They stopped in the middle of the room and Jesso watched a fast ritual with gloves, hat, scarf, and overcoat. Holding the stuff, the tall one bowed to the chair, and before Jesso had taken all of it in the stout one was sitting down.
“You’re welcome,” Jesso said.
No answer.
“My chair is your chair,” Jesso said.
The tall one took off his hat and looked around.
“If you will take these,” he said. He held out the clothes over his arm without even looking as if he were waiting.
Jesso took the bundle and watched the man remove his coat. “You’re welcome,” he said.
When the tall one draped his coat over the rest of the stuff on Jesso’s arm, put his hat on top, and turned away, Jesso started to get the picture. He hefted the load and made a laugh.
“Bundles for the Bowery don’t get picked up except Monday and Tuesday. Today is Friday.”
Nobody laughed back. The tall one stood next to the chair like a standard bearer. He ran his hands through his long hair and then folded his arms over his chest.
“What I mean to say is, perhaps it doesn’t show, but I haven’t got my moth bags and clothes hangers along.”
Jesso looked from one to the other, making an expectant face. He still thought it was funny. He stepped close to the squat man in the chair and leaned down confidentially.
“Now, Bean Pole has said his daily words and I’m not going to be unfair to him. How about it, Porker? You haven’t talked yet.”
But Porker looked right through him. His small white hands lay peacefully in his lap, and Jesso was surprised at the hands, because they were so different from the bull neck and the thick face of the man. His skull was shaved to a stubble except for a full-grown patch over the forehead, and that patch was arranged in a fat shiny wave.
“I’m gonna count till three,” Jesso said.
The heavy face turned slightly to the tall man, turning with a muscled twist of the neck as if it were going to creak any minute.
“You may hang up the clothes,” said the tall one. Jesso noticed the precision in the voice.
“One,” he said.
“Your conduct will be reported, at any rate.”
“Two.”
For the first time the squat man’s face showed interest. He had very light eyes and they traveled from Jesso’s feet to his head, as if the man were thinking of buying a side of beef.
“Ready or not,” said Jesso, looking at the light eyes. There was something else about them. The way the man’s nose was tilted, it looked as if his eyes and nostrils were all in one line. The long upper lip and thin mouth finished the picture. Just like a porker.
“Three,” Jesso said, and he dropped the clothes on the floor. The man in the chair didn’t move, but the tall one started to scramble. He was halfway across the room before Jesso knew how he got there, and then the man started to crouch. It wasn’t as if he were preparing to jump. It was more scientific. Jesso saw the shoulders hunch, the long arms held still, one hand held higher than the other. Those hands stayed open, the fingers stiff. Jesso pushed away from the wall and started to lean. The man’s face didn’t tell him a thing, just cold, light eyes and the lips bunched hard over the teeth. Jesso couldn’t figure why the man looked like murder or why dropping his lousy coats should bring on all this seriousness. But he wasn’t going to stop and argue. He got set for the rush, leg ready, because once Bean Pole was close enough he was going to get it where it hurts. When the man started to dip on his feet there was a snap. Somebody had snapped his fingers.
Bean Pole straightened up abruptly, turning to his buddy in the chair, who snapped his fingers once again and pointed to the clothes. Bean Pole was picking up the overcoats while Jesso was still standing there. Then he relaxed.
“Boy,” he said.
Nobody answered.
“Boy, that’s training,” he said.
Bean Pole was holding the coats neatly and the squat one in the chair looked as if he weren’t even there.
“And no whips, even,” Jesso said. “Just snapping the fingers. Tell me, Porker-” but then the door to Gluck’s office opened.
But it wasn’t Gluck and it wasn’t for Jesso.
“Mr. Johannes Kator,” said the butler, and the man in the chair and the tall one with the overcoats moved as one. The heels made sharp little clicks. Kator went first, then Bean Pole. Jesso and the tall one looked at each other, but it didn’t mean a thing. Jesso was thinking that he didn’t like Johannes Kator at all.
They came out again before ten minutes were up, which was just about as long as Jesso was willing to wait. So when the two men came out, Jesso walked through the open door before he was called. It was the kind of thing Gluck didn’t like.
But Gluck didn’t show it. When the door banged shut and Jesso walked across to the desk, Gluck turned to look and he was ready with his smile.
“Greetings, boy.” He took the dead cigar out of his mouth and tapped it. “Make yourself comfy for a sec, huh?” Gluck carried a folder to the room with the filing cabinets. He had a flat-footed walk, probably because of the weight he carried in his rear, and he made a grunt each time he took a step.
“You shoulda waited outside,” he said when he came back. Then he sat down and the jowls around his face made a quick shimmy.
“I waited. What in hell did you think I was doing out there besides waiting?”
“Now, Jack boy, let’s act like buddies. You and me-”
“Stop licking, willya, Gluck?”
“Jackie boy, what’s eating you?” Gluck put the dead cigar back in his mouth.
Jesso didn’t answer right away. He held it for a minute because it wouldn’t do to buck Gluck all the time. Not when it wasn’t important. Save your strength. Ignore the bastard, just the way Gluck knew how to ignore the things he didn’t like. It wasn’t easy to figure what he liked and what he didn’t like. Most of the time he took just about anything as long as he could call a man his buddy boy And then somewhere along the line buddy boy would get the shaft.
“You know why I’m boss and you aren’t, Jackie boy?”
The cigar came out and there was a friendly smile.
“No,” said Jesso. “You tell me, President.”
“I will,” and the cigar went back. “Because you don’t know people, boy. You never studied how to get along. Take me, for instance.”
“Don’t. Don’t put yourself out, Gluck. Just keep the secret.”
“Like right now, boy. You’re riled because I let you wait.”
Jesso lit a cigarette and tossed the match at the ash tray. He missed. “Now I know why you’re president and I’m the punk around here. You know everything. So now let’s talk about Vegas. You read the stuff and papers I brought back?”
“No.” Gluck smiled. “I didn’t have to. On account I read minds.” He sat back and gave Jesso a wink.
“You’re not doing so hot, Gluck, or else you’d be reading right now you should stop clowning around.” Jesso got up and ground his cigarette out. “Let me know when you’re ready for a cabinet meeting, Gluck, about Vegas and so forth. Or better yet, go out there yourself next time and don’t send a flunky.” He turned to the door and then he heard Gluck’s chair creak.
“I didn’t,” said Gluck.
Jesso stopped. That was another thing about Gluck. He always got the last word or the last lick. And once Jesso turned around there would be jolly old Gluck swishing his cigar around. Jesso turned and went back to the desk. He put his hands flat on the top and leaned.
“How did you mean that, President?” He sounded calm as hell. “You mean you didn’t send a flunky or you didn’t send me?”
