Little Caesar
get going. I guess Vettori don’t know nothing about it.”
The two of them walked slowly to the door. The big one turned.
“Say, Vettori,” he said, “did you hear the news?”
Vettori looked up.
“What news?”
“Why, some bastard bumped Cap Courtney off over at the Casa Alvarado.”
“Yeah?” said Vettori, “some guys are sure careless with the lead.
That’s a tough break.”
The young detective opened the door and they started out.
“Ain’t it?” said the big one. “Well, so long.”
As soon as the door closed, Vettori went over and shot the bolt, then
peeped out through the shutter. Rico came out of his hiding place.
“Well,” said Vettori, glancing at Rico, “things ain’t going so good.”
Rico shrugged.
“They don’t know nothing. Just feeling around. Listen, Sam, where’s
your guts? We got to stick together on this.”
“I know,” said Vettori, falling back into his chair, “but I never seen
things break so tough.” Rico held out a roll of bills.
“Here’s your split, Sam.”
Vettori took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. Rico handed
Otero his. Otero got up and put on his overcoat.
“I think I go see my woman,” he said.
When he had gone Rico went over and sat down beside Vettori.
“Listen, Sam,” he said, “I been taking orders too long. We’re done.
Get the idea? But we got to see this through. We get a break and
we’ll come clean. Only we got to shoot straight. See what I mean? I got
a rope around my neck right now and they can only hang you once. If
anybody gets yellow and squeals, my gun’s gonna speak its piece.”
“That’s O.K. with me,” said Sam.
They sat silent. Down stairs the jazzband was playing and the saxophone
was sending vibrations along the floor. Vettori laid out another game
of solitaire.
“Funny for Tony to crash,” he said.
“He lost his nerve,” said Rico.
“You suppose he’ll show?”
“Not till tomorrow if he’s got any sense. I’ll leave his split with
you.”
IV
Rico went over to see Ma Magdalena, the fence. Her fruit store was
still open and her son Arrigo was sitting half-asleep beside a pile of
oranges.
“Hello,” he said.
“Where’s Ma?” asked Rico.
Arrigo pulled a cord which rang a bell in the rooms beyond the store.
Ma, leaning on her stick, came out into the store. Seeing Rico, she
said:
“Oh, it’s you! Well, well! Come back. Come back.”
“Can I come too, Ma?” said Arrigo.
“You stay and mind the store, you lazy loafer,” said Ma, shaking her
stick at him.
Arrigo sat down once more by the pile of oranges.
Rico followed Ma Magdalena back into her little office. She pulled up a
chair for him and he sat down, then she got out a bottle.
“You talk, I drink,” she said, sitting down beside him and pouring
herself a drink.
Rico took out his split, peeled off a few bills and handed her the rest.
“Plant it,” he said.
She took the roll, counted it, and put it down inside her dress.
“Had a big New Year’s Eve, did you?”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “plenty big. There’ll be lots of fun tomorrow.”
“Well, well,” said Ma, “that’s the way it goes.”
She poured herself another glass of wine, then she reached over and
touched Rico with her stick.
“Look, Rico, you ain’t got a nice little girl who wants a big diamond
ring, have you?”
“Me, buy a diamond ring for a skirt?”
Ma Magdalena made a clucking noise and shook her head.
“You are cold, Rico. Don’t like wine. Don’t like women. You are no
good, Rico.”
Rico smiled.
“Me, I like women once in a while, but I ain’t putting out no diamond
rings.”
Leaving Ma Magdalena’s Rico went in the direction of Sicily Pete’s. The
wind was blowing hard and Rico, turning up his overcoat collar, leaned
against it. It was after three o’clock and the streets were empty.
Southward the lights of the Loop made a reddish glow in the sky.
At Sicily Pete’s the mechanical piano was playing. Three men, all
Italians, and two girls, both Americans, were sitting at a front table.
They were drunk. They played with their food, spilled their coffee,
and banged on the plates with their knives. Pete stood behind the
counter, scowling.
When Rico came in he said:
“Hello, my friend, where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I haven’t been around lately. Got some noisy birds, ain’t you?”
Pete shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, the fools. They drink gin. That is no drink for an Italian.”
Rico took out his cigarettes and offered Pete one. They stood smoking.
One of the girls pulled up her dress and fixed her garter. Rico smiled.
“Get an eyeful of that, Pete.”
“Yes, yes,” said Pete, “that’s all I get, an eyeful. Every night I
stand here while other people have a good time.”
The girl looked up at Rico and he winked at her. She said to one of the
men:
“Look at that smarty over there. He thinks he’s cute.”
The man looked foggily at Rico. Pete put his hand on Rico’s arm.
“My friend, don’t start no trouble, please. That’s all we have
around here, trouble. With one thing and another, I think I go back to
Italy.”
Rico turned his back on the girl.
“O.K.,” he said.
While Pete was getting Rico a cup of coffee, a newsboy came in:
“EXTRA! EXTRA! All about the big hold-up.”
Rico bought a paper and glanced at the three inch headlines.
THUGS KILL CAPTAIN COURTNEY IN CASA ALVARADO HOLD-UP
Rico showed Pete the paper.
“Another killing,” he said.
“Yes,” said Pete, “kill, kill, that’s all they do. I wish to God I was
back in Sicily. The Mafia, what is that? That is a kindergarten.”
