Little Caesar
was vile, and the lake breeze was fresh and cool.
He had gone scarcely half a block when a large touring-car with the
curtains closed passed him. He saw the car, noticing especially the
closed curtains and the fact that the driver was hugging the curb,
and, fearing the worst, he looked about for a shelter, but, as the car
passed him and went on, he paid no further attention to it. Stopping in
front of a lighted drugstore window he took out his watch and looked at
it. One o’clock! Kid Bean and the Killer ought to be back any minute
now. Suddenly he looked up. The big touring car had turned and was
coming back at full speed with its exhaust roaring. Rico cursed himself
for his carelessness and reached under his armpit for his gun. But the
car was abreast of him now and three guns blazed. Rico felt a searing
pain in his shoulder and fell to the ground. His gun was stuck in its
holster and he couldn’t get it out. One of the men leaned out of the
car and emptied his gun at Rico, who, helpless on the ground, heard the
bullets sing.
“A goddam fine shot you are!” said Rico.
The big touring-car turned a corner and disappeared. Rico got to his
feet and walked into the drugstore. The screen-door banged behind
him and the clerk, who had been lying down behind the counter, got
unsteadily to his feet.
“My God,” he stammered, “what was all the popping for?”
Then he noticed that there was a torn place on the shoulder of Rico’s
coat.
“Was they after you, mister?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “I got brushed. Give me a roll of bandages.”
The clerk stood there with his mouth open. People began to come
into the store. Some of them knew who Rico was and stood staring at him.
“They put a bullet through my window,” said the clerk.
“Listen,” said Rico, “go get me a package of bandages.”
The clerk finally came to himself and went for the bandages. A crowd
had gathered in the street and now there were so many people in the
drugstore that the people on the outside couldn’t get in. Rico stood
with his back to the counter, watching. Blood had begun to drip from
his coat-sleeve. Before the clerk returned with the bandages, Jastrow,
the famous Little Italy cop, pushed his way through the crowd, followed
almost immediately by Joe Massara.
“Well,” said Jastrow, “somebody finally put one in you, did they, Rico?”
“Yeah,” said Rico.
Joe Massara came over and put his hand on Rico’s arm. Joe’s face was
white.
“Hurt you much, boss?”
“No,” said Rico; “what the hell you doing way over here?”
“I got tipped off,” said Joe. “I couldn’t get you on the phone and I
began to get nervous. We’d’ve made it only my cab driver got hooked for
speeding.”
“Who gave you the tip?” Jastrow demanded.
“Go press the bricks,” said Rico, “this ain’t your funeral.”
Jastrow laughed.
“Rico,” he said, “don’t you know that the Old Man’s taken an awful
interest in you?”
“Well, tell him the cops couldn’t get me no other way so they hired a
couple of gunmen.”
Joe laughed. Jastrow laughed also and taking out his notebook began to
write in it. The clerk came with the bandages. Joe took them from him
and paid him. Before they could get started, Killer Pepi and Otero came
shoving their way through the crowd.
“Hello, boys,” said Jastrow, looking up from his little book, “your
boss got nudged by a hunk of lead.”
“So they tell me,” said the Killer.
Rico said:
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Jastrow went in front, clearing the way, followed by Otero and Killer
Pepi, who had Rico between them. Joe brought up the rear. People were
lined to the car-tracks; lights blazed in all the houses along the
street, and men hung from the lamp-posts. When they came out of the
store, the crowd was so thick that they were unable to get any farther.
Jastrow took out his nightstick and flourished it, but the sight of it
was enough, the crowd made a path.
As they walked along Joe came up close to Rico and whispered:
“Little Arnie.”
Rico nodded. Pepi heard Joe.
“Yeah,” he said, “and I’m gonna plug him tonight.”
“There won’t be no plugging,” said Rico.
“Aw, hell,” said Pepi.
Otero was excited.
“Yes, yes, Rico,” he cried.
“Shut up, you birds,” said Rico; “who the hell’s running this show?”
A crowd was waiting for them in front of The Palermo. Bat Carillo
and Ottavio Vettori began to yell as soon as they saw that Rico was on
his feet.
Jastrow turned around.
“Well, I guess I done my duty.”
“Sure,” said Rico, “come in and have a drink.”
“Nothing doing,” said Jastrow, then he shouted: “You birds quit your
damn yelling and get in off the sidewalk.”
Everybody laughed. They all liked Jastrow, who had the reputation
of being on the square. Rico went in escorted by a mob of Little
Italians. In the club people were standing on the tables; the orchestra
was playing loudly; and Sam Vettori, in the middle of the deserted
dance-floor, was waving his arms wildly and bellowing.
When they saw Rico there was a tumult.
“Rico! Rico! Rico!”
Killer Pepi and Otero, intoxicated by the excitement, grabbed each
other and began to dance. Joe waved the bandages. Rico took off his hat
and smiled.
On the way up the stairs Rico turned to Joe and said:
“Go get The Sheeny.”
Killer Pepi took Rico by the arm.
“He’s upstairs now, boss,” he said; “the Kid got plugged.”
“How’d you make out?” Rico inquired.
“O.K.,” said Killer Pepi; “we was making a get-away on the third stand
when one of the guys plugged the Kid. He ain’t hurt much. Just skinned
him.”
Killer Pepi and Kid Bean had robbed twenty-five filling-stations in the
last two weeks.
“All right,” said Rico, “you guys have been on the up and up. Split the
money two ways.”
“That’s the talk, boss,” said the Killer.
Otero knocked at the door. Joe Sansone’s face appeared at the grating,
then the door swung open.
The Sheeny was working on Kid Bean. The Kid was lying on the card
table, smoking a cigarette. His shirt was off and there was a smear of
blood on his hairy chest. When he saw Rico he said:
“They damn near hit the target, boss.”
