Little Caesar
“Joe spilled it, hunh? Rico said he’d turn yellow.”
Scabby took him under the arms and tried to pull him to his feet,
but Sam pushed him away.
“No use running,” he said, “they’ll get you sure. I ain’t gonna go
running all over hell and back and a bunch of bulls chasing me.”
Scabby swore violently in Italian.
“No,” said Sam, “no use running.”
“Well,” said Scabby, “this bird’s gonna pull his freight. Sam, you must
be full of hop.”
Sam sat staring at his shoes.
“Listen,” said Scabby, “I can’t waste no more time. Are you gonna pull
out or ain’t you?”
Sam didn’t say anything.
“O.K.,” said Scabby; “I’m moving.”
“Wait,” cried Sam. “Scabby, listen to me. I been good to you, ain’t I?”
“You sure have.”
“I give you the money to bring your old man over here, didn’t I? And I
give you the money to bury him, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
“Well, listen, Scabby, if Rico gets away, pop him. Goddam him; he’s
busted us all. Pop him, Scabby, for old Sam.”
“He won’t get away,” said Scabby.
“You don’t know that guy,” said Sam, getting shakily to his feet; “sure
to God as I’m a Catholic, you don’t know that guy. He’s got a run of
luck and it may last.”
“If he gets away I’ll pop him,” said Scabby.
The door was flung violently open and Killer Pepi stepped in.
“I heard you bastards,” he said. “The Kid told me there was something
up. Double-crossing the boss, hunh?”
“Go to hell,” said Sam.
Scabby raised his gun but it missed fire. The Killer shot from his hip,
then ran out, slamming the door.
“Did he plug you, Scabby?” cried Sam.
“No,” said Scabby, “but I heard her sing.”
The window behind Scabby had a bullet hole in it.
“He’ll spill it sure,” said Sam, his face puckered.
“Won’t do him no good,” said Scabby, “’cause the bulls are on their
way. Well, Sam, I’m moving.”
Sam just looked at him. Scabby raised the window and climbed out
on the fire-escape.
“Love of God, Sam,” said Scabby, “you got to do something.”
Sam took his hat from the hook.
“I’ll go see the Big Boy.”
“It won’t do you no good, Sam.”
They heard someone running down the hall, then, there was a shot,
followed by a rush of feet. Chesty flung open the door.
“The bulls!” he cried.
Scabby disappeared down the fire-escape. Sam took out his automatic and
put his back against the wall. Spike Rieger put his head in the door,
then drew it back hastily.
“Sam,” he called, “better give up.”
“All right,” said Sam, flinging his gun on the floor.
Spike Rieger came in followed by two policemen.
“Put the cuffs on him,” said Spike.
Sam held out his hands and one of the policemen snapped on the
handcuffs.
“Spike,” said Sam, “did you pick the Killer up on the way in?”
“No,” said Spike, “we don’t want him for nothing.” Turning to the
policemen Spike said: “All right, put him in the wagon.”
“Listen, Spike,” said Sam, “did you get Rico?”
“I don’t know,” said Spike. “Flaherty’s after him. I guess you know
Gentleman Joe squawked, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” said Sam, indifferently, “but you ain’t got no case against me.”
Spike laughed.
VI
The Killer knocked at Rico’s door but got no response. He knocked again
and again, then, getting impatient, he put his shoulder to the door and
flung it open. No Rico. The Killer stood in the hall, wondering where
Rico could have gone. From the landing above him, the landlady yelled:
“Hey, what did you do to that door?”
“The hell with the door,” said Pepi; “do you know where the guy
that lives there is?”
“No,” said the landlady, “but I seen him go out with a fellow.”
“What kind of a fellow?”
“A little fellow.”
Otero! Killer took the stairs at a jump but slowed his pace as he
reached the main floor. There was a police car at the curb. Flaherty
got out leisurely and stood talking to one of the policemen in the
front seat. Pepi went over to him.
“Looking for the boss?”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “the Big Boy sent me down. I want to have a talk
with him.”
“Yeah?” said Pepi. “Getting wise to yourself, hunh?”
“Rico was always O.K. with me.”
“That’s the talk,” said Pepi. “Well, the boss is upstairs by himself.”
When Flaherty and one of his men had gone into the building, the Killer
grinned at the others and walked slowly away, but, as soon as he had
turned the corner, he broke into a run.
There were two little Italian kids sitting on the steps of the
stairway that led up to Otero’s. They made way for Pepi.
“Otero upstairs?” he asked.
One of the kids said:
“That funny little guy?”
“Yeah,” said Pepi.
“I think I seen him go up.”
“Yeah,” said the other kid, “I seen him.”
Pepi took the stairs at a run and rapped at Otero’s door. Seal Skin
opened it a few inches but Pepi pushed her aside and walked in. Otero
was sitting with his feet on the bed, smoking a big cigar.
“Where’s the boss?” asked Pepi.
“At Blondy’s. What’s the matter?”
“Joe squawked,” said Pepi, “and the bulls is looking for Rico. Get your
coat on and beat it, Otero. I’ll go after the boss.”
Otero leapt to his feet and struggled into his coat.
“Bulls looking for me too?”
“Sure,” said Pepi, “it’s the Courtney business. You beat it, Otero.
This ain’t no picnic.”
“No,” said Otero, “I go with Rico.”
“You damn dummy,” said Seal Skin.
“Yeah,” said Pepi, “you beat it, Otero. Get out of town. They don’t
want me for nothing. I’ll see if I can’t get Rico on the phone; if I
can’t I’ll go after him. Listen, the bulls is over at Rico’s right now.”
“Caramba!” cried Otero, and, slipping his automatic into his coat
pocket, he ran out into the hall and down the stairs.
“The damn dummy!” said Seal Skin.
