Little Caesar
dressing-table. Olga took hold of DeVoss’s arm and said:
“Tell them Joe ain’t here. Joe, honey, beat it. I’ll see if I can find
out what it’s all about.”
Willoughby was staring stupefied at Joe. He pointed to the
dressing-table.
“What do you carry that thing for?” he demanded.
Olga said:
“Oh, be quiet!”
Joe grinned at Willoughby.
“Just in case,” he said.
“Listen, Olga,” said DeVoss, “this is serious. I could tell the way
they acted. I told them I didn’t think Joe was here but they just
laughed.”
Joe stood undecided.
“Joe,” DeVoss went on, “remember that time Mr. Rico was over here and a
couple of bulls shadowed him? Well, the big one’s here.”
“Flaherty!” cried Joe.
Olga gave Joe a push.
“Beat it, Joe. You know them bulls. They’ll frame you.”
“O.K., honey,” said Joe.
“Why, Joe,” said Willoughby, “you mean to tell me you’re in some kind
of trouble?”
“Oh, be quiet,” said Olga.
Joe grabbed his hat from a chair and started for the door.
“Goodbye, honey,” he said to Olga, “you’ll hear from me.”
“Better face the music,” said Willoughby.
“Go out through the kitchen,” said DeVoss.
Joe opened the door but closed it immediately and said:
“It’s all up. Here they come.”
He looked in agony at Olga. Wasn’t this just his goddam luck! Penned
up in a room three stories above the pavement. He made a dash for the
dressing-table, but Olga grabbed his arm.
“For God’s sake, Joe,” said DeVoss, “don’t cause no trouble in my
place. I don’t know what they want you for and I don’t give a damn.
I’ll get you a lawyer and see you through, but, for God’s sake,
don’t do no shooting in my place.”
Willoughby, stunned, sat staring till his cigarette burned his fingers,
then he said:
“Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll see you through too.”
“Goddam it,” cried Joe, “you think I’m gonna let ’em take me like I was
a purse-snatcher on his first stand.”
He pushed Olga away from him and was pulling at the dressing-table
drawer, when the door opened and Flaherty came in, followed by Spike
Rieger. Flaherty had his right hand in his coat pocket.
“Joe,” said Flaherty, “step away from that drawer and make it snappy.”
Joe knew Flaherty’s reputation. That boy used his rod and argued
afterwards. Joe moved away from the dressing-table and stood staring at
the floor.
“What’s the idea, Flaherty?” he demanded.
“Well,” said Flaherty, “we got a big audience here and I ain’t much on
embarrassing people, so you better just come along and we’ll have a
nice little talk.”
“Aw, can that,” said Joe.
Willoughby walked over to Flaherty.
“My name’s Willoughby,” he said, “John C. Willoughby. I suppose you’ve
heard of me. Say, what’s this all about anyway? Why, I’ve known Joe for
nearly a year and as far as I know he’s a nice young fellow.”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “Joe’s a pretty smooth young fellow, but we
caught up with him.”
“Well,” said Willoughby, “I don’t know what he’s done, but I’m willing
to go on his bail.”
Flaherty turned to Rieger.
“I don’t suppose there’ll be much talk about bail, do you, Spike?”
Rieger grinned and shook his head.
“No bail!” Willoughby exclaimed.
“Aw, it’s just one of their wise frame-ups, Mr. Willoughby,” said Joe,
but his face was white.
“Well, we’ll see about this,” said Willoughby. “I’ll have my lawyer
down in half an hour.”
“Listen,” said Flaherty, “there ain’t nobody gonna see this bird for
twenty-four hours.”
Olga flung herself on the lounge and began to cry.
“And let me give you an earful, Mr. Willoughby,” said Flaherty;
“for a guy of your class you sure ain’t very careful about who you mix
up with. These two birds here are taking you, see, and if I was you I’d
snap out of it and forget all about getting a lawyer.”
“If that ain’t a bull for you,” said Joe.
