V
Rico found the door of his apartment unlocked. Before entering he unbuttoned his overcoat and took out his automatic. Only one person had a key to his apartment except himself: Otero. If Otero wasn’t in there then whoever was in there was in trouble. Rico opened the door slowly. Otero was sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, smoking a cigarette and dozing.
“Otero!”
Otero opened his eyes.
“Hello, boss.”
Rico locked the door behind him.
“Listen, don’t you know better than to leave that door open?”
“I forgot, Rico.”
Rico took off his overcoat and hat.
“You better keep your head working, boy,” said Rico, “or you’ll get your neck stretched. What you doing here, anyway?”
Otero got up from his chair and stood dangling his hat.
“I want money.”
Rico looked at him.
“I’m broke boss. I ain’t got a cent.”
Rico laughed. Otero seemed so helpless.
“You mean to tell me you ain’t got a cent out of that Casa Alvarado split?”
Otero shrugged.
“Well, Seal she spends money, spends money. I take it out of my pocket till I ain’t got any more.” Otero shrugged and rolled a fresh cigarette.
Rico took out his billfold and handed Otero a fifty.
“I’ll take that out of your next split.”
Otero smiled.
“That’s all the same to me, boss.”
He was speaking the truth. He hadn’t the slightest conception of the value of money. He spent till what he had was gone, then he asked Rico for more. Rico shook his head.
“Listen, Otero, ain’t you never gonna get no sense! You got over a grand and a half out of that Casa Alvarado stand. And here you are broke. Why some guys work a whole year for less than that.”
Otero shrugged.
“I have worked for two pesos a week.”
Rico took some small change out of his pocket and handed it to Otero.
“Go down to the corner and get a couple of Tribunes. Get three.”
“Three of the same kind?”
“Sure.”
Otero went out. Rico opened the window a few inches and sat down beside it. There was a touch of spring in the air and it made him feel restless. He wanted to be doing things. In a week or less, he’d have Little Arnie’s big gambling joint. That meant dough and plenty of it. He’d turn it over to Sam Vettori and let him run it. Sam was looking for something to do. Then maybe he could muscle in on the North Side graft. That wasn’t easy. Pete Montana was a wise bird and he had the North Side tied up. Well, maybe the Big Boy could help him there. Rico jumped to his feet and began to pace up and down.
Otero came in with the papers. Rico took them from him and tore one of them apart till he came to the magazine section. There it was. Big type proclaimed:
Italian underworld chief given big feed
Otero, looking over Rico’s shoulder, saw the flashlight picture. In his excitement he pushed Rico aside and placing his finger on a section of the picture, cried:
“There I am!”
Rico took the other two papers apart and got out the magazine sections. Then he put the three sections side by side and compared them.
“All too dark,” he said.
Nevertheless, having chosen the clearest one of the three, he took his scissors and cut it out.
“I want one too,” said Otero.
“All right,” said Rico, “help yourself.”