all nodded at each other and Simon nodded at the car too, and then Port got in behind the wheel. On his way down the street he passed Fries and Simon, who was walking a few steps behind, and the sight made the ward business that much more urgent to Port.
Most of the slum houses were frame, but a few were brownstone, and the one in the best repair had a clean, sandblasted front with a small sign that said Social Club. The inside was mostly new. There was an addition which held a gym, a foyer with a cloakroom, and past some columns varnished dark brown was a bar, the room with the easy chairs, and a bare place with a stage and some folding chairs stacked by the walls. Upstairs there were more rooms.
The whole place had been paid for and built for Boss Stoker. He had never been there, which made little difference as long as the place was for Stoker.
Daniel Port left his car in the front by the No Parking sign and headed for the stairs. Before he got to them he turned back, locked both doors of the car, and then went into the club.
Downstairs looked empty. In the room with the easy chairs Port found two men sitting by the fireplace. They had a small volley ball and kept tossing it back and forth. Port said, “Is Lantek in?” and the men looked around at him.
“Should be,” said one of them. They kept tossing the ball. Port went upstairs without seeing anyone else, until he came to the back corridor. The man at one of the doors paid no attention to Port.
“You seen Lantek?” said Port.
The man looked up and nodded. Then he leaned back against the wall and looked at his magazine. Port tried again.
“Where is he?”
“Who wants to know?”
Port had never seen the man before. He was slight and dark, and Port guessed what the man lacked in strength he might well make up in speed.
“You new here?” said Port.
“Yes. Perhaps a month.”
With Lantek at the club, things could mostly be run by phone, and Port hadn’t been there in over a month.
“All right. Where’s Lantek?”
“He’s busy. Come back in half an hour.”
“You’re new here,” said Port. “You don’t know who I am. Just tell me where Lantek is.”
“Who are you?”
“Dan Port.”
The man closed his magazine quickly and looked attentive. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know who you were. If I can do anything . . .”
“You can tell me where Lantek is.”
The man was uncomfortable. He wanted to please, but he couldn’t.
“He told me—he said not before half an hour. I’m new here, and maybe you better . . .”
“He’s in there?” and Port looked at the door, because the new man had edged himself in front of it.
“He is, Mr. Port, but he said nobody, or nothing, for half an hour.”
“You’re eager,” said Port. “I bet Lantek likes that.”
“I hope so,” said the man.
“Don’t be so eager it makes you scared. Open that door.”
The new man stepped aside and let Port go in.
The room had a table, some chairs, and a couch. They were all by the couch, backs to the door, and they didn’t notice Port right away. Only the girl did, because she was facing his way. She got off the couch and looked sullen. She said, “He’s extra. He’s not part of the deal.”
She wore shoes and a blouse—and nothing else.
Port closed the door and they all looked at him. There were Lantek and several others.
“Jeez,” said Port. “It’s only ten in the morning!”
The girl walked up to Port and stopped with her hands on her hips. She said, “Don’t act like I asked you to take a drink before noon. All I said was . . .”
“Put your clothes on,” said Port.
Lantek stepped up, a big man with his hair cut down to a stiff stubble and a jaw like a trap. He smiled at Port and shrugged one shoulder.
“Hell, Danny—you want in on it?”
“Not if you don’t raise the ante,” said the girl. One of the seven others was trying to shush her but she pushed him aside and got louder. “When I make a deal—” she started, but Port interrupted.
“Lady, there’s no deal. Put your clothes on and go.”
They all started talking together and they all had the same thing in mind. Lantek couldn’t keep them quiet and Port didn’t try. He waited a while longer till they were all looking at him.
“Put your clothes on,” he said to the girl.
She put on the skirt and a jacket and buttoned up, not looking happy about it. “I didn’t get paid yet,” she said.
“For what?” said one of the men, and another voice, “Nothing happened. Why should . . .”
“I come up here!” said the girl, angry now. “What about wasting my time and—the indignity!”
“Get out,” said Lantek.
His voice made her jump and she started for the door.
“She gets paid half,” said Port. “For her time—and the indignity.”
He lit a cigarette and waited while the girl collected the half-fee and then left the room. Then the men stood in the room, without talking, waiting for Port.
“Which one of you guys handles the phone in this place?”
One man raised his hand, but didn’t say anything. Then Port wanted to know who did the soliciting, who made the rounds on the charity cases, which one ran the errands, and who kept the books. He nodded each time a man raised his hand, and when he was finished he left a moment of silence, making them all hope he was through. Then he dismissed them.
They were out of the room in short order, leaving only Port and Lantek, who was rubbing one hand through his hair and looking back and forth between Port and the window. Port looked at him briefly. He mumbled, “Jeez. At ten in the morning,” and opened the door. The new man was still standing there. “Bring him along,” said Port. He went into a room fixed like an office, sat down at the desk, and waited for Lantek and the new one to come in. Lantek sat down by the desk, but the new man stood.
“I never asked you your name,” said Port.
“I’m Ramon. Galvin Ramon.”
“You say Galvin?”