He pointed to a pierced heart tattooed on his chest. He was as proud of
his tattooing as a Maori chief.
“The boss got plugged,” said Pepi.
“What!” yelled the Kid, sitting up; “go fix him up, Sheeny.”
He gave The Sheeny a push. But Rico said:
“Finish up the Kid first. I can wait.”
“Only jist got to bandage him yet,” said The Sheeny with his
ingratiating smile.
The Sheeny was a graduate doctor, but he had been sent up for an
illegal operation and his license had been revoked. He said his name
was Lazarro, but nobody believed him and everybody referred to him
simply as The Sheeny.
Rico took off his coat and shirt, and sat waiting. His wound had
stopped bleeding.
Joe Massara came over and stood by his chair. Joe’s big cut for an
inside job had pulled him back to the fold. He never talked any
more about quitting the racket. The Courtney affair had blown over
apparently, and he had regained his confidence.
“Joe,” said Rico, “how come they gave you the tip?”
“Well,” said Joe, “I ain’t sure, but I think it was an outsider that
didn’t know nobody but me. He sure had the dope all right. He said the
guys were gonna park at twelve. They didn’t expect you out till two or
three.”
“A fine bunch of gunmen Arnie picked!”
“Yeah,” said Joe.
The Kid climbed off the table and stood feeling his chest.
“Boy, I thought I was plugged for sure.”
“They just bounce off of you,” said Pepi.
The Sheeny began to bathe Rico’s wound.
“’Tain’t much,” he said, “but it pays to be careful.”
When The Sheeny had got Rico bandaged, Rico put on his shirt and sat
smoking. Bat Carillo and Ottavio Vettori, whom he had sent for, came in
and sat down beside him. The Sheeny put on his hat.
“Well,” he said, smiling at Rico, “I guess I’m done. If you guys have
any trouble with them wounds let me know.”
Rico got his billfold and gave The Sheeny a fifty.
“Thank you! Thank you!” said The Sheeny, bowing.
Joe Sansone let him out.
Rico said:
“Now, listen, you birds, tonight’s the big clean-up. If these guys want
trouble, why, that’s just what we’re looking for.”
“You bet,” said Killer Pepi.
“Now,” Rico went on, “I got things fixed with Joe Peeper and I’m gonna
to give Little Arnie the grand rush right away. I want Killer Pepi and
Otero and Ottavio to go with me.”
“How about me?” demanded Joe Sansone.
“You too, Joe. And you, Bat, I want you to take your gang and smash up
Jew Mike’s. Run everybody out and then smash the place. If Little Arnie
wants trouble, why that’s what we got the most of. Got it?”
“O.K.,” said Bat, “how about the rods?”
“Don’t use ’em,” said Rico; “Jew Mike’s yellow and he won’t put up no
fight.”
“Them guys of mine sure are hard to hold on to,” said Carillo,
grinning.
“That’s your job,” said Rico. “We got to watch this plugging stuff with
Flaherty on our trail.”
“O.K., boss,” said Carillo.
III
When the doorman saw Rico get out of the automobile he stood stunned,
then, pulling himself together, he made an attempt to run. But Pepi
crossed the pavement in two strides, grabbed him by the collar and
pushed him ahead of him up the stairs.
“Listen, Handsome,” said Pepi, “you tell the look-out we’re O.K. or
they’ll bury you.”
At the head of the stairs the doorman spoke to the look-out through the
shutter.
“These birds are all right,” he said.
The look-out opened the door and Pepi shoved a gun against him.
“Turn your back, Buddy,” said Pepi, “and march straight ahead of
me.”
Rico, followed by Joe Sansone, Ottavio Vettori, and Otero, climbed the
long flight of stairs and entered the lobby. The lobby was deserted
except for two or three couples. Beyond it, through a big arched
doorway, they could see the crowded roulette wheels. Rico caught up
with Pepi and said to the doorman:
“Where’s Joe Peeper?”
The doorman had an agonized look. He was sure they were going to kill
him. He just stood there, unable to force himself to speak.
“Say,” said Pepi, “speak up.”
The doorman pointed to a door.
“He’s in with the boss, is he?” said Rico.
The doorman nodded.
“Yeah,” said the look-out, eager to get in good, “Joe’s in there with
the boss and a couple of other guys.”
“All right,” said Rico, “now, Pepi, if the door’s locked, do your
stuff.”
Pepi could force the heaviest door with his shoulder.
Joe Sansone tried the door; it was locked.
“Now,” said Rico, “Pepi’ll force the door. You cover him, Joe, in case
somebody in there gets nervous and pulls a gat. I’ll follow you. Otero,
you stay out here and don’t let nobody in. You watch this pair of hard
guys here, Ottavio.” Rico jerked his thumb toward the look-out and the
doorman.
“You don’t have to watch us,” said the doorman.
They all laughed.
“All right, Pepi,” said Rico.
Pepi hunched his shoulders and flung himself against the door. It
opened with a crash. They saw four startled men rise half way out of
their chairs and stand staring. Joe Peeper cried:
“It’s Rico!”
Pepi was on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, but Joe
Sansone stepped in behind him and covered the four men with his big
automatic. Rico came in, took off his hat and bowed.
“Hello, Arnie,” he said; “how’s business?”
Little Arnie sat with his mouth slightly open. As a rule Little
Arnie was imperturbable. He hid an excess of both cunning and timidity
behind a cold, repellent, sallow Jewish mask. But this cyclonic entry
was too much for him. His mask had slipped, revealing a pale, terrified
countenance.
“Well,” he said, “what’s the game?”
Joe Peeper, who was in Rico’s pay, said:
“Pull up a chair, you guys.”