Pepi stood looking at Seal Skin then he said:
“Sure he’s a damn dummy, but he’s right.”
Before Otero had gone half a block in the direction of Blondy’s, he
saw a police car coming toward him. He ducked into a drugstore. It was
empty except for a clerk who stood staring at Otero.
“Show me the back way out, you!” said Otero.
“Say!” said the clerk.
Otero took out his gun. The clerk threw himself down behind the
counter. Otero ran out through the prescription room and found the back
door, which opened into an alley. One end of the alley was blind, the
other came out onto a busy street. Otero ran toward the open end,
praying in Spanish.
All along the curbs on both sides of the street pushcarts were drawn up
and peddlers were calling their wares. A slow-moving crowd of Little
Italians blocked the pavements. Otero, because of his size, disappeared
into the crowd, and, although he was forced to go slowly, he was safe
from observation. Half a block from Blondy’s he ducked down an alley,
crossed a long cement court and climbed the fire-escape.
Blondy’s bedroom window was locked. Otero beat on it with his fist.
For a moment there was no response, then he saw the bedroom door open
slowly and Blondy’s face appeared. She ran over and unlocked the
window, then she turned and called:
“Rico, it’s The Greek.”
Rico came into the bedroom. He had his hat on.
“Did Pepi get you?”
“No, what the hell?”
The phone rang and Blondy went to answer it.
“They got Joe and he squawked,” said Otero.
Rico looked at him. Blondy came running back.
“My God, Rico,” she said, “the bulls’re after you. Joe squealed.
You ought to plugged that softie, Rico. You ought to plugged him.”
Rico stood in the middle of the room, staring. By an effort of the
will, he rid himself of an attitude of mind which had been growing on
him since his interviews with Montana and the Big Boy. He was nobody,
nobody. Worse than nobody. The bulls wanted him now and they wanted
him bad. Goodbye dollar cigars and crockery at one grand, goodbye
swell food and Tuxedos and security. Rico was nobody. Just a lonely
Youngstown yegg that the bulls wanted. His face was ghastly.
He swung his fist at the air.
“I ought to plugged him! I ought to plugged him!”
Otero stood staring at Rico. Blondy was putting on her hat.
“All right,” said Rico, “let’s go.”
Blondy said:
“Take me, Rico.”
Rico shook his head.
“Nothing doing, Blondy. I’m traveling fast and I can’t be bothered
with no dame.”
“Jesus, Rico,” said Blondy, unable to realize what had happened,
“everything was going so nice.”
“Sure,” said Rico, “but it’s all over now and that’s that. You stay
planted, Blondy, and as soon as I get a chance I’ll send you a stake.”
Otero crawled out the window onto the fire-escape and Rico followed
him. Blondy began to scream.
“Shut your mouth,” said Rico, “and if the bulls come up the front way
kid ’em along. Make ’em think you got me hid, see?”
“O.K., Rico,” said Blondy.
Otero and Rico went down the fire-escape. They stopped at the foot of
the fire-escape and Rico took Otero by the arm.
“Listen,” he said, “here’s the dope. We got to get to Ma Magdalena’s.
She’s got most of my jack and a good hide-out. It ain’t gonna be easy,
because the bulls’re probably scattered all around. But once we get
there, we’re O.K.”
“All right,” said Otero.
They started. Rico knew every alley in the district, and he led Otero
by such a safe route that they were soon within a block and a half of
Ma Magdalena’s without having crossed a main thoroughfare.
“Now,” said Rico, “we got to watch our step. If the bulls are cruising,
they’re cruising this street sure.”
“All right,” said Otero.
“Listen,” said Rico, “don’t be afraid to use your gat if the fun
begins. They can only hang you once.”
“I ain’t afraid,” said Otero.
They left the alley and were half way across the street when somebody
shouted at them to halt. Without turning, they broke into a run.
“It’s only one bull,” said Rico.
A bullet sang over them and they heard the blast of a policeman’s
whistle. Otero stopped in his tracks, turned, took a steady aim and
fired. The policeman staggered forward three or four steps and fell to
his knees.
“Got him,” said Otero.
Rico turned. The policeman was kneeling in the middle of the street,
trying to steady his hand for a shot.
“Duck,” cried Rico, simultaneously with the firing of the policeman’s
gun.
Otero twisted sideways, looked at Rico with surprise, then dropped his
gun, and began to walk up the alley holding his stomach. Rico put his
arm around him and, pulling him over to the side of the alley where he
could keep a telephone pole between them and the policeman, guided him
along. But after a few steps, Otero pulled away from Rico and cried:
“Run, Rico, run. They got me sure. I can’t feel nothing.”
Rico grabbed him and tried to pull him along, but he resisted.
“Goddam you, Rico,” cried Otero, “run! I can’t go no farther. I’m done
for.”
Rico heard the roar of a police car. He released Otero, who staggered
away from him and then fell flat on his back.
“Run, Rico,” said Otero.
Rico climbed a fence, ran up through a filthy back yard, and in at an
open back door. There was a young Italian girl sweeping in the hall. At
Rico’s sudden appearance, she dropped her broom and flattened herself
against the wall. Rico took her by the arm.
“Listen, sister,” he said, “the bulls’re after me. I’m going out the
front way, see, but if the bulls come through here you tell ’em I
hopped the fence next door and doubled back. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” said the girl, then looking up at Rico, “I know you.”
“Yeah?” said Rico. “Well, do your stuff then, sister.”
In the alley behind the house there was a shriek of ♦brakes and someone
cried in a loud voice:
♦ “breaks” replaced with “brakes”
“He went in that way!”
The girl picked up her broom and went on sweeping. Rico ran out through
the front hall, down the long flight of stone steps, and crossed the
street leisurely.
VII