One of the Italians bought a paper and started to read the account of
the hold-up aloud. All the people round the table stopped eating to
listen. Rico sipped his coffee and watched them.
V
Tony hadn’t slept all night. He lay in the cold dark room, sweating.
The covers felt heavy as lead and from time to time he tossed them
off, only to pull them over him again as the lake wind, streaming in
the window, made him shiver. At intervals he would fall into a doze.
Then he would see a windy street, feel a car skidding under him, feel a
sickening jolt. He would wake with a start and sit up in bed.
“They’ll get us for this,” he kept repeating, “they’ll get us sure.”
Unable to control his imagination, he saw the high forbidding walls
of the State Prison, the tiny death cells with their heavily-grated
windows; then in the prison yard, the gallows. He remembered what Rico
had said about Red Gus, on the night of his execution: “Well, they’re
gonna put a necktie on Gus he won’t take off!” Yeah, they sure put a
necktie on Gus.
Tony smoked cigarette after cigarette. In his despair he cast about for
someone to put the blame on. It was all Midge’s fault. Wasn’t she
always after him to make more jack so she could put on the dog? Hadn’t
he tried to go straight and drive a taxi and make an honest living?
Yeah, and hadn’t Sam Vettori and Rico offered him money to quit his
job and give them a lift on their stick-ups? Well, you couldn’t quit a
gang; once you were in, you were in!
Tony sat up in bed and looked out across the roofs outside his window.
The sun was coming up and a cold, windy winter morning was dawning. Of
a sudden he began to feel sick at his stomach. He lay down, but that
didn’t help him, then he tossed from side to side.
He heard his mother moving about in the next room. She was getting
dressed to go to work. An alarm-clock in a room across the court rang,
then there was some loud swearing, and a window was slammed.
Tony had to vomit. He jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. When
he came out his mother was lighting the stove. She acted as if she
didn’t see him. He went back to his room but stopped in the doorway.
“Hello, mom,” he said.
His mother paid no attention.
“Say,” said Tony, “what’s the matter?”
His mother turned and with her hands on her hips stared at him.
“Go back to bed, you loafer,” she said, “I am sick of you. You are no
good on earth. Just like your father.”
“Aw, mom,” said Tony.
“Don’t try to salve me,” said Tony’s mother. “You go back to bed and
get sober. You think I don’t know nothing, don’t you? Just like your
father.”
“I’m not drunk,” said Tony, “I’m sick.”
His mother turned her back and went on with her cooking. Tony went into
his room, slammed the door, and got back into bed. A deadly depression
settled on him. The world looked black.
He heard his mother go out, then he got up, dressed and made himself
some toast and coffee. Anyway, he wanted his split.
On the way to Vettori’s he met Father McConagha. The priest was a big
man with a big, pale face. He walked with a rolling gait and there
was something arrogant about him. Tony took off his hat.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning, Antonio,” said Father McConagha. “Where have you been,
my boy? I haven’t seen you for months.”
“I been working,” said Tony.
“What sort of work?” asked Father McConagha, putting his hand on Tony’s
shoulder.
“I been driving a taxi.”
The priest nodded his head slowly.
“That is good work, Antonio.”
Tony couldn’t look at Father McConagha and kept twisting his hat in his
hands and staring at it. Father McConagha talked to him for a minute or
two about the rewards of honesty and the happiness to be derived from
doing your work faithfully, then he said:
“Antonio, one day your father asked me to look out for you. Your father
was a good man, but weak. Remember this, Antonio, if you are ever in
any trouble I am the one to come to.”
Tony flushed and said:
“Thank you, Father.”
When Father McConagha had gone, Tony began to speculate. Did he
know anything? Why, on this very morning, had he said something about
being in trouble? Tony respected and admired Father McConagha. He felt
that he could always turn to him.
Talking with the priest had made him feel stronger, but now that the
priest had gone all the hopelessness of the night before rushed back on
him. He took out a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.
“They’ll get us sure for this,” he said.
Then once more he began to think about Red Gus and what Rico had said
about him.
VI
Seal Skin couldn’t get Otero sober. She made him eat tomatoes and she
gave him a cold bath, but nothing seemed to do him any good. He walked
about the flat in his underclothes singing songs in bastard Spanish
and bragging about what a great, brave man he was. Only one man in the
world braver: Rico.
Seal Skin was dead for sleep, but she didn’t shut her eyes for
fear Otero would do some crazy thing like shooting out the window at
the street light (he had done this one night) or going out in his
underclothes.
Otero sat at the table with his automatic beside him, singing at the
top of his voice.
“Look,” he cried, “I am Ramón Otero, a great, brave man. I ain’t afraid
of nobody or nothing. I can drink any man in the world under the table
and I can outshoot any man that walks on two legs. Only Rico; he is my
friend. He is a great man like Pancho Villa and I love him with a great
love. I would not shoot Rico if he shot me first. Rico is my friend and
I love him with a great love.”
Then he got up and, snapping his fingers, began to dance, stamping with
his heels, wiggling his hips, till Seal Skin nearly fell out of her
chair laughing.
Toward morning he went to sleep with his head on the table. Seal Skin
picked him up and carried him to bed (he weighed about a hundred and
fifteen pounds), then, too tired to take off her clothes, she
climbed in beside him.
VII
Rico bought all the papers he could find and went up to his room to
read them. He sat at his table, his hat tilted over his eyes, with a
pair of scissors in his hand, cutting from the papers all the articles