Little Caesar
“I’m O.K. with the Big Boy,” said Rico; “he was up to see me this
morning.”
“Yeah,” said Pepi, “I brung him.”
Vettori laid out a new game of solitaire.
“Here’s the thing,” said Rico: “you’re trying to hang on, Sam. You must
think we’re dumb as hell. You want me to do the work so you can take it
easy. And you call that an even split. Hear what I say! That ain’t my
idea of a split.”
“Well, I ain’t handing out charity,” said Vettori, losing his temper.
Rico got to his feet and buttoned up his ulster.
“All right, Sam.”
Vettori slammed down his cards.
“What do you guys think?” he demanded of Carillo, Pepi and Otero.
They just looked at him.
“Ain’t that a fair split?”
“No,” said Rico, “I guess we can’t do no business.”
Rico put on his hat and walked toward the door. The other three got up
and followed him. Vettori stood up.
“Well,” he said, “you gonna try to run me out, Rico?”
Vettori was panicky. Rico stood at the door and looked at him.
“I was just figuring I’d open a joint across the street,” he said.
Vettori knew what that meant. He had been through half a dozen gang
wars, but that was long ago when there were at least five separate
gangs in the neighborhood. Things had been comparatively quiet for over
three years. Vettori regretted the past bitterly. He regretted having
taken up with Rico, an unknown Youngstown wop.
“Well,” he said, “Rico, you’re young and you ain’t got any too much
sense. What the hell! With things the way they are, we wouldn’t none of
us last a month. Listen, Rico, what’s your idea of a split?”
Rico took off his hat and scratched his head, but carefully so that his
hair wouldn’t be disarranged.
“I’ll hand you this, Sam,” said Rico, “you got the lay-out. The split’s
good that way. But you got sense enough to know that no two guys can
run things. The lay-out split is O.K. with me, but I got to have the
say, get that!”
Vettori looked at the others.
“What do you guys say?”
“We’re in with Rico,” said Killer Pepi.
Otero and Carillo nodded. Vettori brought his hand down on the table
with a smack.
“O.K.,” he said.
II
The gang gave a banquet for Rico in one of Sam Vettori’s big back
rooms. The table was fifteen feet long and was covered by a fine
white cloth. Red, green and white streamers hung from the chandeliers
and Italian and American flags were crossed at intervals along the
walls. At eleven o’clock the notables began to arrive. Killer Pepi in
a blue suit and a brown derby, with his woman, Blue Jay, on his arm.
Joe Sansone, gunman and ex-lightweight, in a Tuxedo, followed by his
shadow Kid Bean, a Sicilian, dark as a negro. Then Ottavio Vettori,
Sam’s cousin, not yet twenty-one, already famous as a gunman and spoken
of as a potential gang chief. Then Otero, Blackie Avezzano and Bat
Carillo, all with their women. They stood about stiffly, a little
uncomfortable in their fine clothes, and tried to make conversation.
The men, like all specialists, talked shop. Ottavio Vettori declared
that the police were a bunch of bums. Killer Pepi agreed that they
were. Joe Sansone said that the Federal men were just as bad, only
smarter and crookeder. Killer Pepi agreed that they were. Ottavio
Vettori didn’t agree. He said that the Federal men were dumber and
harder to fix. This brought on an argument.
When Sam Vettori came in the men were all shouting.
“What the hell!” said Sam, “ain’t this a fine way to act at a banquet?
You act like a bunch of gashouse micks. Cut the chatter.”
Ottavio made a noise like a goat.
“Baa! Baa!”
Everybody laughed. Otero took out a quart bottle of whiskey, drank from
it and passed it to Seal Skin; she drank and passed it to Ottavio. The
bottle circled the room and returned empty.
“You sure came prepared, you birds,” said Sam. “Did any of you guys
bring a lunch?”
“Baa! Baa!” bellowed Ottavio.
“My God, ain’t that cute!” said Killer Pepi’s girl.
