Love or Honor by Joan; Barthel Page B

“That’ll cost money,” he said.
    â€œHarry, I’m telling you, I’ve got to have another place,” Chris insisted. “Besides, I’ve been to Gene’s apartment, and Bennie’s place—they’re going to wonder why I don’t ask them to stop by my place sometime.”
    Harry nodded. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
    Chris was annoyed at Harry for not giving the immediate go-ahead; hadn’t the inspector said he’d have carte blanche? But he was even more annoyed at himself. He’d been careless for driving out to Great Neck without checking his rearview mirror. The casual days and friendly nights had lulled him into a sense of security that he now saw was unfounded and dangerous. If he was going to make any headway in this operation, he would have to disassociate himself more clearly from his former life. No more visiting old friends. No more spending so many nights at home, pretending life was normal when it wasn’t.
    But was he making any headway? He had to admit he doubted it. The ninety days had come and gone, and although he felt he’d done his best, about all he had to show for it was evidence of some drug deals and the hustling of merchandise that guys thought was swag. The highlight of his life in deep cover had been meeting Kostos and, he recalled wryly, getting the Big G’s plate number. Instead of spinning his wheels, maybe he should drop out now and head back to the 4-oh. No questions asked.
    All this was running through his mind when he saw Gene again. Gene grabbed him by the arm, talking fast and enthusiastically. He had decided he could make the money he needed by opening an after-hours joint. But he didn’t have the cash. He needed a partner.
    Chris tried to look doubtful. “For that kind of joint to make it, you need to be able to pull in a lot of people,” he pointed out. “You know the people?”
    â€œI know a ton of people, but I haven’t got the money,” Gene said.
    Chris grinned. “If you’ve got the people, I’ve got the money,” he said.
    He got twenty-five hundred dollars from Harry and went on a shopping spree down in the Bowery with Gene, buying bar stools, fixtures, glassware. Gene liked working with his hands, and built a beautiful curving bar of mahogany. They set up shop on the second floor of a nondescript little building, cream-colored stucco in front, red brick on the sides, on 23rd Road in Astoria, about four blocks from the Grotto. They had to give a percentage to the guy who owned the building and who operated a bar on the first floor, a dingy little place with a tacky awning over the sidewalk entrance. Their place upstairs could be reached either by going through the downstairs bar, or directly from the sidewalk, through a side door. Chris preferred using the outside entrance, because he didn’t like the owner; Gene called him a weasel. The weasel didn’t want them to open their place until two A.M., so as not to cut into his business. When Gene told Chris he’d persuaded him to let them open at one o’clock, Chris didn’t ask how.
    They called their place the C&G Club, using their initials, which looked good on the cards they had printed, and sounded good when they said it: the Cee-Gee Club. They had a grand opening. Then, to drum up business, they spent a lot of time in the evenings “making a drop”—dropping cards and conversation, along with their money, at other bars and clubs.
    Their work paid off, as their place became popular, sometimes filled with customers from opening time till daybreak, or even beyond. Some of the guys who came were smalltime hustlers; some were waiters who just came by to relax after a night’s work. Pretty girls came, drawn to places where men with money and power might be found, and some of those men came, too. “Johnny the Gent” always had his overcoat draped over his shoulder,