VII
There were many rumours in Little Italy about the passing of Sam Vettori. The full truth, of course, was only guessed at, but the simple facts were known. Sam Vettori’s star was setting, Rico’s was rising. Rico had always been right; there was never any question of that. Rico had always inspired fear. But now, as the probable head of a big minor gang whose activities were varied and whose yearly income was enormous, his potentialities were prodigiously increased and he was treated accordingly.
When he entered Tony’s flat, several members of the Vettori gang, sitting near the door, got up and offered him their chairs. He merely shook his head and walked across to where Sam Vettori was sitting. Otero, who had entered a little behind Rico, stopped to talk with Blackie Avezzano.
Carillo brought a chair for Rico and Rico sat down beside Sam Vettori.
“We’re going to plant the kid right,” said Vettori, “that’ll look good.”
Rico stared across the room at a large horseshoe wreath which bore the single word: Tony. That was his contribution.
“Sure,” said Rico.
He was a little uneasy. Not that he felt any remorse. What he had done was merely an act of policy. A man in this game must be a man. If he gets yellow, why, there’s only one remedy for it.
“They sure fix ’em up good now,” said Vettori, nodding in the direction of the coffin; “he don’t look dead. He looks like he was asleep.”
“Yeah?” said Rico.
“It beats me how they do it,” said Vettori. Carillo came across the room and whispered to Rico and Vettori.
“Two bulls in the hallway.”
“They coming in?” asked Rico.
“No, just standing there.”
“All right.”
There was a movement at the door. Mrs. Passalacqua came in between two of her friends. She had been at St. Dominick’s for over an hour. Rico got up and offered her his chair. One of the women helped her off with her hat. She sat down. Her grey hair was parted in the middle and drawn tightly down; her face was a dead white.
Rico walked over to look at Tony. At the head of the coffin were two big candles, one of them leaning a little and dripping tallow. Tony lay with his hands folded. Rico looked down. Somehow he had expected Tony to be changed. He was not. Here lay the same Tony who used to play poker with such fury. The same Tony, yes, only dead.
Carillo put his hand on Rico’s shoulder.
“Bulls want to see you, boss.”
Rico nodded.
“They want you to come out in the hall.”
“All right,” said Rico, turning away from the coffin, “tell Otero.”
Otero came over beside Rico and stood looking at Tony.
“Listen,” said Rico, “this may be a pinch. I don’t know. If it is, I’ll go with them. They ain’t got nothing on me. But if there’s any trouble, Scabby’ll keep you posted. Ma’s got my jack, see?”
“All right,” said Otero.
Rico started across the room and Otero followed him. Before Rico reached the door, Tony’s mother suddenly put her hands to her face and began to sob wildly.
“Oh, Tony, Tony!” she cried.
The women who had come in with her tried to quieten her, but she pushed them away, and, rising, walked over to the coffin and stood looking down at Tony. Then, still sobbing, she let the women lead her into the next room.
“That’s a woman for you,” said Rico.
“Well,” said Otero, shrugging. “Tony was her son.”
The hallway was lined with poor Italians who, not knowing the Passalacquas, had come out of curiosity. They stood in silent groups, trying to peep in through the open door. Women in disreputable housedresses carrying dirty children; pregnant women; old men with crinkly grey hair and seamed brown faces; young girls trying to look up-to-date and American. When Rico came out they all stared at him.
Flaherty took hold of his arm.
“Rico,” he said, “come down to the end of the hall. I want to see you a minute.”
“Is this a pinch?” asked Rico. Flaherty laughed.
“Got a bad conscience, have you? Well, you ought to have.” Rico noticed that the other detective, whom he had never seen before, kept staring at him. Rico planted his feet firmly and stared back.
“What’s the big idea, Flaherty?” he asked.
“Well,” said Flaherty, “just to put your mind at rest. I’ll tell you, this ain’t a pinch. It ought to be, but it ain’t. Now will you take a walk … ?”
“Sure,” said Rico.
Otero came out into the hallway and stood watching them. Rico went down to the end of the hall with the two plainclothes men. Some of the poor Italians followed them and stood staring. But Flaherty motioned them off as if he were shooing chickens.
“Beat it,” he said; “go tend to your own business.”
They moved away slowly, looking back.
“All right,” said Rico, “let’s have it.”
Flaherty took out a big cigar and began chewing on it. The other man kept staring. Rico was puzzled and wondered what the game was; then he noticed that the light at their end of the hall was good, much better than any other place in the hall. The once-over? Well, what then?
“Listen, Rico,” said Flaherty, “I like you and I’m going to give you a tip. It’s going to be tough on you birds from now on. The Old Man’s got his back up. Now get this. If you got anything on your mind, you better spill it.” Flaherty paused to light his cigar. The other detective watched Rico intently. “Because it’s going to be easy for the bird that spilled it first. But God help the rest of them.”
Rico smiled slightly.
“Quit stalling,” he said.
Flaherty glanced at the man with him, but the man shook his head. Flaherty said:
“Well, I’m giving you a friendly tip.”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “you bulls always was friendly as hell. I spent two years once just thinking how friendly you was. Listen, I ain’t got nothing to spill. What the hell’s wrong with you, Flaherty? Did I ever do any spilling?”
Flaherty laughed.
“Well,” he said, “there’s a first time for everything. All right, Rico, you can go.”
The two plainclothes men pushed their way through the crowd and went down the stairs. Rico went back into Tony’s flat. Sam Vettori and Otero were waiting for him. Vettori was mopping his face with his big, white silk handkerchief.
“Well?” he demanded. Rico shrugged.
“Just stalling.”
“What’s the name?”
“You got me. I guess Flaherty wanted this other bird to give me the once-over.”
“Things getting pretty hot, Rico.”
“Don’t beef, Sam. We’re gonna come through.”
Otero said:
“The old lady sure is taking it hard.”
They could hear Tony’s mother sobbing loudly in the next room.