“Hell, that ain’t nothing,” said Pepi, “listen.” Pepi put three fingers
in his mouth and blew a blast that made their eardrums ring.
“Lord,” said Ottavio, “the cops! Baa! Baa!”
Three waiters came in, each carrying two quarts of whiskey. They put
the bottles on the table and went out.
“That’s an appetizer,” said Sam.
“Apéritif,” Joe Sansone corrected.
Ottavio slapped him on the back.
“What’s that, little Joe? What the hell lingo is that?”
Joe pushed him away.
“You dumb birds don’t know nothing. Swell people don’t say appetizer;
they say apéritif.”
“The hell they do! Well, I expect you know all about it. You used to be
a bellboy at the Blackstone.”
Everybody laughed. Killer Pepi blew a blast on his fingers. His girl
looked at him admiringly.
“How the hell you ever learn to do that?”
“Aw, that ain’t nothing.”
“Say, Sam,” said Carillo, “when do we eat?”
“When the boss gets here,” said Pepi.
“Well, he better step on it because I’m so hungry I could eat
dynamite,” said Ottavio.
“Keep your shirt on,” said Pepi.
“Haven’t got an old soup sandwich in your pocket, have you?” asked
Ottavio.
Everybody laughed. Ottavio was the recognized wit of the Vettori gang.
All that he had to do to get a laugh was to open his mouth.
Sam Vettori took one of the quarts from the table and sent it round the
room. It came back empty.
“What the hell you suppose is keeping Rico?” asked Carillo.
“Keep your shirt on,” said Pepi.
“I go see,” said Otero.
As he went out, the Big Boy came in. He had on a big racoon coat and
his derby was on the side of his head. Sam Vettori rushed over and
shook hands with him.
“What the hell you doing here?” he demanded.
“Me, I came to see the fun. Things are looking up, Sam. Things sure to
God are looking up. I think we got ’em whipped.”
Sam Vettori smiled broadly and poured the Big Boy a drink. Well, well!
If the Courtney business blew over he was sitting pretty. All things
considered, he hadn’t done so bad. Time after time he had seen old gang
leaders go down before younger men. But here he was hanging on, getting
a 50-50 split, and taking no chances. Rico was the goods. Goddam him
and all his kind, but he was the goods.
“Yeah,” said the Big Boy, “you got the Old Man on the run and
Flaherty’s about ready to do the Dutch Act. It’s gonna blow over, Sam.
You heard me speak. It’s gonna blow over. I want to see Rico.”
“He ain’t showed yet,” said Sam.
“Damn smart boy,” said the Big Boy.
Sam smiled.
“Yeah,” he said, pouring the Big Boy another drink, “damn smart
kid. He’s young yet, but I can show him the ropes.”
The Big Boy didn’t say anything. He just looked at Vettori.
Otero came running in, followed by two waiters, one of whom was
carrying a big ulster and a derby; the other was carrying a woman’s fur
coat.
“Here he comes,” cried Otero.
Kid Bean, who had collected a crowd in the middle of the room, and
was walking on his hands to amuse them (he had once been an acrobat),
jumped hastily to his feet and backed up against the wall. The crowd
followed him. Killer Pepi said:
“All right now. Everybody yell like hell when he comes in.”
Rico came in slowly, talking to Blondy Belle, the swellest woman in
Little Italy. She was a handsome Italian, bold and aquiline. Her
complexion and eyes were dark, but her hair, naturally black, was
blondined, and this gave her an incongruous and a somewhat formidable
appearance.
Rico was greeted by an uproar, pierced by Killer Pepi’s shrill
whistle. The Big Boy went to meet Rico and shook hands with him. Sam
Vettori smiled and nodded, very affable, then went out to get things
started. The Big Boy said to Blondy Belle:
“Got yourself a regular man, did you?”
Blondy took hold of Rico’s arm.
“Surest thing you know.”
The Big Boy laughed.
“What’d you do with Little Arnie?”
Rico took out a cigar and bit off the end.
