Never Love a Stranger Read Online Free

then skin out the window and down the pole and be on my way. In the evening I would return in the same manner I left, and no one was the wiser.
    It was on one of those days I met Silk Fennelli.
    Silk Fennelli was the big man in our neighbourhood. He ran everything: booze, gambling, and the pay-off rackets. He was the most respected and feared man in that section. I used to see him once in a while when he stopped by at Keough’s on business. He always had his boys with him. He was tough, hard, and smart. He wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody. He was my hero.
    Sometimes when I was through at Keough’s early, I would take my shine box and go out for a while and pick up some extra change. This afternoon I walked into the speak at the corner of Broadway and Sixty-fifth. The best dough was in the speaks.
    I went from one customer at the bar to the other. “Shine, mister?” I would ask. “Shine?”
    The fat barkeep, beads of sweat showing on his bald head, swore at me. “G’wan! Get to hell out of here! How many times do I have to tell you kids not to bother the customers in here? Now get out before I kick you in the can!”
    I didn’t answer but turned and started back towards the door. As I walked towards it some wise guy at the bar stuck his foot out and I fell over it. Down I went on my hands and knees, the shine box falling from my shoulder. The bottles of liquid paste smashed on the tile floor and ran over it in an odd mixture of black and brown. I was bewildered for a minute and sat there, haunches on knees, as the paste ran in all directions over the clean tile.
    Suddenly I was yanked to my feet by a fat ham-like hand that grabbed me by the neck. It was the barkeep. He was raging. “Come on. You’re on your way out before I …” He was so mad he stuttered as he dragged me towards the door.
    Almost at the door I snapped out of my daze. I tore myself loose from his grasp. “Gimme my shine box,” I shouted, “I want my shine box.”
    “Go on! Get out! It’ll teach you not to come in here any more. Beat it!”
    “I won’t go without my shine box,” I shouted. I dodged around him, ran back into the saloon, and started stuffing the brushes, rags, and cans back into the box.
    The barkeep caught me just as I started to get up. He slapped me on the side of the head. My ears rang. “I’ll teach you little bastards to stay out of here,” he snarled. He hit me again and grabbed me by the neck so I couldn’t move. I squirmed, trying to escape his grip, but he held too tight. I tried to kick him but he had too good a grip on me.
    “Let him go, Tony, I want a shine,” said a quiet, well- modulated voice from one of the booths against the sidewall.
    The barkeep and I both turned around. The barkeep still held one hand in the air as if
    it were stuck there, and the other hand still held on to me. I don’t know which of us was the more surprised. I saw a slim good-looking man of about thirty-five or forty sitting in one of the booths with one hand lying half clenched on the table, the other toying with a pocket-knife attached to a chain running through his vest. He wore a dark-grey suit, a well-shaped black hat, and shiny black shoes. His grey eyes were half closed and a thin moustache showed over his well-shaped lips. White, gleaming teeth shining out of darkly aquiline features completed the picture. It was Silk Fennelli. He watched us steadily.
    The barkeep cleared his throat. “All right, Mr. Fennelli.” He let me go and went behind the bar.
    I wiped my face on my sleeve and walked over to the booth. I dragged the box along with me. There were two other people in the booth with him: a young, well-dressed man and a good-looking dame.
    “I can’t give you a shine, mister,” I said. “Why?” Fennelli asked.
    “I spilled the black polish all on the floor,” I replied.
    He reached into his pocket. He took out a wallet, removed a five-dollar bill from it, and held it out towards me. “Go get some,” he