Little Caesar
When Rico read the verdict he lay back in his chair and looked at the
wall.
“Well, old Sam had a long whack at it,” he said; “never seen the inside
of a prison in his life. A guy’s luck’s bound to turn.”
Then he went over in his mind the robbery of the Casa Alvarado and all
the steps which had led to his own rise and fall.
“It made me and it broke me,” he said.
On New Year’s Eve Rico dressed up more than usual and went down into
Sansotta’s cabaret. It was jammed and unable to get a seat he went into
Sansotta’s office and had one of the waiters bring him a meal. He sat
with the door open and watched the antics on the dance-floor. There was
plenty of liquor about and the crowd was pretty rough. Rico saw a big
blonde dancing with a fat Italian. She gave him a look and he motioned
for her to come in the office. She nodded. Rico got up and closed the
door. In a few minutes the Blonde came in.
“Well, kid,” she said, “what’s on your mind?”
“I got a room upstairs,” said Rico, “that ain’t occupied.”
“The hell you have,” said the Blonde.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “and I got a bank roll that ain’t got any strings on
it.”
“Now you’re talking,” said the Blonde, putting her arm around Rico.
“Well,” said Rico, “let’s go.”
“Listen,” said the Blonde, “I’ll be back after while. I got a guy out
here that’s plenty tough and I got to humor him.”
“Aw, hell,” said Rico, “I’ll take that toughness out of him. Stick
around.”
The Blonde looked at Rico and laughed.
“Say,” she said, “you ain’t big enough to talk so big.”
“No,” said Rico, resentful, “I ain’t so big.”
“Listen, honey,” said the Blonde, “this boy would eat you alive.”
“Yeah?” said Rico.
The fat Italian opened the door and came in.
“What’s the idea, Micky?” he said to the Blonde.
“Why, I just happened to bump into an old friend of mine,” said
the Blonde, scared.
Rico got up and stood looking at the fat Italian.
“What’s it to you!” he said.
“Why, listen, kid,” said the fat Italian, “you better go get your
big brother cause if you make any more cracks I’m gonna dust off the
furniture with you.”
The Blonde took the fat Italian by the arm.
“Come on, Paul,” she said, “let’s go dance.”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “take that bird away before something happens to
him.”
The fat Italian pulled away from the Blonde and started toward Rico.
“That’s one crack too many,” he said.
But Rico, standing with his back against Sansotta’s desk, perfectly
calm, reached under his armpit and pulled his gun. The fat Italian
hesitated and looked bewildered.
“Well,” said Rico, “kind of lost your steam, didn’t you?”
The fat Italian turned and looked at the Blonde.
“That’s a nice boy friend you got,” he said.
The Blonde stood there with her mouth open.
“All right, big boy,” said Rico, “we can get along without you.”
Sansotta opened the door and stood looking from one to the other.
“What’s the matter, Paul?” he inquired.
The fat Italian pointed at Rico.
“That bird there tried to grab my girl, and when I told him about it he
pulled a gat on me.”
Sansotta’s face darkened.
“Put that gun up, Louis,” he said, staring hard at Rico; “where you
think you’re at? Listen, Paul, Louis’s a new guy here and he don’t know
the ropes.”
“Well,” said the fat Italian, “he sure is quick with a gun.”
“That’s all right, Paul,” said the Blonde, laughing, “he needs a
handicap.”
Rico, furious, put on his hat and started to go. But Sansotta said:
“Wait a minute, Louis, I want to see you.” Then turning to the fat
Italian: “I’m sure sorry this happened, but you know how it is
when a guy don’t know the ropes, he’ll butt in where it ain’t healthy
to butt in, see? Louis’s all right, but he’s got a bad temper.”
“Ain’t he!” said Paul. “Well, I guess we better be moving up town. I
ain’t any too anxious to hang around where you’re liable to get bumped
off.”
“Aw, stick around, Paul,” Sansotta implored; “you won’t have no more
trouble.”
“No,” said Paul, “I’ll be moving. Come on, Micky. I seen about all of
your boy friend that I want to see.”
Sansotta followed them out into the cabaret, trying to ♦pursuade them
to remain, but Paul went over to the check-window and got their wraps.
Rico sat down and went on with his meal. Sansotta came in and slammed
the door after him.
♦ “pursuade” replaced with “persuade”
“Goddam you, Cesare,” he cried, “why don’t you be more careful? That
guy is Paolo, the political boss. He can close me up tomorrow if he
wants to.”
“Take it easy,” said Rico; “how the hell did I know? You think I’m
gonna let a guy take a bust at me?”
Sansotta took out a cigar and began to chew on it.
“Cesare,” he said, “you got to be moving. I can’t have you hanging
around here no more. It’s too dangerous.”
Rico dropped his fork and stared at Sansotta.
“Giving me the go-by, hunh?”
“Yeah,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving.”
Rico got to his feet and stood looking at Sansotta.
“Just on account of a small town ward-heeler,” he said; “why that guy
couldn’t boss a section gang. You’re a hell of a guy, Sansotta. After
all the jack I spent in this dump.”
“I can’t help that,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving right away.”
Rico laughed.
“Don’t get funny,” he said.
“Don’t you get funny,” said Sansotta; “you ain’t in no shape to get
funny.”
“Maybe you better call the bulls and turn me up,” said Rico.
“Well,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving, that’s all.”
IV
Rico was acutely conscious of his position. A lonely Youngstown yegg
in a hostile city without friends or influence. Yeah, funny! Just a
no-account yap in a burg like Hammond and not four months ago he had
been a big guy in a big burg.
