KING OF THE CITY.

By John M. Floyd.

Manny Ramirez was already there, waiting in the gra.s.sy clearing at the edge of the overlook, when the tall man arrived. Ramirez turned and watched, his elbows propped comfortably on the wooden railing behind him, while the man walked through the last of the trees and out into the sunlit clearing. As he approached he took something from his coat pocket and held it casually at his side--the object was large and black and rounded, and had a short strap attached. At the sight of it Ramirez tensed, then slowly relaxed. It was only a pair of binoculars. The tall man stopped at a distance of ten or twelve feet, and for several seconds the two of them stood facing each other in an eerie, heavy silence.

"So you're the famous Mike Valenti," Ramirez said.

The tall man -- who was also a considerably older man than Ramirez -- didn't reply. Their eyes held for a long moment; finally the newcomer turned to the wooden barrier and, like Ramirez, rested his elbows and forearms on the top rail. Below them, the city was spread out like an aerial map, and the valley stretched away into hazy blue distance. The guidebooks said you could see fifty miles from here--the old guidebooks, that is. The road to the overlook had been closed for ten years.

The man called Valenti raised the binoculars slowly to his eyes and studied the view for a moment. Without turning to look at Ramirez, he said: "Thanks for coming. I know it was short notice."

A silence pa.s.sed, during which Valenti continued to examine the valley and Ramirez continued to examine Valenti.

After a moment Ramirez removed a long thin cigar from his vest pocket. Keeping his eyes on the older man, he lit the cigar with a gold lighter and inhaled deeply.

"I suppose I should be honored," Ramirez said, letting out jerky little clouds of smoke along with his words. "I'm told you don't come out of hiding very often."

Again the tall man didn't bother to reply. He kept his eyes to the gla.s.ses, his elbows on the railing. The only sounds were the sighing of the wind in the pines and the occasional faraway honk of a car horn.

"Actually I'm a little surprised," Ramirez added, watching him shrewdly. "You don't look nearly as much like a dago as I thought you would."

Valenti gave him a bored glance, then went back to the view. "You don't look like a man who might be about to die in a few minutes, either," he said. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Ramirez blinked. He was not someone who was accustomed to hearing threats -- at least not firsthand. He took his cigar from between his teeth; a slow smile spread across his face.

"Who should I be afraid of?" he asked carefully. "You?"

The tall man lowered the gla.s.ses and stared at him. "I doubt if you have sense enough to be," he observed. "But yes, you should."

Manny Ramirez laughed out loud. "You got some thick bark on you, Valenti, I'll give you that. Coming up here all alone, talking to Manuel Ramirez that way . . ."

Valenti smiled back at him. "I'm not alone," he said. "A guardian angel watches over me." He paused and looked out over the view once more, as if studying a rare work of art. "A short angel, with a bald head and only one eye." He raised the gla.s.ses again. "An eye sharp enough to put that cigar of yours out at a hundred yards, if I tell him to."

Ramirez' grin faded. Moving only his eyes, he glanced up and past the tall man's profile, up into the dark forest on the slope above the clearing. His gaze stayed there a minute, searching, then fell again to rest on Valenti. "You're lying," he said flatly. "Shorty's still in Quentin. With three years left to go."

"Not any more. He's here now. Working for me."

"I don't believe you."

Again Valenti looked up from his binoculars. "I figured you might not. He and I talked about that. So we agreed on a signal. A little demonstration, let's call it. The only problem is, you're not wearing a hat today, so I'm not sure what part of you he might choose to shoot off." He set the binoculars down carefully on the top rail and held both hands down at his sides. "Would you like me to show you?"

Manny Ramirez licked his lips. His smile was long gone now; the beginnings of a frown creased his forehead. He had known Shorty Robinson well, had even done a job or two with him over the years, and had seen the feats he could perform with a highpowered rifle. As a result Ramirez found himself faced with a dilemma. On the one hand, he seriously doubted that Valenti -- even with his obvious connections -- would be able to get a man like Shorty Robinson out of a maximum-security prison. On the other hand, Ramirez had grown rather fond of most of his body parts, and would prefer to keep them intact and working.

"You're forgetting something, Mike Valenti," he said tightly. "I'm not all alone up here either."

"Oh yes you are, Manny. I know you're not used to it, but you are."

Ramirez' frown deepened. Keeping his eyes on the older man, he turned his head to the left and called: "Pedro! Luis! Come out here."

There was no answer. Somewhere far away, a train whistle blew long and mournfully.

"Boys!" he called again, more loudly now. "Get your a.s.ses out here NOW!"

Silence.

After a moment Valenti said, rea.s.suringly: "Your friends are fine, Manny, they're just catching a little nap. That's why I was late. If you behave you'll be able to stop and pick them up on your way out." He sighed and tried to look philosophical. "Good help is getting hard to find, isn't it."

Manny Ramirez' dark face seemed to darken even further. He started to take a step forward.

"Hold it," Valenti said sharply. "Just hold it right there."

Ramirez stopped, looking uncertain.

"As long as we've started on the ground rules, let me finish them up. I would advise you to listen closely." The tall man held a hand out in front of him and wiggled his fingers. "Anytime during our little meeting here today, if I raise my hand over my head with a forefinger extended, you will be wounded. A kneecap, probably. Also if you try to run away." He paused. "If I raise my hand flat, with the palm out and all five fingers extended, you will die. Immediately. You'll also die if you make a sudden move toward me, or try to pull a weapon. Understood?"

Ramirez stood there glaring at him, chewing the thin cigar. After a moment his eyes flicked past the older man again, scanning the forest, then returned to Valenti's face. "I'll kill you for this," he said fervently.

"Maybe later, Manny. Right now let's concentrate on the present."

Ramirez was quiet for several seconds, watching the other's eyes. "What is it you want?" he blurted. "Why are you doing this?"

"I want information," Valenti said. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets now; he looked like a businessman who had decided to take a stroll through the park on his lunch break.

"Information . . . ?"

"I want a name and a place. If you give them to me you can go. You'll find your buddies in a ditch just down the path a ways, tied up and snoozing like babies. I'm afraid you'll have to load 'em into the car yourself, though."

Ramirez' face hardened. He took out his cigar and flung it aside in disgust. "You can shove it, Valenti. You're not gettin' anything from me, now or ever."

"I truly hope you don't mean that, my friend."

"d.a.m.n right I mean it. Have your man kill me if you're goin' to, I'm not tellin' you nothin'." He glanced once more up into the trees. "Do it now, if you're so d.a.m.n smart. Go ahead!"

The tall man sighed. "I was afraid of this," he admitted. "The typical macho Mexican. But if you don't care about your own life, maybe you do about someone else's."

Ramirez' eyes narrowed. "What?"

"How about your brother, for instance? You wouldn't want your stubbornness to hurt him, would you?"

"What are you talkin' about --"

With a swift, smooth motion, Valenti picked the binoculars up off the rail and tossed them through the air to a startled Manny Ramirez. "See for yourself," he said.

For a moment Ramirez just stood there holding the gla.s.ses and staring at the older man doubtfully. Then, puzzled but obviously worried, he turned to the overlook and brought the binoculars to eye level.

"The railyard," Valenti said. "The north edge, behind the old packing plant."

It took Ramirez a moment to find it and get the gla.s.ses focused. When he did he squinted and leaned forward an inch or two, as if that would be enough to show him he wasn't really seeing what he thought he was seeing.