II
Blondy Belle lolled back in her chair and put her fat hands on the table. Rico sat opposite her with his hat tilted over his eyes.
“Well,” said Blondy Belle, “I guess that’s it, ain’t it, Rico?”
Rico nodded.
“I told you not to give that bird a chance. He thinks you’re soft.” Rico smiled and twisted his diamond ring round and round.
“He raised the split to fifty percent, and the books were straight.”
“Well,” said Blondy, “he couldn’t stand prosperity. Listen, you’re gonna let him have it, ain’t you?”
Blondy hated Little Arnie so that she couldn’t sleep at night. She couldn’t understand Rico’s lenience.
“No,” said Rico.
“Hell,” said Blondy, “you’re getting soft.”
“Aw, can that,” said Rico; “you want me to get my neck stretched over a dirty double-crosser that ain’t worth a good bullet? Listen, I’m gonna run that bird out of town.”
Blondy was disgusted. She started to get to her feet, but Rico reached across the table and pushed her back into her chair.
“Sit down,” he said, “and cut the funny stuff. If you women ain’t awful! Use your head, that’s what you got it for.”
Blondy sulked. Across the room the orchestra started up and couples crowded out into the roped-off dance floor.
“Don’t they ever get sick of dancing?” said Blondy, in a bad temper.
Rico got to his feet.
“Listen,” he said, “get yourself a cab and beat it. Go home and take some aspirin and hit the hay. If you’d lay off that bad liquor you wouldn’t always be beefing.”
Blondy looked at Rico for a moment, then she said:
“Aw, sit down, Rico. I’ll snap out of it.”
“No,” said Rico, “I got business to look after and I’m getting sick of this beefing. See, I’m getting sick. Anymore of this kind of stuff and I’m gonna get me another woman. Hell, I might as well talk to Flaherty as you.”
Blondy got to her feet without speaking. Rico never kidded; he meant what he said. Blondy was not used to men like Rico. She often wondered why it was she couldn’t seem to get any hold on him.
Silently they walked around the little, roped-off dance floor. Rico told one of the waiters to get him a cab, then, to pass the time, he started putting nickels in a slot machine. After the third nickel, the bell rang and Rico won fifty cents; on the sixth nickel he won again.
“Ain’t that good!” said Rico.
He called the man behind the counter.
“Say,” he said, “have you seen anybody fooling with this machine?”
The man nodded.
“Yes, sir,” he said, “I seen Ottavio doing something to it.”
Rico laughed.
“Can you beat that petty crook! He’ll be robbing blind men next. Say, tell Sam to get all the machines overhauled. What the hell! He might as well hand out nickels over the counter.”
Blondy laughed, glad of this opportunity to put on a change of front.
“Boy, you don’t miss anything,” she said.
“Well,” said Rico, serious, “what’s the use of letting somebody gyp you?”
The waiter they had sent for the cab came to tell them that it was outside.
Blondy put her hand on Rico’s arm.
“Listen, wise boy,” she said, “you got the right dope about that Little Arnie business. Run him out, that’s OK, but do it up brown.”
“You watch,” said Rico.
He put her in the cab.
“Gonna give me a ring tonight, Rico?” she asked.
“Can’t say.”
“Well, don’t let me ketch you with any more dark hairs on your coat.”
“Can that!” said Rico.
Blondy slammed the cab door. Rico stood and watched the cab till it disappeared. Blondy was just like any other woman. Now she had got to the grand rush stage. Always beefing about something. Rico stood looking down the street.
Contrary to custom, he decided to walk down to the newsstand and get a paper. Since his rise, he seldom went out unaccompanied; never at night. Otero, Killer Pepi and Bat Carillo had constituted themselves his bodyguard and one of them was always within calling distance. They were jealous of this privilege and sometimes quarrelled among themselves. But the night tempted Rico; the atmosphere of The Palermo was vile, and the lake breeze was fresh and cool.