“Don’t pay no attention to him, Jack,” said Olga.
“Certainly not,” said Willoughby.
“All right, Spike,” said Flaherty, “I guess we wasted enough time on
these birds. Put the cuffs on him.”
Olga jumped up and made a grab for Rieger, but DeVoss caught her from
the back and held her.
“You can’t do nothing that way, Olga,” he said, “you’ll just make it
tough for Joe.”
Olga screamed with rage and kicked back at DeVoss.
“Ain’t dames awful?” said Flaherty.
Willoughby went over to Olga and tried to talk to her, but she
continued to struggle. Rieger took out his handcuffs and walked over to
Joe.
“Wait a minute,” said Joe, “you can’t put no bracelets on me.
Where’s your warrant?”
Rieger took the warrant out of his pocket and handed it to Joe. Joe
read it slowly, then, without comment, handed it back.
“Well, Joe,” said Flaherty.
Joe didn’t say anything; he just held out his wrists.
“What do they want you for, Joe?” cried Olga.
“Never mind,” said Joe, “they ain’t got no case.”
Olga stopped struggling.
“You mean it, Joe?”
“Sure,” said Joe, “they ain’t got no case at all. I’ll be out in
twenty-four hours.”
“Shall I get my lawyer?” asked Willoughby.
“Ain’t much use,” said Joe.
DeVoss came over to Flaherty and said:
“Listen, Mr. Flaherty, take him out through the kitchen, can’t you? I
can’t have cops coming in here pinching people.”
“You got a nerve,” said Flaherty; “why, I ought to pull you in for
complicity. Didn’t you come back here and tip Joe off?”
DeVoss got pale.
“Honest to God, I didn’t tip him off. I just told him a couple of guys
wanted to see him.”
“Pipe down,” said Flaherty. “Come on, Joe, let’s take a ride.”
Joe’s face was ghastly, but he grinned.
“O.K.,” he said; “it’s the first ride I ever took with any of you
birds.”
“Well, I hope it’s the last,” said Flaherty.
“Want me to come down and see you, Joe?” asked Olga.
“No,” said Joe.
They put Joe between two policemen in the back seat of the police car.
Rieger and Flaherty sat in front. The traffic was light as it was
nearly three o’clock in the morning. Rieger drove carelessly, one hand
on the wheel most of the time, and talked to Flaherty.
“Boy,” said Joe, “that bird don’t care how he drives.”
“You ain’t got far to go,” said one of the policemen.
“No, but I ain’t sure of getting there.”
The policemen laughed.
“Say,” said Joe, “can I smoke?”
One of the policemen leaned forward.
“Say, chief, can this bird smoke?”
“No,” said Flaherty; “what the hell you think this is, Joe! Maybe we
better pick up a couple of girls for you.”
The policemen laughed.
“Funny thing,” said Joe, “you know, Flaherty, a friend of mine told me
the other day that he didn’t think you’d live long.”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “I know that friend of yours. He ain’t looking
any too healthy himself.”
* * * * *
For as late as it was there was a good deal of activity at the station.
A dozen plain-clothes men were waiting in the big room, when they
brought Joe in, and the Assistant County Prosecutor was standing at the
desk talking to the sergeant.
“Looks like big doings,” said Joe.
“Shut up,” said Flaherty; “recess is over. You open your mouth again
and I’ll close it for you.”
They took Joe up to the desk to book him.
“Well, you got him,” said the prosecutor, looking Joe over.
“Yeah, we got him,” said Flaherty. “Did you chase the newspaper guys?”
“Yeah,” said the prosecutor, “there won’t be no leaks to this.”
“O.K.,” said Flaherty.
The sergeant nodded to him.
“All right, chief.”
Flaherty took Joe by the arm.
“All right, Joe,” he said, “we’re gonna give you a nice little room.”
“With bath?” asked Joe.
“Listen, boy,” said Flaherty, “we’re gonna take all that smartness out
of you.”
