Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 2, April 1961

Mack Carson lost no time in bringing him up. “My box at the Kenton Lake Spa was wrecked last night.”

“Largo?”

“Who can prove it? A drunk. He beat it. Nobody stopped him.”

“Have Largo’s boys been pushing you harder lately?”

“That’s a silly question, Larry. You know the guy and what he’s capable of.”

“I don’t quite agree with the rest of you on that. He wants us in that so-called union of his but so far it’s been mostly threats.”

“Well, he sure threatened the hell out of my box at Kenton Lake.”

“That might not have been Largo.”

“Maybe not,” Mack said, “but the rest of us can’t help being scared. We’ve got more to worry about than you. We’ve got wives and kids.”

That was true. I had only myself and my boxes and not being vulnerable to the dirtier tactics of Largo’s kind I’d become a sort of rallying point for the others. I was in a position to match dirty looks with the big thug so the boys had used me for a buffer — the get-Larry-Bowman-in-and-I’ll-join-too type of thing.

So far it had worked and I thought I knew why. I tried to explain it to Mack. “Largo can’t afford to push his neck out very far right now. You know that. He’s going before the racket committee in Washington.”

“Uh-huh. He’ll go down there and take the Fifth all over the place and then come back here and beat our brains out.”

“I don’t think so. There’s that secretary of his you’re forgetting about. It’s not generally known and I want you to keep it under your hat, but she’s ready to turn on him. She’s not open to prosecution and there’s nothing to keep her from talking her head off.”

“Nothing except maybe she won’t have a head by the time she gets there.”

“You’re misjudging Largo, Mack. He’s clever and devious and he’s scared. Sure he threatens — nobody can get him on that. But he’s not going to do anything to Gloria Dane or have anything done to her because the finger would point straight at him. You’ve got to remember it’s not just local law on his neck. He’s been careless with his income tax and the Federal boys are keeping him awake nights.”

Mack wanted to be convinced but he was having a tough time selling himself on how safe we really were. “Okay, Larry. I hope it’s like you say. I’ll hold out a while longer and I know the rest of the boys will too. But if the rough stuff starts — the real rough stuff—”

“It won’t. All we have to do is keep a solid front.”

“Sure, Larry. It’s solid as a rock. But I’d hate to see Largo try to throw a cream puff through it. The rock might melt.”

“Everything will work out fine. Wait and see.”

With Mack reassurred, at least for time being, I went back to work; finished the mussed-up box, loaded a rack of records into the car, and went out on the route to make changes.

Things went smoothly with everything quiet on the juke box front and the customers dumping in dimes and quarters at brisk rate.

In fact things were so peaceful that I cut back through Central City proper, undisputed Largo territory, and tried a little salesmanship on a couple of his customers. But I didn’t get very far.

Not that the owners wouldn’t have liked to throw Largo’s boxes out. They were both moaning over inferior merchandise — counterfeit discs — another of Largo’s little rackets.

Not content with a big end of the take, he’d been transposing records onto his own wax and distributing stolen music to save the cost of buying from legitimate companies. The result was scratchy unsatisfactory rendition and the outlet owners were getting the complaints from their public.

There wasn’t much they could do, though, with Largo’s goons handling the objections.

I listened to some myself, offered sympathy, and went on home and so ended the first day...

The second began as usual; back to normal in that there were no stranded blondes on the highway as I drove toward Danvers and breakfast.

Connie Higgins had my orange juice ready and looked a trifle more starry-eyed than usual, I thought. “You do recall asking me out tonight, don’t you?” She asked the question over my second cup of coffee after I’d deliberately avoided any mention of the date.

“Of course. I was afraid to say anything for fear you’d been offered a better proposition.”

“When that happens I won’t hesitate to let you know.”

“Okay. Just give me a chance to up the bid. But about tonight-how about driving out to my place? Meet me there and we’ll go on up to Saugus Lodge.”

Her blue eyes widened. “My, my! The dimes must be really rolling in.”

“Confidentially, I’ll have to hock my watch but a date with you will be worth it.”

I reversed myself, left her only a dime tip and walked out of the restaurant just as one of Danver’s two squad cars pulled up beside the parking lot. I paid them no attention, being of clear conscience and went over to my convertible.

But they demanded attention when they cut across in front of me and blocked my exit to the street. One of them got out and strolled up beside me.

“Is this your car?”

“That’s right. Bought and paid for.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “It sure is a blazer, isn’t it?”