He put on his ulster and went out. The wind was cold and it was
snowing. He walked around for a while, keeping to the dark streets,
then, chilled through, he went into a little Italian restaurant for a
cup of coffee and a sandwich.
The waiter, an Italian boy with a handsome dark face, brought Rico his
food. When he set it down on the table he grinned and said:
“Well, happy New Year.”
Rico looked up in surprise.
“Yeah,” he said, “thanks.”
He felt better. This anonymous friendliness cheered him up. While he
was eating, he watched the Italian boy, who was wiping off the
counter and singing.
“Nice kid,” thought Rico.
When Rico had finished his coffee, he lit a cigarette and sat smoking.
He felt comfortable. Looking around the restaurant, he saw that there
was a mechanical piano up front. Like Pete’s!
“Say,” he called, “let’s have a little music.”
“Sure,” said the boy.
He put a slug in the piano. It played Farewell To Thee in tremolo. Rico
felt sad. He called the boy back and gave him a dollar.
“Keep the change, kid,” he said.
The mechanical piano stopped on a discord, and Rico got to his feet.
While he was putting on his coat two men came in the front door. One of
them went up to the counter and ordered a cup of coffee, but the other
stopped and stood staring at Rico.
Rico, noticing the man’s scrutiny, put his hand inside his coat and
started out, but the man touched him on the shoulder and whispered:
“Things ain’t going so good, are they, Rico?”
Rico stared at the man and demanded:
“Who the hell are you?”
Then he recognized him. It was Little Arnie’s doorman, Joseph
Pavlovsky, one of the guys he had chased.
“I’m one of Arnie’s boys,” said Pavlovsky; “I been in Hammond ever
since you gave us the rush.”
“Yeah?” said Rico.
“Straight,” said Pavlovsky. “I been in the beer racket over here and I
cleaned up. I’m going back to the big burg next month.”
Rico envied him.
“Yeah?” said Rico.
“You sure pulled one on ’em, Rico,” said Pavlovsky; “you always was a
smart boy, Rico.”
“Aw, can that,” said Rico, and, pulling away from Pavlovsky, he went
out.
The wind was blowing hard now and it had stopped snowing. Rico turned
up his coat collar and started toward Sansotta’s. But he hadn’t gone
half a block when he realized that he was being followed. He turned
just in time to see two men pass under an arclight.
“It’s Little Arnie’s boy,” he said, “looking for seven grand.”
Rico took out his gun, got behind a telephone pole, and fired a warning
shot. The two men ran for cover and Rico ducked down an alley, ran for
two blocks, then turned up another alley and doubled back. He had lost
them.
When the look-out let him in he said:
“Louis, the boss wants to see you.”
Rico went up to Sansotta’s room.
“Well?” he said to Sansotta.
“Cesare,” said Sansotta, “a friend of mine is pulling out for Toledo
tomorrow night. He’ll take you for fifty bucks.”
“What’s his game?”
“Running dope.”
“It’s O.K. with me,” said Rico.
Rico went up to his room, took off his overcoat, and flung himself down
on the bed. He’d have to pull out now whether he wanted to or not.
V
The dope-runner dropped Rico at the edge of town. It was about five
o’clock in the morning and still dark. A heavy fog had come in from
Lake Erie and a damp, cold wind was blowing. Rico walked up and down to
keep warm while waiting for a car. He felt pretty low.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “right back where I started from.”
The headlight on the street-car cut through the fog. The motorman
didn’t see Rico and ran past him.
“Ain’t that a break?” said Rico.
There wouldn’t be another car for half an hour. Rico decided to walk.
He turned up his coat collar against the damp wind and lit a cigar. His
mind was full of resentment. Yeah, by God, a lousy street-car wouldn’t
even stop for him.
Rico got a room at a bachelor’s hotel on the waterfront, and went to
bed. It was about five o’clock in the evening when he woke up. He
doused his face at the washstand, put on his overcoat, and went
out.
He ate at a little Italian restaurant where he and Otero used to split
a bowl of soup when things were going bad. But the place had changed.
New management, new waiters, new everything. Toledo seemed small and
dingy and quiet to Rico. He was a little bit puzzled.
“Didn’t used to be like this,” he said.
As soon as he finished his meal he walked over to Chiggi’s, which was
about two blocks away. But the place was dark and when Rico went up to
the door to peer in he saw that it had been padlocked by the Federal
Authorities.
“Ain’t that a break?” he said.
He had no place to go.
There was a fruit store next to Chiggi’s and Rico went in. A little
Italian girl came to wait on him.
“Listen, sister,” said Rico, “you know where Chiggi is now?”
“I get my grandfather,” she said.
She went into the back of the store and returned with an old
Italian who had crinkly gray hair and wore earrings.
“Listen, mister,” said Rico, “could you tell me where Chiggi is now?”
The old man just looked at him. Rico felt a little uneasy.
“No speak English?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the old man, “I speak good English. What do you want with
Chiggi?”
“Well,” said Rico, “Chiggi used to be a pal of mine, but I been away
for three or four years and now I don’t know where to find him.”
“Chiggi has had trouble,” said the old man; “he is in the prison.”
“Yeah?” said Rico. “Atlanta, hunh?”
“Yes,” said the old man, “Chiggi is in Atlanta. It is too bad. Chiggi
was good to the poor. When my wife was sick and my business was not
going good, Chiggi gave me money.”
“Yeah,” said Rico. “Chiggi staked me too.”
Rico took out a cigar and gave it to the old man.
“Listen,” he went on, “do you know where any of Chiggi’s old bunch is?”
“Yes,” said the old man, “Chiggi’s boy has got a place a couple of
blocks from here.”
The old man wrote down the address for Rico.
Young Chiggi was a dressed-up wop and thought he was a lot better than