He had gone scarcely half a block when a large touring-car with the curtains closed passed him. He saw the car, noticing especially the closed curtains and the fact that the driver was hugging the curb, and, fearing the worst, he looked about for a shelter, but, as the car passed him and went on, he paid no further attention to it. Stopping in front of a lighted drugstore window he took out his watch and looked at it. One o’clock! Kid Bean and the Killer ought to be back any minute now. Suddenly he looked up. The big touring car had turned and was coming back at full speed with its exhaust roaring. Rico cursed himself for his carelessness and reached under his armpit for his gun. But the car was abreast of him now and three guns blazed. Rico felt a searing pain in his shoulder and fell to the ground. His gun was stuck in its holster and he couldn’t get it out. One of the men leaned out of the car and emptied his gun at Rico, who, helpless on the ground, heard the bullets sing.
“A goddamn fine shot you are!” said Rico.
The big touring-car turned a corner and disappeared. Rico got to his feet and walked into the drugstore. The screen-door banged behind him and the clerk, who had been lying down behind the counter, got unsteadily to his feet.
“My God,” he stammered, “what was all the popping for?”
Then he noticed that there was a torn place on the shoulder of Rico’s coat.
“Was they after you, mister?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “I got brushed. Give me a roll of bandages.”
The clerk stood there with his mouth open. People began to come into the store. Some of them knew who Rico was and stood staring at him.
“They put a bullet through my window,” said the clerk.
“Listen,” said Rico, “go get me a package of bandages.”
The clerk finally came to himself and went for the bandages. A crowd had gathered in the street and now there were so many people in the drugstore that the people on the outside couldn’t get in. Rico stood with his back to the counter, watching. Blood had begun to drip from his coat sleeve. Before the clerk returned with the bandages, Jastrow, the famous Little Italy cop, pushed his way through the crowd, followed almost immediately by Joe Massara.
“Well,” said Jastrow, “somebody finally put one in you, did they, Rico?”
“Yeah,” said Rico.
Joe Massara came over and put his hand on Rico’s arm. Joe’s face was white.
“Hurt you much, boss?”
“No,” said Rico, “what the hell you doing way over here?”
“I got tipped off,” said Joe. “I couldn’t get you on the phone and I began to get nervous. We’d’ve made it only my cab driver got hooked for speeding.”
“Who gave you the tip?” Jastrow demanded.
“Go press the bricks,” said Rico, “this ain’t your funeral.”
Jastrow laughed.
“Rico,” he said, “don’t you know that the Old Man’s taken an awful interest in you?”
“Well, tell him the cops couldn’t get me no other way so they hired a couple of gunmen.”
Joe laughed. Jastrow laughed also and taking out his notebook began to write in it. The clerk came with the bandages. Joe took them from him and paid him. Before they could get started, Killer Pepi and Otero came shoving their way through the crowd.
“Hello, boys,” said Jastrow, looking up from his little book. “Your boss got nudged by a hunk of lead.”
“So they tell me,” said the Killer.
Rico said:
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Jastrow went in front, clearing the way, followed by Otero and Killer Pepi, who had Rico between them. Joe brought up the rear. People were lined to the car-tracks; lights blazed in all the houses along the street, and men hung from the lampposts. When they came out of the store, the crowd was so thick that they were unable to get any farther. Jastrow took out his nightstick and flourished it, but the sight of it was enough, the crowd made a path.
As they walked along, Joe came up close to Rico and whispered:
“Little Arnie.”
Rico nodded. Pepi heard Joe.
“Yeah,” he said, “and I’m gonna plug him tonight.”
“There won’t be no plugging,” said Rico.
“Aw, hell,” said Pepi.
Otero was excited.
“Yes, yes, Rico,” he cried.
“Shut up, you birds,” said Rico; “who the hell’s running this show?”
A crowd was waiting for them in front of The Palermo. Bat Carillo and Ottavio Vettori began to yell as soon as they saw that Rico was on his feet.
Jastrow turned around.
“Well, I guess I done my duty.”
“Sure,” said Rico, “come in and have a drink.”
“Nothing doing,” said Jastrow, then he shouted: “You birds quit your damn yelling and get in off the sidewalk.”
Everybody laughed. They all liked Jastrow, who had the reputation of being on the square. Rico went in escorted by a mob of Little Italians. In the club people were standing on the tables; the orchestra was playing loudly; and Sam Vettori, in the middle of the deserted dance floor, was waving his arms wildly and bellowing.
