kill.
Maybe.
” He pulled up in front of her apartment and opened the door for her. “It’s late.”
She nodded. “Nearly midnight,” she said with a sigh. “I left a sign on my door saying that I would be back at twelve and—
voilà
—I am back at twelve. But not the right twelve,” she added, “and I shall wonder how many clients I lost today.”
“Well,” Pruden told her with a faint smile, “if you find your cupboard bare, give me a call and I’ll take you to dinner. But a very quick one,” he added, “because I’m probably losing my mind but tomorrow I plan to begin looking for someone who wants the Mendez brothers out of the way.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, and he watched her walk up the steps to her apartment looking as regal and grand as if she were returning from the opera.
In the morning his early call reached Mrs. Materas, the wife of the distributor. Her husband had the flu, she said, but they worked together and she knew everything that he did. She would be glad to meet him at the office if he didn’t mind waiting until she’d gone tochurch: the church was only two blocks from their office.
Pruden was there at twelve-thirty, and he sat down with Mrs. Materas and proceeded to learn rather a lot about the ice-cream-truck business, and Jack Frost in particular. The parent company, Mrs. Materas explained, was in Rosewood Heights, New Jersey, with franchised distributors in thirty-five states. Her husband had been a vendor for years but had bought his franchise fourteen years ago. It was a good business. “Hectic but good,” she said. “We have ninety-four Jack Frost trucks working Trafton. They keep the trucks in our garages down the street, and we sell them all the ingredients as well as napkins, cones, paper cups, and plastic spoons. We also help them finance their trucks.”
“Any trouble lately on the routes?” Pruden asked.
“Oh no,” she said, “we’ve never had any trouble. I know a couple of other companies had difficulties a few years ago but we’ve never had any.”
“Any of your trucks move in the Dell section?”
She shook her head. “That’s Mr. Freezee territory. Our trucks operate only in the city proper.”
“Who decides all this?” he asked with interest.
She laughed. “Whoever gets there first, that’s who. We happened to be first in the city, that’s all, and never got around to expanding into the Dell section. Here, I’ll show you.” She walked over to the open door, closed it and showed him a map thumbtacked to the wall. “As you can see—”
Pruden walked over and looked at the map. The Jack Frost territories were colored in pink, the competition routes in green. He said, “The green areas, whatcompanies have those routes?”
“Mr. Freezee.”
“I thought you said Mr. Freezee had only the Dell section?”
“Oh, they started there,” Mrs. Materas explained, “but over the past several years they’ve been expanding. Buying out other suburban territories here and there.”
“For cash?”
Mrs. Materas shrugged. “I really couldn’t tell you. Some of those small independents often run into debt the first year and sell out cheap.”
Pruden nodded, his face thoughtful. He wondered whether Mrs. Materas had noticed lately that Jack Frost was now completely encircled by Mr. Freezee; almost, he thought, like a noose. “Well, thanks,” he said. “I appreciate your help. One other question: have you many Puerto Rican drivers?”
She thought a moment. “A fair number, maybe 30 per cent. They’re good workers. Ambitious. You can’t explain why—?”
“Not yet,” he said with a friendly smile, “but one day I will.”
He went next to see Maria Ardizzone again, because he was remembering her hesitation when he’d asked if anything in particular had upset Luis just before he became ill. It had been a very slight hesitation but he’d caught it and he decided it was time to find out whether it meant anything. When he looked
Maybe.
” He pulled up in front of her apartment and opened the door for her. “It’s late.”
She nodded. “Nearly midnight,” she said with a sigh. “I left a sign on my door saying that I would be back at twelve and—
voilà
—I am back at twelve. But not the right twelve,” she added, “and I shall wonder how many clients I lost today.”
“Well,” Pruden told her with a faint smile, “if you find your cupboard bare, give me a call and I’ll take you to dinner. But a very quick one,” he added, “because I’m probably losing my mind but tomorrow I plan to begin looking for someone who wants the Mendez brothers out of the way.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, and he watched her walk up the steps to her apartment looking as regal and grand as if she were returning from the opera.
In the morning his early call reached Mrs. Materas, the wife of the distributor. Her husband had the flu, she said, but they worked together and she knew everything that he did. She would be glad to meet him at the office if he didn’t mind waiting until she’d gone tochurch: the church was only two blocks from their office.
Pruden was there at twelve-thirty, and he sat down with Mrs. Materas and proceeded to learn rather a lot about the ice-cream-truck business, and Jack Frost in particular. The parent company, Mrs. Materas explained, was in Rosewood Heights, New Jersey, with franchised distributors in thirty-five states. Her husband had been a vendor for years but had bought his franchise fourteen years ago. It was a good business. “Hectic but good,” she said. “We have ninety-four Jack Frost trucks working Trafton. They keep the trucks in our garages down the street, and we sell them all the ingredients as well as napkins, cones, paper cups, and plastic spoons. We also help them finance their trucks.”
“Any trouble lately on the routes?” Pruden asked.
“Oh no,” she said, “we’ve never had any trouble. I know a couple of other companies had difficulties a few years ago but we’ve never had any.”
“Any of your trucks move in the Dell section?”
She shook her head. “That’s Mr. Freezee territory. Our trucks operate only in the city proper.”
“Who decides all this?” he asked with interest.
She laughed. “Whoever gets there first, that’s who. We happened to be first in the city, that’s all, and never got around to expanding into the Dell section. Here, I’ll show you.” She walked over to the open door, closed it and showed him a map thumbtacked to the wall. “As you can see—”
Pruden walked over and looked at the map. The Jack Frost territories were colored in pink, the competition routes in green. He said, “The green areas, whatcompanies have those routes?”
“Mr. Freezee.”
“I thought you said Mr. Freezee had only the Dell section?”
“Oh, they started there,” Mrs. Materas explained, “but over the past several years they’ve been expanding. Buying out other suburban territories here and there.”
“For cash?”
Mrs. Materas shrugged. “I really couldn’t tell you. Some of those small independents often run into debt the first year and sell out cheap.”
Pruden nodded, his face thoughtful. He wondered whether Mrs. Materas had noticed lately that Jack Frost was now completely encircled by Mr. Freezee; almost, he thought, like a noose. “Well, thanks,” he said. “I appreciate your help. One other question: have you many Puerto Rican drivers?”
She thought a moment. “A fair number, maybe 30 per cent. They’re good workers. Ambitious. You can’t explain why—?”
“Not yet,” he said with a friendly smile, “but one day I will.”
He went next to see Maria Ardizzone again, because he was remembering her hesitation when he’d asked if anything in particular had upset Luis just before he became ill. It had been a very slight hesitation but he’d caught it and he decided it was time to find out whether it meant anything. When he looked
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