the bartender said, picking up theglass and towel again and starting to work in a semiautomatic fashion."It's going up and down like a regular roller coaster. I know becauseI got a few little things going for me there--nothing much, youunderstand, but I keep an eye out for developments. It doesn't makeany sense, Mr. Malone. Even the financial columnists can't make senseout of it."
"Terrible," Malone said.
"And the Government's been cracking down on business everywhere itcan," the bartender went on. "All kinds of violations. I got nothingagainst the law, you understand. But that kind of thing don't helpprofits any. Look at the Justice Department."
"You look at it," Malone muttered.
"No," the bartender said. "I mean it. They been arresting people allover the place for swindling on Government contracts, and falsifyingtax records, and graft, and all kinds of things. Listen, every FBI manin the country must be up to his cute little derby hat in work."
"I'll bet they are," Malone said. He heaved a great sigh. Every one ofthem except Kenneth J. Malone was probably hopping full time in aneffort to straighten out the complicated mess everything was gettinginto. Of course, he was working, too--but not officially. As far asthe FBI knew, he was on vacation, and they were perfectly willing tolet him stay there.
A nationwide emergency over two weeks old, and getting worse all thetime--and Burris hadn't even so much as called Malone to talk aboutthe weather. He'd said that Malone was one of his top operatives, butnow that trouble was really piling up there wasn't a peep out of him.
The enemy, whoever they were, were doing a great job, Malone thoughtbitterly. Every time Burris decided he might need Malone, apparently,they pushed a little mental burst at him and turned him around again.He could just picture Burris looking blankly at an FBI roster andsaying: "Malone? Who's he?"
It wasn't a nice picture. Malone took a deep swallow of hisbourbon-and-water and tried forgetting about it. The bartender, calledby another customer, put the glass and towel down and went to theother end of the bar. Malone finished his drink very slowly, feelingmore lonely than he could ever remember being before.
* * * * *
At last, though, four-thirty rolled around and he got up from theplush bar stool and headed for the Universal Joint, the hotel's bigshow-room. It was one of the few places in the hotel that was easilyreachable from the front bar on foot, and Malone walked, taking anunexpected pleasure in this novel form of locomotion. In a few minuteshe was at the great curtained front doors.
He pushed them open. Later, of course, when the Universal Joint wasopen to the public, a man in a uniform slightly more impressive thanthat of a South American generalissimo would be standing before thedoors to save patrons the unpleasant necessity of opening them forthemselves. But now, in the afternoon, the Universal Joint was closed.There was no one inside but Primo Palveri, the manager and majoritystockholder of the Great Universal, and the new strip act he waswatching. Malone didn't particularly like the idea of sharing hisconversation with a burlesque stripper, but there was little he coulddo about it; he'd waited several days for the appointment already.
As the doors opened he could hear a nasal voice, almost withoutover-tones, saying: "Now turn around, baby. Turn around." A pause, andthen another voice, this one female:
"Is this all right, Mr. Palveri? You want me to show you somethingelse?"
Malone shut the door quietly behind him. The female voice was comingfrom the throat of a semi-naked girl about five feet eight, withbright red hair and a wide, wide smile. She was staring at a chunkylittle black-haired man sunk in a chair, whose back was to Malone.
"What else do you do, Sweetheart?" the chunky man said. "Let me seewhatever you do. I want some wide-talent stuff, you know, for theplace. Class."
The girl smiled even wider. Malone was sure her teeth were about tofall out onto the floor, probably in a neat arrangement that spelledout _Will You Kiss Me In The Dark Baby_. That would take an awful lotof teeth, he reflected, but the stripper looked as if she could managethe job. "I dance and sing," she said. "I could do a dance for you,but my music is upstairs. You want me to go and get it?"
Palveri shook his head. "How about a song, baby? You mind singingwithout a piano?"
"I don't have anything prepared," the girl said, her eyes wide. "Ididn't know this was going to be a special audition. I thought, youknow, just a burlesque audition, so I didn't bring anything."
Palveri sank a little lower in the chair. "O.K., Sweetheart," he said."You got a nice shape, you'll fit in the line anyhow. But just sing asong you know. How about that? If you make it with that, you could getyourself a featured spot. More dough."
The girl appeared to consider this proposition. "Gee," she saidslowly. "I could do 'God Bless America'. O.K., Mr. Palveri?"
The chunky man sank even deeper toward the floor. "Never mind," hesaid. "Go get dressed, tell Tony you got the number five spot in theline. O.K.?"
"Gee," she said. "Maybe I could work on something and do it for yousome other time, Mr. Palveri?"
He nodded wearily. "Some other time," he said. "Sure."
* * * * *
The girl went off through a door at the left of the club. Malonethreaded his way past tables with chairs piled on top of them until hecame to Palveri's side. The club owner was sitting on a single chairdragged off the heap that stood on a table next to him. He didn't turnaround. "Mr. Malone," he said, "take another chair, sit down and we'lltalk. O.K.?"
Malone blinked. "How'd you know I was there?" he said. "Much less whoI was?"
