the street. When he had gone out of earshot Gabe said, "Who is that guy anyway?"
"You never heard of Ittzy Herz? He's one of the world-famous sights of San Francisco."
The tough seemed to be draping his arm in friendly fashion around Gabe's shoulders. Gabe shifted away, and the guy moved with him. Gabe kept his hand on the knuckle duster in his pocket. He didn't want a donnybrook with these guys-he wasn't sure he could stand the smell-but he was ready if one came. He said, just to keep the conversation friendly, "What's he world-famous for?"
"Just watch him. You'll see."
Gabe moved out of the encircling grasp and looked up the street. Ittzy Herz was leaving the curb to cross the street. A dilapidated junk cart was coming down the street above him, but Ittzy Herz had plenty of room to get across the street ahead of it. But two things happened. First Ittzy's little round hat fell off, and Ittzy bent down to pick it up. Second a piece of white paper blew across the street under the cart-horse's nose, causing it to shy, rear and bolt.
Suddenly the junk cart was a runaway, and Ittzy was square in its path. Gabe stiffened involuntarily, but behind him he heard the gamy guy's unruffled chuckle.
Ittzy Herz didn't even seem to see the cart thundering down at him. He merely stepped aside to avoid dirtying his boot in a horse pie on the cobblestones. It took him to the left a pace. At the same time the cart horse, for no discernible reason, jerked to Ittzy's right and bolted past him up onto the curb, scattering panic-stricken pedestrians like a fox chasing chickens in a barnyard.
Eventually the cartman brought the runaway under control. A lot of people picked themselves up and dusted themselves off and shook
their fists and hollered at the cartman.
Not Ittzy Herz. He didn't seem to realize what a close call he'd had. He was still walking across the street, without hurry. And as he reached the sidewalk a woman leaned out a second story window and knocked a flowerpot off the sill with her elbow. Gabe opened his mouth to yell a warning because the flowerpot was on a collision course with Ittzy Herz's head.
But somebody had left a bucket on the sidewalk, so that Ittzy Herz had to walk around it. As he did the flowerpot clanged into the bucket, and he strolled on unscathed. Not merely unscathed; he also seemed totally unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened.
"You just can't beat that little son of a bitch," the gamy guy said with unconcealed admiration.
"I don't get it," Gabe said as the partner eased in closer and hugged his shoulders.
"Old Ittzy," the gamy guy said, "he's the luckiest son of a bitch ever born. You know one time he fell out of a third story window up at the Odeon, and there just happened to be a hay wagon going by, and he just happened to land in that nice soft hay?"
"Hell that's nothing," the partner said, "I heard a guy tried to roll Ittzy in Dead Man's Alley, but a boa constrictor grabbed the guy just before he was about to sap Ittzy on the head."
Gabe said, "A boa constrictor?"
"Yeah, some clown had it in a circus wagon, and it escaped that night. They found it next morning wedged into a hole in the back fence. Seems it couldn't fit through because it had this huge lump in its middle, where it swallowed the guy that'd tried to roll Ittzy."
"Nobody's tried to lay a finger on Ittzy since then," the gamy guy said. He was around on Gabe's other side and getting closer. Gabe's nostrils wrinkled.
The partner said, "I'll tell you, friend, Ittzy's so lucky his mother keeps him locked up in a room in the back of the store here. She charges people twenty-five cents just to look at him through a hole in the door."
"And people pay it," the gamy guy said. "They figure maybe a little luck'll rub off on them too."
Gabe was trying very hard not to breathe at all. "Kind of stuffy right here, wouldn't you say?" And he shook off the partner's arm, took two quick paces out to the edge of the curb, and dragged in a deep breath while he was upwind of them.
The two guys looked at each other. The gamy guy shrugged, the partner nodded. Then the gamy guy pulled a sack out from under his coat. "You know what I got in this sack?"
"It looks empty to me," Gabe said.
"Well just take a closer look."
"GABE!"
They all three looked up, startled. Here came Vangie. She was waving a wallet in front of her as if to shoo away horseflies. "You two get away from him. Get away! Go on git!"
The two guys looked at each other. The gamy guy shook his head, the partner shrugged.
Vangie hurried across the street. "Go on. On the run, before I call the police."
"Yeah," the gamy guy said, "that'll be the day." His lip curled. "This dude belong to you, Miss Kemp?"
"Yes. And I'll thank you to keep…"
"All right… all right. We'll do you a little favor this time." The gamy guy stuffed the empty sack back under his coat and made as if to tip his hat but only tugged at the brim a little. He said to Gabe, "All right, friend, we'll take our leave. But a word of advice-you hang around this female, you better count your fingers every time she touches your hand." And the two of them turned and sloped off.
Gabe felt a lot better without those birds crowding him the way they had. He said, "What was that all about anyhow?"
"Roscoe and his partner? They're crimps."
"Crimps? What's that?"
"They shanghai people. To get crews for the ships."
Gabe paled. "To go on the ocean?"
"An awful lot of sailors jump ship when they get to San Francisco," she said. "They all want to head for the gold fields. So the ships need crews, and that means there's good money to be made in crimping."
