Manhunt. Volume 5, Number 5, May 1957

“A guy who wants to see Mr. Pedi.”

Eyes drowned in the fat of a face veered toward Sophia. “Who’s the wise guy, Miss Sierra?” he rasped.

“He would like to see Mr. Pedi,” she said.

The eyes came back to me. “If it’s a complaint, buster, we got a complaint department. Mr. Pedi don’t like—”

I did not have to do it.

I did it to impress Sophia Sierra.

He got two quick fists to the belly and they went in up to the elbow. I was ashamed as I stepped over him. Of course I did not hate him.

I opened the door to Pedi’s office. “After you,” I said.

Her eyes were wild. “Wow, you’re crazy, you’re a crazy man.”

I had impressed Sophia Sierra.

She went through the open door and I went after her and closed the door behind me. A handsome, white-faced man stood up behind a desk. A very elegant man.

“Yes?” he said. “What is it? Hello, Sophia.”

“Hello,” she said and fell into a soft chair as though she were exhausted.

It was a large room, its walls cluttered with autographed photographs of celebrities. The furniture was good, big, expensive and comfortable.

“Yes? What is it, please?” he said.

“He wants to talk to you,” Sophia said. “He’s Peter Chambers. Mr. Chambers — Mr. Steve Pedi.”

“How do you do?” I said.

“What happened to Knafke?” he said to Sophia.

“I laid him out,” I said.

Pedi’s thin lips tightened. He threw a glance at Sophia, another at me, came out from behind the desk, went to the door, opened it, cast a glance beyond, and closed the door.

He came to me. He extended his hand and I took it. He had a lot of strength in his hand for a slender man. “I’m glad to know you,” he said. “You wouldn’t want Knafke’s job, maybe? Because if you would, you’re hired. Right now.”

“I’m not available,” I said.

“Too bad,” he said. “All right, what is it, please, Mr. Chambers?”

The door opened.

Knafke lumbered in.

“Where is he?” Knafke said. “Where is that mother-loving son of a bitch.”

“I’m here,” I said, softly.

“Get out of here,” Pedi said. “Out.” And as Knafke stood indecisively, Pedi repeated. “Out, out. Go watch the door.”

Knafke murmured, as he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

“What’s the pitch?” Pedi said.

“It’s personal, I think,” I said.

“Personal, like what?” he said.

“Personal like about Vivian Frayne,” I said.

“Out,” he said to Sophia. “Wait for your boy friend downstairs.”

She stood up, smiled at him, smiled at me, said, “See you,” and moved to the door and out it.

“All right,” Pedi said. “Let’s have it. What’s it all about?”

“Vivian Frayne,” I said.

“You a cop?”

“No.”

“What do you want, Mac?”

“I want to know if you threatened Vivian Frayne.”

He thought that over. “Mac,” he said seriously, “I got a few more around here like Amos. If I want, I could have you chopped up and thrown out to the cats in the alley.”

“Why should you want?”

“Because you’re poking around. I don’t like pokers. Who told you I threatened Vivian? You want to talk about that?”

“Sure,” I said.

“You a peeper?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Figures,” he said. “All right, who said I threatened Vivian?”

“George Phillips.”

“That old son of a bitch, huh? He’s a liar.”

I told him what Phillips had told me.

“He’s a liar,” he said when I was finished.

“Okay,” I said. “Just checking.” I went for the door.

“Just a minute,” he said.

“Yes, Stevie?” I said.

“The cops didn’t mention none of this to me. They playing it cool?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“They pick up Phillips yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they did, he must have spilled this crap to them too. What do you think?”

“If they did, he did, that’s what I think.”

He regarded me for a long moment. He went to the desk, pulled open a drawer, brought out three new crisp one hundred dollar bills. “How you fixed for ethics?” he said. “Did the cops pick up Phillips yet?”

I took his three hundred dollars.

“No,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “Look, will you kind of keep me informed on how the thing goes? I ain’t mixed in this, but—”

“I might, if it doesn’t crash with the ethics.”

“Thanks,” he said and he walked to the door with me and opened it. “This is Peter Chambers,” he said to Amos Knafke. “He’s a real nice fella. Any time he wants to see me, it’s my pleasure. Dig?”

“You’re the boss, boss,” Amos said.

“Good-bye, Mr. Chambers,” Pedi said. “You’re a nice fella. I respect a guy with ethics. I like you, like you very much.”

“I’m thrilled,” I said.

“Bye, now,” he said and he closed the door and left me alone in the corridor with Amos.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Knafke,” I said. “I’m a nothing.

I was making with the showboat. I was trying to impress the girl. Maybe this can even it up.”

I stuffed Pedi’s three hundred dollars into the meat of Knafke’s beefy palm.

Downstairs, I found the lady in red morosely stirring the dregs of Feninton’s drink with the jagged end of a broken swizzle stick. “How’d you make out?” she said without looking up.

“About like I’d expected,” I said. I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Will you come back? I want you to come back. We’re open here until four, you know.”

“I’ll try. I’ll try my damnedest.”

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