second floor, he heard other footsteps moving toward him. He looked up and saw Frieda approaching. She came in close and put her big beefy arms around him, sliding her fat rump onto his lap. She put her thick lips against his mouth.
Damn it, he said to himself. Damn it to hell.
10
Later that night Hart sat with Mattone and Rizzio, they were in the living room playing poker. Charley was upstairs in his room, out cold on the bed with the empty gin bottle clutched in both hands. They'd tried to free the bottle from his grip when he'd passed out, but it was as though his fingers were bolted to the glass and finally they save it up. That was a couple hours ago, and now it was past eleven and the poker game had been in progress some ninety minutes. At this point the big winner was Mattone, with Rizzio a few dollars ahead and Hart's finances going down and down and getting close to nothing. Every now and then he'd get good cards but he couldn't do anything with them, he was distracted by sounds from upstairs where Frieda was hauling her belongings from one room to another. The sounds told him that Frieda was moving out of the room she shared with Myrna, taking her things into the room she would now share with him.
At half-past eleven Hart was down to three dollars and Mattone looked at the two bills and the silver and said, "You're nearly bankrupt."
"You want it?" Hart asked, pointing to the three dollars.
"Sure," Mattone grinned. "It's U.S. currency, ain't it?"
"Come on," Rizzio said to Mattone. "Deal the cards--"
"Wait," Hart murmured. He looked down at the three dollars. "Take it, Mattone. I'm giving it to you."
"No," Mattone said.
"Go on." He smiled at Mattone. "Take it."
"What is this?" Rizzio asked the two of them. "What goes on here?"
"He's offering me a gift," Mattone said.
Rizzio grimaced puzzledly. "I don't get it."
"I do," Mattone said.
"The hell you do," Hart told him. "You couldn't figure it if you had twice the brains you have."
"Listen, buddy." Mattone leaned forward just a little. "Do yourself a favor. Don't underestimate my brains."
"We gonna play poker?" Rizzio spoke impatiently.
"We're playing it now." Mattone was handling the deck, his fingers smooth on the cards, lightly shifting the cards from one hand to the other while he gazed intently at Hart's face. "I think this is bigger stakes than just cash."
"What in Christ's name goes on here?" Rizzio demanded.
"It's what they call bait," Mattone said to Rizzio. "He's tossing me a chunk of bait, that's all. If I nibble, he'll make it more. He'll wind up offering me a lot more than three dollars if I sign up with his team."
"What team?" Rizzio frowned.
"That team sitting there," Mattone said, pointing to Hart. "It's him and him and him. That's all he's got on his side. Just himself. He's looking for a team-mate."
"But--" Rizzio scratched the top of his head. "But that don't fit the picture. It ain't as if he's working alone. He's in with us, ain't he?"
Mattone pushed his eyebrows up. "Really?" he murmured, trying to be suave about it. "Where'd you get that flash?"
Rizzio shrugged stupidly. "Well, I just took it for granted--"
'The thing is," Mattone said, his voice like light oil, "never take anything for granted, Rizzio. Not in this house. Not when you're working for Charley."
"I thought--"
"That's another mistake you make," Mattone schooled him. "You always forget that Charley does all the thinking here."
Rizzio considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly and mumbled, "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Mattone said. He leaned back comfortably and continued to pass the deck from one hand to the other. He'd reduced the grin to a thin smile and had it floating toward Hart, using it like a feather to tickle Hart's chin.
There was another noise from upstairs. It was a tiny noise, just a slight scraping of something against the floor and Mattone didn't hear it, Rizzio didn't hear it, but Hart heard it distinctly and acutely and he thought: She's moving things
Damn it, he said to himself. Damn it to hell.
10
Later that night Hart sat with Mattone and Rizzio, they were in the living room playing poker. Charley was upstairs in his room, out cold on the bed with the empty gin bottle clutched in both hands. They'd tried to free the bottle from his grip when he'd passed out, but it was as though his fingers were bolted to the glass and finally they save it up. That was a couple hours ago, and now it was past eleven and the poker game had been in progress some ninety minutes. At this point the big winner was Mattone, with Rizzio a few dollars ahead and Hart's finances going down and down and getting close to nothing. Every now and then he'd get good cards but he couldn't do anything with them, he was distracted by sounds from upstairs where Frieda was hauling her belongings from one room to another. The sounds told him that Frieda was moving out of the room she shared with Myrna, taking her things into the room she would now share with him.
At half-past eleven Hart was down to three dollars and Mattone looked at the two bills and the silver and said, "You're nearly bankrupt."
"You want it?" Hart asked, pointing to the three dollars.
"Sure," Mattone grinned. "It's U.S. currency, ain't it?"
"Come on," Rizzio said to Mattone. "Deal the cards--"
"Wait," Hart murmured. He looked down at the three dollars. "Take it, Mattone. I'm giving it to you."
"No," Mattone said.
"Go on." He smiled at Mattone. "Take it."
"What is this?" Rizzio asked the two of them. "What goes on here?"
"He's offering me a gift," Mattone said.
Rizzio grimaced puzzledly. "I don't get it."
"I do," Mattone said.
"The hell you do," Hart told him. "You couldn't figure it if you had twice the brains you have."
"Listen, buddy." Mattone leaned forward just a little. "Do yourself a favor. Don't underestimate my brains."
"We gonna play poker?" Rizzio spoke impatiently.
"We're playing it now." Mattone was handling the deck, his fingers smooth on the cards, lightly shifting the cards from one hand to the other while he gazed intently at Hart's face. "I think this is bigger stakes than just cash."
"What in Christ's name goes on here?" Rizzio demanded.
"It's what they call bait," Mattone said to Rizzio. "He's tossing me a chunk of bait, that's all. If I nibble, he'll make it more. He'll wind up offering me a lot more than three dollars if I sign up with his team."
"What team?" Rizzio frowned.
"That team sitting there," Mattone said, pointing to Hart. "It's him and him and him. That's all he's got on his side. Just himself. He's looking for a team-mate."
"But--" Rizzio scratched the top of his head. "But that don't fit the picture. It ain't as if he's working alone. He's in with us, ain't he?"
Mattone pushed his eyebrows up. "Really?" he murmured, trying to be suave about it. "Where'd you get that flash?"
Rizzio shrugged stupidly. "Well, I just took it for granted--"
'The thing is," Mattone said, his voice like light oil, "never take anything for granted, Rizzio. Not in this house. Not when you're working for Charley."
"I thought--"
"That's another mistake you make," Mattone schooled him. "You always forget that Charley does all the thinking here."
Rizzio considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly and mumbled, "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Mattone said. He leaned back comfortably and continued to pass the deck from one hand to the other. He'd reduced the grin to a thin smile and had it floating toward Hart, using it like a feather to tickle Hart's chin.
There was another noise from upstairs. It was a tiny noise, just a slight scraping of something against the floor and Mattone didn't hear it, Rizzio didn't hear it, but Hart heard it distinctly and acutely and he thought: She's moving things
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