"In this business," Palveri said, still without turning, "you learn tonotice things, Mr. Malone. I heard you come in and wait. Who elsewould you be?"
Malone took a chair from the pile and set it up next to Palveri's. Thechunky man turned to face him for the first time. Malone took a deepbreath and tried to look hard and tough as he studied the club owner.
Palveri had small, sunken eyes decorated with bluish bags below andtufted black eyebrows above. The eyes were very cold. The rest of hisface didn't warm things up any; he had an almost lipless slash for amouth, a small reddish nose and cheeks that could have used either ashave or a good sandblasting job.
* * * * *
"You said you wanted to see me," Palveri began after a second. "Butyou didn't say what about. What's up, Mr. Malone?"
"I've been looking around," Malone said in what he hoped was a grim,no-nonsense tone. "Checking things. You know."
"Checking?" Palveri said. "What's this about?"
Malone shrugged. He fished out a cigarette and lit it. "Castelnuovo inChicago sent me down," he said. "I've been doing some checking aroundfor him."
Palveri's eyes narrowed slightly. Malone puffed on the cigarette andtried to act cool. "You throwing names around to impress me?" the clubowner said at last.
"I'm not throwing names around," Malone said grimly. "Castelnuovowants me to look around, that's all."
"Castelnuovo's a big man in Chicago," Palveri said. "He wouldn't senda guy down without telling me about it."
"He did," Malone said. He thought back to the FBI files on GiacomoCastelnuovo, which took up a lot of space in Washington, even onmicrofilm. "You want proof?" he said. "He's got a scar over his ribson the left side--got it from a bullet in '62. He wears a little blackmustache because he thinks he looks like an old-time TV star, but hedoesn't, much. He's got three or four girls on the string, but theonly one he cares about is Carla Bragonzi. He--"
"O.K.," Palveri said. "O.K., O.K. You know him. You're not fooling,around. But how come he sends you down without telling me?"
Malone shrugged. "I've been here two weeks," he said. "You didn't knowI was around, did you? That's the way Castelnuovo wanted it."
"He thinks I'd cheat him?" Palveri said, his face changing colorslightly. "He thinks I'd dress up for him or drag down? He knows mebetter than that."
Malone took a puff of his cigarette. "Maybe he just wants to
be sure,"he said. "Funny things are happening all over." The cigarette tastedterrible and he put it out in an ashtray from the chair-covered table.
"You're telling me," Palveri said. "Things are crazy. What I'mthinking is this: Maybe Castelnuovo wants to keep this placeoperating. Maybe he wants to keep me here working for him."
"And if he does?" Malone said.
"If he does, he's going to have to pay for it," Palveri said firmly."The place needs dough to keep operating. I've got to have a loan, orelse I'm going under."
"The place is making money," Malone said.
Palveri shook his head vigorously. He reached into a pocket and tookout a gold cigar case. He flipped it open. "Have one," he told Malone.
An FBI Agent, Malone told himself, had no business smoking cigars andlooking undignified. But as a messenger from Castelnuovo, he could doas he pleased. He almost reached for one before he realized thatmaybe, sometime in the future, Palveri would find out who Kenneth J.Malone really was. And then he'd remember Malone smoking cigars, andthat would be bad for the dignity of the FBI. Reluctantly, he drew hishand back.
"No, thanks," he said. "Never touch 'em."
"To each his own," Palveri muttered. He took out a cigar, lit it andreturned the case to his pocket. The immediate vicinity became crowdedwith smoke. Malone breathed deeply.
"About the money--" Malone said after a second.
Palveri snorted. "The place is making half of what I'm losing," hesaid. "You got to see it this way, Malone: the contacts are gone."
"Contacts?" Malone said.
Palveri nodded. "The mayor's resigned, remember?" he said. "You sawthat. Everybody's getting investigated. A couple of weeks ago theGolden Palace guy knocked himself off, and where does that leave me?He's my only contact with half the State boys; hell, he ran the wholestring of clubs here, more or less. Castelnuovo knows all that."
"Sure," Malone said. "But you can make new contacts."
"Where?" Palveri said. He flung out his arms. "When nobody knowswhat's going to happen tomorrow? I tell you, Malone, it's like a curseon me."
Malone decided to push the man a little farther. "Castelnuovo," hesaid with what he hoped was a steely glint in his eyes, "isn't goingto like a curse ruining business." He took another deep breath oftobacco smoke.
"Primo Palveri don't like it either," Palveri said. "You thinkwhatever you like but that's the way things are. It's like Prohibitionexcept we're losing all the way down the line. Listen, and I'll tellyou something you didn't pick up around town."
"Go ahead," Malone said.
* * * * *
Palveri blew out some more smoke. "You know about the shipments?" hesaid. "The stuff from out on the desert?"
Malone nodded. The FBI had a long file on the possibility ofCastelnuovo, through Palveri or someone else in the vicinity, shippingpeyotl buttons from Nevada and New Mexico all over the country. Untilthis moment, it had only been a possibility.
"Mike Sand wanted to get in on some of that," Palveri said. "Well,it's big money, a guy figures he's got to have competition. But it'sbusiness nowadays, not a shooting war. That went out forty years ago."
