Los Angeles Stories Read Online Free PDF

look into it and see what might be done. The truth is you could almost see the cloud over my shop since Johnny died. Lenny the barber had stopped coming by for coffee when the two cops started parking out in front at lunchtime giving everybody the eye and tossing their cigarette butts all over the sidewalk.
    A custom tailor is sort of a confidence man. It’s a confidential job, and it makes a man watchful and a little lonely. Other people wear the clothes you make, they go out and drink and do the Hucklebuck. That’s all right, it’s in the nature of the work. But a tailor under surveil­lance is all through. The vout just ran out. T-Bone Walker stopped by in his new Lincoln Continental. He said, “I think you better mooove way out on the outskirts of town!” T-Bone was on his way up. I had heard something about a new tailor on Sunset Boulevard.
    â€œRamildo of Hollywood! El Ú ltimo en Charro!” read the new business card. I moved my sewing machine and the gabardine over to Gus’s place on First, two blocks down from the Mariachi Hotel in Garibaldi Plaza. I told everyone that I was taking over and discounting all work ten dollars just to get acquainted. They were all very polite and very sorry about Gus. He was family to them, but I am a different color, see, and they didn’t quite believe the whole nephew bit. You’ve noticed how furniture salesmen stand in the door and watch the street? I started doing the same thing, looking up and down the street for hours at a time. I announced a 30 ­percent discount and free hat, one to a customer. Folks waved and smiled, but nobody wanted a suit or a hat or even a belt buckle. I tried hanging out in Garibaldi Plaza, but every time they started up blasting those trumpets, it made my teeth hurt.
    One day, two pachuco kids came into the shop. They looked to be about twenty, five­-six and very skinny, not your charro body type. Kiko and Smiley, by name. They employed a trick handshake I wasn’t familiar with. “What can Ramildo of Hollywood do for you cats?” I asked cheer­fully. “The first sombrero is free!”
    â€œQueremos un zoot,” they both said at once.
    â€œReet! I cut suits for the Ace of Spades, rest his soul. Maybe you heard of him?”
    â€œAy te huatcho, vato.” Seemed like they had.
    â€œSo, two full-­drape zoots. Color?”
    Smiley said, “Uno. We trade off.”
    â€œOh, I dig you now, you want to share it. Well, it happens this is zoot special week, and I can do you a suit and two pair of pants for the price. That way, you’re dressed, you both look good.”
    â€œ Ó rale! En púrpuro!” They laid twenty dollars in ones on me as a deposit without being asked and bopped off down the street. Two days later they were back with more ones and some silver, but I said make it twenty bucks total, a steal. They were ecstatic about it, and they both looked sharp and ready. “Fall by any time,” I told them. “Don’t be strangers.”
    The big deal in retail ready-­to­-wear was the Victor Clothing Company, at 214 South Broadway. Leo “Sunshine” Fonerow had dreamed up the idea of credit layaway. You could buy anything in the store for $2.50 down and $2.50 a week. It worked like a charm and Leo became a rich man dressing the poor. He kept six tailors working around the clock doing alterations. One old man, Daddy Bassey, dropped dead pinning trouser cuffs, and I hurried in to see if I could nail the position. I told Leo I would do the work at home at a discount, and he hired me. Alterations were due back Friday night for customer pick­up on the weekend. Leo reckoned that working people would appreciate it if he kept the store open on Sundays. Families came in after church, excited and happy to be downtown, like it was a special event. A Mexican girl did good business selling tamales out in front of the store. I thought she was beautiful