When they saw Rico there was a tumult.
“Rico! Rico! Rico!”
Killer Pepi and Otero, intoxicated by the excitement, grabbed each other and began to dance. Joe waved the bandages. Rico took off his hat and smiled.
On the way up the stairs Rico turned to Joe and said:
“Go get The Sheeny.”
Killer Pepi took Rico by the arm.
“He’s upstairs now, boss,” he said; “the Kid got plugged.”
“How’d you make out?” Rico inquired.
“OK,” said Killer Pepi; “we was making a getaway on the third stand when one of the guys plugged the Kid. He ain’t hurt much. Just skinned him.”
Killer Pepi and Kid Bean had robbed twenty-five filling-stations in the last two weeks.
“All right,” said Rico, “you guys have been on the up and up. Split the money two ways.”
“That’s the talk, boss,” said the Killer.
Otero knocked on the door. Joe Sansone’s face appeared at the grating, then the door swung open.
The Sheeny was working on Kid Bean. The Kid was lying on the card table, smoking a cigarette. His shirt was off and there was a smear of blood on his hairy chest. When he saw Rico he said:
“They damn near hit the target, boss.”
He pointed to a pierced heart tattooed on his chest. He was as proud of his tattooing as a Maori chief.
“The boss got plugged,” said Pepi.
“What!” yelled the Kid, sitting up; “go fix him up, Sheeny.”
He gave The Sheeny a push. But Rico said:
“Finish up the Kid first. I can wait.”
“Only jist got to bandage him yet,” said The Sheeny with his ingratiating smile.
The Sheeny was a graduate doctor, but he had been sent up for an illegal operation and his licence had been revoked. He said his name was Lazarro, but nobody believed him and everybody referred to him simply as The Sheeny.
Rico took off his coat and shirt, and sat waiting. His wound had stopped bleeding.
Joe Massara came over and stood by his chair. Joe’s big cut for an inside job had pulled him back to the fold. He never talked any more about quitting the racket. The Courtney affair had blown over apparently, and he had regained his confidence.
“Joe,” said Rico, “how come they gave you the tip?”
“Well,” said Joe, “I ain’t sure, but I think it was an outsider that didn’t know nobody but me. He sure had the dope all right. He said the guys were gonna park at twelve. They didn’t expect you out till two or three.”
“A fine bunch of gunmen Arnie picked!”
“Yeah,” said Joe.
The Kid climbed off the table and stood feeling his chest.
“Boy, I thought I was plugged for sure.”
“They just bounce off you,” said Pepi.
The Sheeny began to bathe Rico’s wound.
“ ’Tain’t much,” he said, “but it pays to be careful.”
When The Sheeny had got Rico bandaged, Rico put on his shirt and sat smoking. Bat Carillo and Ottavio Vettori, whom he had sent for, came in and sat down beside him. The Sheeny put on his hat.
“Well,” he said, smiling at Rico, “I guess I’m done. If you guys have any trouble with them wounds let me know.”
Rico got his billfold and gave The Sheeny a fifty.
“Thank you! Thank you!” said The Sheeny, bowing.
Joe Sansone let him out.
Rico said:
“Now listen, you birds, tonight’s the big cleanup. If these guys want trouble, why, that’s what we’re looking for.”
“You bet,” said Killer Pepi.
“Now,” Rico went on, “I got things fixed with Joe Peeper and I’m gonna to give Little Arnie the grand rush right away. I want Killer Pepi and Otero and Ottavio to go with me.”
“How about me?” demanded Joe Sansone.
“You too, Joe. And you, Bat, I want you to take your gang and smash up Jew Mike’s. Run everybody out and then smash the place. If Little Arnie wants trouble, why that’s what we got the most of. Got it?”
“OK,” said Bat, “how about the rods?”
“Don’t use ’em,” said Rico; “Jew Mike’s yellow and he won’t put up no fight.”
“Them guys of mine are hard to hold on to,” said Carillo, grinning.
“That’s your job,” said Rico. “We got to watch this plugging stuff with Flaherty on our trail.”
“OK, boss,” said Carillo.