Joe didn’t say anything. He was trying to keep up his front until they
locked him in his cell, but he was ready to drop. They had him; they
sure to God had him.
The turnkey swung the big barred door wide. Flaherty took Joe to the
door of his cell, unlocked the handcuffs, and gave him a push.
“All right, boy,” he said, “I’ll be back later.”
“Listen, Flaherty,” said Joe, “can’t I even have a smoke?”
Flaherty laughed, motioned for the turnkey to lock the cell door, and
disappeared down the corridor.
“Say, buddy,” said Joe to the turnkey, “can’t you get me a pack of
cigarettes?”
“Nothing doing,” said the turnkey, “not for fifty bucks. I got strict
orders on you, boy.”
The turnkey went away. Joe stood in the middle of his cell for a
moment, then he climbed up on his bunk and looked out the window. Far
away down a side street he saw a big electric sign: DANCING.
Joe flung himself down on his bunk. They had him; they sure to God did.
“If I can only stick it out!” he said.
IV
Joe awoke from a doze and turned to look out the window. Still dark.
He couldn’t have been asleep long. Wasn’t it never going to get
light! He got up and walked to the front of his cell. It wouldn’t be so
bad if there were some other guys to talk to; but the cells on either
side of him were vacant; also the ones across the corridor.
“They sure ain’t taking no chances with me,” said Joe.
He began to feel very uneasy. Something seemed to be dragging at his
stomach and he had a rotten taste in his mouth.
“Some of that highhat grub I et,” said Joe.
The turnkey came down the corridor and stopped in front of Joe’s cell.
“Say, buddy,” he said, “they’ll be wanting you up front pretty soon.”
“Yeah?” said Joe. “Listen, can’t you do me a favor and get me a pack of
cigs. I got plenty of money. Ask the sergeant.”
“Can’t cut it,” said the turnkey.
“What’s doing up front?” asked Joe.
“A show-up.”
“Yeah?” said Joe; then, “listen, I’ll give you a couple of bucks for
some cigs.”
The turnkey laughed.
“Say, there’s a guy in 18 that’d give me a hundred berries for
some snow. Not a chance. They sure are putting the clamps on us now.
It’s that goddam Crime Commission business. Tough on you birds.”
“Ain’t it!” said Joe.
The turnkey went away. Joe threw himself down on his bunk. Yeah, now
it was coming. That goddam peroxide dame had sure put the skids under
him. Well, there you was! Can’t tell how things are going to break. If
he’d’ve been wise he’d’ve sent Olga to see the Big Boy or Rico. But
then there’s no use letting a dame get too familiar with everything.
Anyway, he had an alibi. But Flaherty was a rough agent and you could
never tell what he would pull. Joe felt mechanically for his absent
cigarette case.
“Hell,” he said, “I lost my head! I lost my head! Rico ought to put a
hunk of lead in me. As long as I been in the game and then don’t know
no better. God, but I was dumb.”
He turned over irritably and sat up. He heard the keys clanking down
the corridor. A policeman stopped in front of his door and called:
“All right, dago.”
Joe got up. The turnkey unlocked the door. There were two policemen and
a plain-clothes man standing a little way down the corridor. When Joe
came out one of the policemen said:
“There’s the guy that plugged Courtney.”
They stared at him. Joe felt sick at his stomach.
“Yeah,” said the plain-clothes man, “they won’t do much to that bird.”
The turnkey took Joe by the arm.
“All right, kid,” he said.
Joe walked between the turnkey and the policeman, who had called
him. They took him into a big room where there were three policemen
and about a dozen prisoners. Joe saw Bugs Liska, Steve Gollancz’s
lieutenant. They exchanged a glance.
A police sergeant got to his feet and shouted:
“All right, you birds, let’s go.”
The turnkey pushed Joe into line. A big door was swung open and he saw
a small, brilliantly lighted room with a crowd of people lining the
walls. Joe looked for the peroxide blonde. There she was, pale and
hardboiled, between two bulls. Joe started. God, he had her now. She