“She ditched him,” he said.
The Big Boy meditated. Blondy Belle had been Little Arnie’s woman for
a long time. Little Arnie ran the biggest gambling joint on the North
Side, but he had been slipping for a year or more. He wasn’t right;
nobody could trust him.
“How did Little Arnie take it?” asked the Big Boy.
“He took it standing up,” said Blondy Belle.
“Well, what could he do?” said Rico.
Killer Pepi, Ottavio Vettori and Joe Sansone, as the most important men
in the gang next to Sam Vettori, came over to shake hands with
Rico.
“A million dollars ain’t in it with you,” said Pepi, looking his boss
over.
Rico was wearing a loud striped suit and a purple tie. He still had on
his gloves, yellow kid, of which he was very proud, and his diamond
horseshoe pin had been replaced by a big ruby surrounded by little
diamonds. Ottavio envied him his gloves. But Joe Sansone was not
impressed; he knew better.
“Yes sir, boss, you sure are lit up,” said Ottavio.
“Here’s the half-pint,” said Killer Pepi, pushing Joe Sansone forward.
Joe shook hands with Rico.
“Yes sir,” said Ottavio, “the half-pint’s a good boy, but he and
Gentleman Joe’re too swell for us.”
Rico looked around the room.
“Joe Massara here?”
“Ain’t seen him,” said Pepi.
“He won’t be here,” said Joe Sansone; “he’s busy.”
Rico didn’t say anything. Blondy took hold of his arm.
“I want a drink.”
Rico looked at Pepi.
“Get her a drink,” he said.
The Big Boy took Rico aside and said:
“I want to see you a minute, Rico.”
Rico said:
“Listen, if you see Joe Massara tomorrow you tell him to look me up. I
got something to say to that bird.”
“I’ll be seeing him maybe,” said the Big Boy. “I got a date with his
boss tomorrow morning. There’s a square guy, Rico. DeVoss is a square
guy all right. Never have to nudge him for dough.”
Rico seemed in a bad humor.
“They tell me you lined up something good,” said the Big Boy.
Rico nodded.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a money maker. Little Arnie wised me up. I’m gonna
give him a split. That’s the game now. Sam never had sense enough to
get in on it.”
“Little Arnie, eh? That guy’d double-cross his grandmother.”
“He’ll only double-cross me once,” said Rico.
“I believe you,” said the Big Boy; then, putting his hand on Rico’s
shoulder, he went on: “Funny for you to split with Arnie. How about
Blondy?”
“Arnie don’t give a damn. He’s all shot to pieces. He can’t do a woman
no good.”
“No wonder,” said the Big Boy, “with a woman like that.”
Rico grinned.
“Ain’t she a bearcat!” he said; then his face clouded. “Wonder what the
hell Joe Massara’s game is?”
The Big Boy looked at Rico for a moment.
“That little hunky dancer over at DeVoss’s has got him down. They tell
me he’s going straight.”
Rico laughed unpleasantly.
“Yeah? Well, I’ll have to go over and give that bird an earful.”
“Better stay out of that end of town, Rico.”
“To hell with that.”
Sam Vettori came in, followed by three waiters bringing the soup.
“All right,” said Sam, “we’re all set.”
Rico took his place at the head of the table. The Big Boy sat on his
right and Blondy Belle on his left. The gunmen and their women arranged
themselves according to rank. Blackie Avezzano sat at the foot of the
table.
III
When the meal was over the Big Boy asked Rico to make a speech. There
was a prolonged clamor. Rico got up.
“All right,” he said, “if you birds want me to make a speech, here you
are: I want to thank you guys for this banquet. It sure is swell. The
liquor is good, so they tell me, I don’t drink it myself, and the food
don’t leave nothing to be desired. I guess we all had a swell time and
it sure is good to see all you guys gathered together. Well, I guess
that’s about all. Only I wish you guys wouldn’t get drunk and raise
hell, as that’s the way a lot of birds get bumped off.”