Gut had said, and then relaxed back into his chair, taking the opportunity to let his hand graze across the knee of the young woman beside him.
She was a rather spectacularly bosomed blonde, whose name was Antoinette, but who preferred to be called “Tony.” She slapped his hand, but didn’t seem to be offended.
After a moment Mr. Baltazari turned his head just far enough to be able to look at the man with the gun, his backside and, in the bar’s mirror, his face.
Then he leaned forward again toward Mr. Guttermo, who moved to meet him.
“He’s probably a cop,” Mr. Baltazari said.
“He paid for the drink with a fifty from a wad,” Mr. Guttermo said.
“Maybe he hit his number,” Mr. Baltazari said with a smile. “Maybe that’s your fifty he’s blowing.”
It was generally believed by, among others, the Intelligence Unit and the Chief Inspector’s Vice Squad of the Philadelphia Police Department that Mr. Guttermo, who had no other visible means of support, was engaged in the operation of a Numbers Book.
“You don’t think he’s interested in us?” Frankie the Gut asked.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Mr. Baltazari said. “Why should he be interested in us? You’re a worrier, Frankie.”
“You say so,” Frankie the Gut replied.
“All we’re doing is having a couple of drinks, right, Tony?” Mr. Baltazari said, touching her knee again.
“You said it, baby,” Tony replied.
But Mr. Baltazari, who hadn’t gotten where he was by being careless, nevertheless kept an eye on the guy with a gun who was probably a cop, and when the guy finished his drink and picked up his change and walked out of the bar, a slight frown of concern crossed his face.
“Go see where he went, Tony,” he said.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Go see where that guy went.”
Tony got up and walked out of the bar into the hotel lobby.
“What are you thinking, Ricco?” Frankie the Gut asked. “That cops don’t buy drinks with fifties?”
“Some cops don’t,” Mr. Baltazari said.
Tony came back and sat down and turned to face Mr. Baltazari.
“He went into The Palms,” she said.
Mr. Baltazari was silent for a long moment. It was evident that he was thinking.
“I would like to know more about him,” he said, finally.
“You think he was interested in us?” Frankie the Gut said.
“I said I would like to know more about him,” Mr. Baltazari said.
“How are you going to do that, baby?” Tony asked.
“You’re going to do it for me,” Mr. Baltazari said.
“What do you mean?” Tony asked suspiciously.
Mr. Baltazari reached in his pocket and took out a wad of crisp bills. He found a ten, and handed it to Tony.
“I want you to go in there, I think it’s five bucks to get in, find him, and be friendly,” he said.
“Aaaah, Ricco,” Tony protested.
“When you are friendly with people, they tell you things,” Mr. Baltazari observed. “Be friendly, Tony. We’ll wait for you.”
“Do I really have to?”
“Do it, Tony,” Mr. Baltazari said.
Tony was gone almost half an hour.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, “I told him I had to go to the ladies ’.”
“What did you find out?” Mr. Baltazari asked.
“Can’t we leave? What if he comes looking for me?”
“What did you find out?”
“He’s a cop. He’s a corporal. He just made a killing in Vegas.”
“Did he say where he worked?”
“At the airport.”
“Did he say how much of a killing?”
“Enough to buy a Caddy. He said he’s going out and buy a Cadillac tomorrow.”
Mr. Baltazari thought that over, long enough for Tony to find the courage to repeat her request that they leave before the cop came looking for her.
“No,” Mr. Baltazari said. “No. What I want you to do, Tony, is go back in there and give him this.”
He took a finely bound leather notebook from the monogrammed pocket of his white-on-white shirt, wrote something on it, tore the page out, and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Joe Fierello is your uncle. He’s going to give your friend a deal on a Cadillac.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I’m not. You go back in there and be nice to him, and tell him you think your Uncle Joe will give him a deal on a Caddy.”
“You mean stay with him?”
“I gotta go home now anyway, my wife’s been on my ass.”
“Jesus, Ricco!” Tony protested.
Mr. Baltazari took out his wad of bills again, found a fifty, and handed it to Tony.
“Buy yourself an ice-cream cone or something,” he said.
Tony looked indecisive for a moment, then took the bill and folded it and stuffed it into her brassiere.