Everybody Goes to Jimmy's Read Online Free PDF Page B

was surprised to see that you have Steinhäger,” he said. “Very few establishments in this part of the city even know what it is.”
    â€œEverything we serve is the McCoy, straight off the boat. Don’t get much call for Steinhäger, but we try to have anything our customers want.” Steinhäger is German gin. Frenchy probably had to dust off the jug.
    â€œPrecisely, and that’s why I’ve come here this evening. Is there someplace where we could talk with more privacy?”
    I said yeah and wondered what the hell he was getting at. I got my cane, and he followed me to the hall at the back and up the stairs to the office. I unlocked the door, snapped on the reading light, and sat behind the desk.
    â€œHave a seat. I don’t have any Steinhäger here. I could order another from the bar or offer you Booth’s.”
    â€œNo, this is fine,” he said and sat on the chair facing the desk. He took out a leather-bound notebook and a little mechanical pencil that fit inside it. When he opened it, I could see that he’d sketched a floor plan of the place. Front door, stairs, coat closet, bar, booths, tables. The lines were straight, and the proportions looked about right.
    â€œI represent a party that is exploring the possibility of entering the hospitality business when the sale of alcohol once again becomes legal. This party is looking at several establishments, including yours, for purchase. Do you have any interest in selling?”
    â€œNot particularly.”
    â€œWould you entertain an offer? If not, I will not pursue the matter any further, but I assure you, my client is serious.”
    â€œSure, I’ll listen.”
    He sat back and finished his gin with a long drink. He seemed to loosen up, but that was really just part of his pitch. The guy was a born salesman. “I am reluctant to reveal how much this party is willing to pay, but I can assure you it is an impressive figure. For the right establishment.”
    â€œFirst off, who is this party?”
    â€œActually, it is a group of businessmen and investors, the Free Society of Teutonia.” He smiled and leaned back, and I noticed that he was wearing a silver lapel pin with a black cross, a swastika.
    Now remember, this was the fall of 1932. Not to be flip about it, but I didn’t know from Nazis. I listened to the radio and read the papers, mostly the sports pages and the comics and the movie stuff and the local news. I knew the Nazis were in Germany, and I knew they had big rallies and they yelled a lot. That was about it. I’d seen some pictures of their flags and banners, but when I saw the symbol on Klapprott’s pin, the first thing I thought about was Larry Fay. He was a bootlegger and nightclub owner. He also had a fleet of taxis that everybody knew because they had loud crazy horns and lots of fancy nickel-plated gimcracks bolted to the bodywork. They also had swastikas painted on the door. Larry told me he thought they brought him good luck.
    That night, I figured that maybe Fay was part of this Free Society or maybe they were trying to buy out some of his operations, too. If they were serious about getting into the business, that would have made sense.
    â€œOK,” I said, “to give us something to talk about, since we’re just talking, right, why don’t you name a number? That way, we’ll know what we’re talking about, since we’re just talking.”
    He smiled at my bushwa, but I think that by then, he knew what we were doing. Whether he did or not, he took out another of his engraved cards and wrote on the back of it with his little mechanical pencil.
    He put the card face down on the table and slid it across to me.
    Poker-faced, I picked it up. He’d written 35,000$ with the dollar sign at the end. It was more than I expected.
    â€œOK,” I said. “That’s the number we’re talking about since we’re just talking. What