“I’m looking for Jimmy Baker,” Halloran said without preamble.
“Who wants him?” the black man asked.
“Jack Halloran.”
“What for?”
“We celled together at Castleview,” Halloran said.
“Just a sec,” the man said, and lifted the receiver of a phone on the counter. He dialed a single number and waited. “James,” he said, “they’s a man named Jack Halloran out here, wants to see you.” He listened, nodded, and then put up the phone. “Go right on back,” he said. “Red door there, far end of the room.”
“Thanks,” Halloran said.
The man went back to chewing his cigar and reading his newspaper. All around the room, billiard balls clicked. There was the low murmur of conversation, “Three ball in the side... Nice shot, man... Bank the four down here.”
Halloran walked to the red door and opened it.
Jimmy Baker was sitting behind a desk cluttered with papers. There were two phones on the desk. He had put on a little weight since Halloran had last seen him, but he was the same old Jimmy, big white teeth gleaming in his mouth as he grinned across the desk, and then came around it, both hands extended, his hair cut in an Afro now instead of the closer prison cut, still grinning, shaking his head in wonder. He was wearing tailored jeans, a black silk shirt unbuttoned to the waist, and a gold medallion hanging from a gold chain around his neck.
“Hey, man,” he said, and took both Halloran’s hands in his own. “Man, man, you a sight for sore eyes, I gotta tell you.”
“What’s this James shit?” Halloran asked, grinning, really happy to see him.
“I’m the big honcho here,” Jimmy said. “Anybody calls me anything but James — or sometimes Mr. James,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I kick his ass for him. When was you sprung, man?”
“A week ago today. What’s today?”
“By the feel of it, or the clock?” Jimmy asked. “By the clock, it’s Tuesday, the twelf’ of August. By the feel, it’s still Monday night, man, till the sun comes up, at least. Sit down. You want somethin’ to drink? Hey, man, you look terrific, I gotta tell you. A week ago today, huh? You want a beer? I got some cold beer. You want somethin’ stronger? Name it, man. Jee-sus, it is good to see you!”
“It’s good to see you, too, Jimmy,” Halloran said. He was still grinning. “How’s it treatin’ you out here?”
“Comme ci, comme ça,” Jimmy said. “I got the pool parlor, I got me a little numbers runnin’, I got me a little dope dealin’, it ain’t been too bad a’tall. I’m still lookin’ aroun’ for a big score someplace, just bidin’ my time, somethin’ll come along sooner or later. How about you?”
“Well, I just got out, you know. Lots of business to take care of, you know.”
“Sure, gettin’ adjusted. It’s a big motherfuckin’ hassle out here, ain’t it? Times I wisht I was back inside, where evythin’s taken care of for you. You want some beer? Lissen, have a bottle of beer, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Halloran said.
Jimmy went to a small refrigerator set under a counter against the far wall. He pulled out two bottles of beer and uncapped them.
“Here’s to the fuckin’ Castle,” he said.
“Cheers,” Halloran said, and took only a sip. He didn’t want to get piss-eared drunk the way he’d been yesterday when that whore picked him up.
“How you like this fuckin’ heat?” Jimmy asked. “City arranged a nice big welcome for you, dinn it? Reg’lar home-comin’ celebration. Fuckin’ heat you could die in.”
“Yeah,” Halloran said.
“So you come up here to see old Jimmy, huh?” he said, grinning again. “Man, it is so good to see you, man.”
There was a long silence.
“I need a piece,” Halloran said.
“Uh-huh,” Jimmy said, and his eyes narrowed.
“I figured you might know where I could get one.”
“What’ve you got in mind? Anythin’ might interest me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“’Cause, like I said, I been lookin’ for some kind of score.”
“No, this isn’t anything like that.”
“So why you need a piece, man? I mean, I’ll hep you get one, shit, we’ll get one for you in a minute. But whut you need it for?”
“Some guy I have to see.”
“Need a piece for it, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“What kinda weapon you have in mind?”
“Something he won’t walk away from,” Halloran said.
“Who’s the lucky dude?” Jimmy asked, and laughed.
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you,” Halloran said. “Be safer for you that way.”
“Whut I doan know won’t hurt me, huh?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Well, sure, man, we goan get you a piece put a big hole in the motherfucker. Put a monstrous hole in the man. Let me jus’ make a few calls, all right? See whut the market looks like this fine summer night. Finish your beer, man, this won’t take but a minute.
The market that fine summer night looked bullish.
Before they left the pool hall, Jimmy made three phone calls, and by one that morning, they were sitting with a short black man who looked like an accountant, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up over his forearms, the collar of the shirt open, his face sweating behind thick, rimless eyeglasses. Jimmy introduced him simply as Sam. On the table before Sam was an arsenal of some forty automatics and revolvers.
They were in a third-floor apartment on Carlton Street. Years ago, during the Depression, the building had housed a speakeasy on the ground floor. Next door, there used to be a jazz joint frequented by whites who would drift uptown in their diamonds and furs. That was during the Depression. Now the building was a rat-infested tenement. Sam sat under a naked light bulb in the kitchen of his apartment, the oiled weapons gleaming on the enamel-topped table in front of him. In the next room, Halloran could hear someone snoring lightly. Sam’s wife, he guessed. Sweat glistened on Sam’s face and on his exposed forearms.
“What kind of job you hope to do with this piece?” he asked.
“Well, that don’t matter,” Jimmy said at once.
“’Cause if it’s something where you need to keep the gun out of sight when you walk in, then I’d recommenn maybe the .38 here, with the snub nose.”
“He needs a piece’ll do the job,” Jimmy said.
“I was only tryin’ to fine out—”
“The whole job,” Jimmy added.
“Then you want somethin’ with lots of power, is that it?”
“Yes,” Halloran said.
“An’ it don’t matter whether the piece’ll show under your coat, or nothin’ like that?”
“No.”
“You be doin’ this job durin’ the day or at night?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“’Cause if it’s durin’ the day, then you got to keep the piece hid, man, and some of these bigger mothas, like the Ruger Magnum there, they gonna stand out like a hard-on under your clothes.”
“Well, maybe I’ll do it at night then.”
“You can’t beat the Ruger for power,” Sam said.
“Which one is the Ruger?” Halloran asked.
“This one right here.”
“Looks like a fuckin’ cannon,” Jimmy said.
“Shoots like one, too,” Sam said. “Some states, they won’t even ’low the pigs to use a Magnum. Pig shoots at some guy runnin’ out of a grocery store, bullet can go right thu the guy an’ hit some preggint lady doin’ her shoppin’ besides. This gun is one mighty fuckin’ pow’ful pistol, man. You say you want to do the whole job, this gun’ll do the whole job an’ then some.”