V
Joe and Olga were sitting in a quiet corner of a Gold Coast hotel dining-room. They were waiting for their dessert. Joe, comfortably full and inclined to be amiable, sat looking at Olga. She was the goods. Of course he stepped out with other broads occasionally when Olga was busy, but that didn’t count. Olga was the goods and she was his woman. Other men didn’t rate with her, that’s all. He studied her. There she sat with her round dark face, her high cheekbones, and her dark mascaraed eyes.
“Well,” said Olga, “take a good look.”
“Listen, baby,” said Joe, “you got it. I ain’t kidding. You got everything. There ain’t a woman in Chicago that’s got half your stuff. You make ’em all look silly.”
Olga reached across the table and patted his hand.
“I don’t believe it, but say it again. I like it.”
“No fooling.”
“What a line,” said Olga.
The waiter brought their dessert.
“I’ll tell you,” said Olga, looking at her wrist watch, “let’s go to a movie. I got time.”
Joe didn’t like movies very well; all that soppy love stuff! But now he wanted to please Olga.
“All right. Where’ll it be?”
Olga turned to the waiter.
“Bring us a paper, please.”
The waiter brought a paper and handed it to Joe. He unfolded it and started to turn to the theatrical page, but instead he read with absorption an article on the front page. Olga saw him swallow several times. When he glanced up at her there was a bewildered look in his eyes and his face begun to get pale.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“They got Tony,” said Joe.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Rico, I guess. He must have turned yellow.”
Joe ran his hand across his forehead, then he took out his gold cigarette case, but without ostentation this time and lit a cigarette. Olga took the paper from him. She read:
Antonio Passalacqua, known as Tony Passa, reputed to be a member of the Vettori gang, was found dead near the steps of St. Dominick’s Cathedral … as far as the police can ascertain no one saw him killed … when questioned Sam Vettori denied all knowledge of the shooting and intimated that it was the work of a rival gang … police say that this is likely.
“Jesus!” said Joe.
Olga turned quickly to the theatrical page.
“Joe, honey,” she said, “there’s a good comedy at the Oriental. What do you say?”
Joe crumpled up his cigarette and put it in the ashtray.
“Boy, Rico didn’t waste no time with him.”
“Joe, don’t you want to see that comedy?”
“Sure,” said Joe, “let’s go see it.”
Joe sat silent in the taxi all the way to the theatre. As they were getting out, he said:
“Boy, that Rico is sure careless with a rod.”
“Forget it, honey,” said Olga.