"So?" Malone said, acting impatient.
"I'm getting there," Palveri said. "I'm getting there. Mike Sand andhis truckers, they tried to high jack a shipment coming through out onthe desert. Now, the Trucker's Union is old and experienced, maybe,but not as old and experienced as the Mafia. It figures we can takethem, right?"
"It figures," Malone agreed. "But you didn't?"
Palveri looked doleful. "It's like a curse," he said. "Two boyswounded and one of them dead, right there on the sand. The shipmentgone, and Mike Sand on his way to the East with it. A curse." Hesucked some more at the cigar.
Malone looked thoughtful and concerned. "Things are certainly bad," hesaid. "But how's money going to make things any better?"
Palveri almost dropped his cigar. Malone watched it lovingly. "Help?"the club owner said. "With money I could stay open, I could stayalive. Listen, I had investments, nice guaranteed stuff: real estate,some California oil stuff ... you know the kind of thing."
"Sure," Malone said.
"Now that the contacts are gone and everybody's dead or resigned orbeing investigated," Palveri said, "what do you think's happened toall that? Down the drain, Malone."
Malone said: "But--"
"And not only that," Palveri said, waving the cigar. "The club wasgoing good, and you know I thought about building a second one alittle farther out. A straight investment, get me: an honest one."
Malone nodded as if he knew all about it.
"So I got the foundation in, Malone," Palveri said, "and it's justsitting there, not doing anything. A whole foundation going to potbecause I can't do anything more with it. Just sitting there becauseeverything's going to hell with itself."
"In a handbasket," Malone said automatically.
Palveri gave him a violent nod. "You said it, Malone," he added."Everything. My men, too." He sighed. "And the contractor after me forhis dough. Good old Harry Seldon, everybody's friend. Sure. Owe himsome money and find out how friendly he is. Talks about nothing butfigures. Ten thousand. Twelve thousand."
"Tough," Malone said. "But what do you mean about your men?"
"Mistakes," Palveri said. "Book-keepers throwing the computers off andcroupiers making mistakes paying off and collecting--and alwaysmistakes against me, Malone. Always. It's like a curse. Even the hotelbills--three of them this week were made out too small and thecustomer paid up and went before I found out about it."
"It sounds like a curse," Malone said. "Either that or there are spiesin the organization."
"Spies?" Palveri said. "With the checking we do? With the way I'veknown some of these guys from childhood? They were little kids withme, Malone. They stuck with me all the way. And with Castelnuovo,too," he added hurriedly.
"Sure," Malone said. "But they could still be spies."
Palveri nodded sadly. "I thought of that," he said. "I fired four ofthem. Four of my childhood friends, Malone. It was like cutting off anarm. And all it did was leave me with one arm less. The same mistakesgo on happening."
Malone stood up and heaved a sigh. "Well," he said, "I'll see what Ican do."
"I'd appreciate it, Malone," Palveri said. "And when Primo Palveriappreciates something, he _appreciates_ it. Get what I mean?"
"Sure," Malone said. "I'll report back and let you know what happens."
Palveri looked just as anxious, but a little hopeful. "I need thedough," he said. "I really need it."
"With dough," Malone said, "you could fix up what's been happening?"
Palveri shrugged. "Who knows?" he said. "But I could stay open longenough to find out."
Malone went back to the gaming room feeling that he had learnedsomething, but not being quite sure what. Obviously whateverorganization was mixing everything up was paying just as muchattention to gangsters as to congressmen and businessmen. The simplejustice of this arrangement did not escape Malone, but he failed tosee where it led him.
He considered the small chance that Palveri would actually callCastelnuovo and check up on Kenneth J. Malone, but he didn't think itwas probable. Palveri was too desperate to take the chance of makinghis boss mad in case Malone's story were true. And, even if the checkwere made, Malone felt reasonably confident. It's hard to kill a manwho has a good, accurate sense of precognition and who can teleporthimself out of any danger he might get into. Not impossible, but hard.Being taken for a ride in the desert, for instance, might be aninteresting experience, but could hardly prove inconvenient to anybodyexcept the driver of the car and the men holding the guns.
The gaming room wasn't any fuller, he noticed. He wended his way backto the bar for a bourbon-and-water and greeted the bartender morosely.The drink came along and he sipped at it quietly, trying to put thingstogether in his mind. The talk with Palveri, he felt sure, hadprovided an essential clue--maybe _the_ essential clue--to what wasgoing
on. But he couldn't find it.
"Mess," he said quietly. "Everything's in a mess. And so what?"
A voice behind him picked that second to say: "Gezundheit." Malonedidn't turn. Instead he looked at the bar mirror, and one glance atwhat was reflected there was enough to freeze him as solid as the coreof Pluto.
Lou was there. Lou Gehrig or whatever her name was, the girl behindthe reception desk of the New York offices of the Psychical ResearchSociety. That, in itself, didn't bother him. The company of abeautiful girl while drinking was not something Malone actually hated.But she knew he was an FBI Agent, and she might pick any second toblat it