"Oh, I couldn't take the ocean," Gabe said.
"Good thing I came back when I did." She seemed calmer than necessary, under the circumstances. Handing him the wallet she'd been brandishing, she said, "Here. Now come buy me dinner."
CHAPTER SIX
Ittzy Herz was happy. He was out on his own and that was a rare treat. His Mama kept saying all the time, "Ittzy, you got to stay home where it's safe, people always want to take advantage of you. You got to stay home in your room where it's safe." Never had a man had such a protective Mama, and never had a man needed one less.
He didn't mind sitting in the back room while the rubes paid a quarter to look in at him through the peephole. It made him feel important. And it gave him time to read, play solitaire, and think about where he'd go and what he'd do when he was finally free for good. What he minded most was Mama fussing over him all the time. And maybe even worse than that was the times when store business was brisk and peephole business was slack-like it had been tonight. Mama would make him put on an apron and get behind the counter just like everybody else in the family.
Ittzy didn't like that at all. After all he was in show business.
So today when her back was turned he'd scooted out of his apron and out of the store. And here he was: free. It was the first time he'd run away in quite a while, and it was just as much fun as always. All the people gawking at him, trying to touch him, fawning over him as if he were royalty.
He didn't quite know what all the fuss was about. Everybody seemed to think Ittzy led a charmed life. Well, his father before he'd died had been fond of reading from the Book, and it said right in the Book that a man had threescore years and ten. So Ittzy knew he still had plenty of years to live. The Book said so. What was everybody so surprised about? Ittzy was only thirty-four years old-he still had thirty-six to go.
He stopped into the Golden Rule Saloon for a beer and people crowded one another aside at the bar to get near him. Ittzy saw people he knew and he waved to them the way he'd seen opera stars wave from their open coaches to the applauding crowds they passed.
Over at a table with a skinny Easterner and a whole lot of food was a nice girl named Evangeline Kemp whom Ittzy knew slightly. He waved to her and she waved back with a pretty smile, and Ittzy felt good. He thought he might write a poem about a pretty girl's smile. It sounded like a good original idea, and he began to work out the wording in his head. He'd written thousands of poems. Someday someone would recognize his genius and publish one of them.
A big fellow with an enormous moustache came rolling into the saloon and slugged his way to the bar near Ittzy, although Ittzy had the feeling the man hadn't seen or recognized him. The man slammed a hammerlike fist down on the bar and roared, "Anybody around here sell anything that'd approximate a drink?"
Ittzy sipped his beer and basked in all the admiring attention he was getting. But he glanced from time to time at the guy with the huge moustache, who was just about the only person in the room who didn't seem to have noticed Ittzy's presence. It bothered Ittzy to have somebody who didn't know who he was. Especially since he was sure he'd seen that face before.
The big fellow's drink was delivered by a sweating barkeep and the guy took a healthy swallow, almost gagging on it. He said hoarsely, "Christ, they seem to be puttin' bigger snakes in these here bottles this season." His eyes were watering and he shoved his face into the crook of his elbow to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. When he dropped his arm his eyes lit on Ittzy for the first time. He froze.
Ittzy began to smile, enjoying his little triumph, even if it was belated. At least the guy recognized him now.
The guy with the moustache stared at him without blinking-without even seeming to breathe. Then his face slowly changed. It got dark, suffused with blood. The big jaw under the mustache crept forward to lie in a grim belligerent line. The guy's hand dropped off the bar and he suddenly bent over, lifting one foot.
Ittzy couldn't figure out what the man was doing. But then he saw he was working the boot off his foot.
; Finally the boot came off and the big fellow turned and hobbled toward Ittzy on one booted foot and one dirty socked foot.
Ittzy frowned.
The guy with the moustache came right up to him, elbowing everybody else out of his way, and shouted right in Ittzy's face, "You're the fellow sold me this boot!"
Ittzy just looked at him. He couldn't figure out what the fellow was getting at.
The big man waved the boot in Ittzy's face, and the sole flapped open and shut as though it were the boot talking instead of the man. "This is what you sold me!" the big fellow said (or the boot said). "What you aim to do about it?"
"Me?" Ittzy didn't think of it as his problem; it wasn't his boot, and it wasn't his store. "Nothing," he said, turning back to his beer.
The big fellow grabbed his elbow. "I say you sold me this boot!" he yelled.
"Did I?"
"You're damn right you did! Two hours ago!"
Ittzy smiled in friendly fashion. "Maybe you better talk to my Mama," he said. "It's her store."
"I'm talking to you!" the big fellow yelled, flapping the boot some more like a ventriloquist. "You're the one sold me this boot!"
"I'm just trying to drink my beer here," Ittzy said, still working at being friendly.
"You got to make good on this!"
"My Mama doesn't put any guarantee on her goods."
"Two hours!"
Ittzy shook his head and went back to his beer. All he wanted was a little peace and quiet in which to enjoy this rare moment of freedom before his Mama came looking for him, as inevitably she would.
Gangway! Page 4