Читать книгу Every Man for Himself - Mark J. Hannon - Страница 19

CHAPTER 15

BUFFALO, 1933

Johnny sat in the hallway around the corner from the morgue, far enough away so he wouldn’t smell the bodies or the formaldehyde during his break. He reached into his shirt pocket, found his pack of Chesterfields, and ripped off the remainder of the top to get at the last of the smokes. Finding nothing but a few flakes of tobacco, he looked up at the cigarette machine farther down the hallway and thought about buying a pack, even if they were more expensive here than at the store. He sat back and put his hand into his pants pocket where he kept his change. Shaking the coins around in his hand, he came up with two nickels. Shit. Where to get a nickel fast? he thought. The last body. The man had some change in his pocket when they took the clothes off him. He’d tossed it into the big envelope where they put all the rest of the dead man’s effects. The clerk hadn’t inventoried it yet. Perfect. As he jumped up and hurried back into the morgue, he thought, Hell, the wagon guys who pick up the body snatch stuff off these stiffs all the time. You just gotta be smart about it and not grab stuff the family’s going to be looking for later. Kind of an advance on his pay, he chuckled to himself as he picked out a nickel and a dime from the envelope.

When he came back out, a guy had the machine open and was stuffing packs of cigarettes into the slots. Johnny watched him as he quickly filled the machine, and then pulled out the metal box where the coins accumulated. He poured the coins into a canvas bag and knotted the top.

“Hey,” Johnny said, as the vendor went to pick up a cardboard box on the floor. “Can I get a pack from you before you lock it up?”

“Sure, kid, what flavor?”

“Chesterfields.”

“This is your lucky day, kid.” He pulled a loose pack out of the cardboard box. “I got one left over that wouldn’t fit in the machine. Just gimme a dime and they’re yours.”

“Thanks,” Johnny replied, eyeing the canvas bag of change. “You makin’ any money these days at this?” he asked, indicating the cigarette machine with a match before he lit up.

“Ahh, not like before the crash, but juke boxes and cigarettes are still doin’ all right.”

“Say, you need any help? I can count, fix stuff, load machines up, if you need a hand.”

“Ah, I handle all that stuff, pal. Tell you what though. I need someone sometimes to help move the machines around, if you think you can handle it. It’s not real regular, but if you got a phone . . .”

“Sure, I got a phone.” The old couple that ran the deli downstairs from his room took messages for him on the pay phone as long as he helped unload deliveries.

The vendor pulled a pencil from behind his ear, and Johnny found a scrap of paper in his pocket. He wrote down John W, and the number on it, then wrote Helper and underlined that.

“This is me,” he said. “If I don’t answer, just leave a message and I’ll call you right back. You pay in cash?”

“That’s the way this business operates, kid. Strictly cash. I avoid a lot of paperwork that way; keeps things simple.” Putting the pencil back behind his ear, the vendor looked at Johnny and put out his hand. “I’m Walter, kid. I’ll give you a holler if I need you.”

“John Walenty. I’m available any time I’m not here, just give me a call,” Johnny said, hoping Walter would. He liked the idea of cash money with no taxes taken out, and wondered how close an eye this Walter guy kept on his inventory.