VI
DeVoss was standing in the lobby when Rico came in. DeVoss looked him over thoroughly, positive that he was out of his element in an atmosphere as exclusive as that of The Bronze Peacock. Not that Rico looked the least bit shabby. If anything, he was dressed more carefully than usual, from his modish derby to his fawn-coloured spats. The big ulster he was wearing hid the loud striped suit and a plain dark muffler hid the loud striped tie. No, sartorially Rico could pass at The Bronze Peacock. But there was something vulgar and predatory about him that did not escape DeVoss.
“That’s a bad one there,” he told himself.
Rico glanced about the lobby, taking everything in from habit. It was not a good plant but it could be worked. Not that he had any intention of working it, but you never know. He came up to DeVoss and said:
“Excuse me, but where’ll I find the manager of this place.”
DeVoss looked at him coldly.
“I’m the manager.”
Rico grinned.
“Well,” he said, “I guess we got a mutual friend. The Big Boy tells me you and him does business together.”
DeVoss’s manner changed abruptly.
“Oh, yes. You’re one of his friends, are you? What can I do for you?”
“I want to see Joe Massara.”
“That’s easy,” said DeVoss, “he’s back in his dressing-room. I’ll take you back.”
Rico followed DeVoss, and they went up a few steps at the end of the lobby and came out into the club proper. It was empty except for a couple of electricians who were working on the stage spotlights.
“So you’re one of the Big Boy’s friends,” said DeVoss, curious.
“I’m Rico.”
DeVoss looked at him, startled.
“Oh,” he said, “you’re Rico.”
All the way up the rear corridor DeVoss kept looking sideways at Rico. One of Little Arnie’s men had told him about the new Vettori gang chief. Dangerous as dynamite!
DeVoss knocked at Joe’s door. Someone called “come in.” DeVoss opened the door and Rico followed him into the room. Joe was sitting in his shirt sleeves, his vest off, displaying a pair of fancy suspenders. (Rico made a mental note of the suspenders. His taste ran more to fancy sleeve garters. But if men like Joe were wearing fancy suspenders, why, he’d have to get himself a pair.) Olga Stassoff, in a black, red and gold Japanese kimono was lying on a lounge, holding a Pekinese on her chest and rubbing its face against her own. A big man in evening clothes was standing with his back to the door. When Joe saw Rico he got to his feet in a hurry and stood smiling a little uneasily. The big man turned around.
“Mr. Rico wants to see you, Joe,” said DeVoss; then he put his hand on Rico’s arm and said: “When you get done with Joe, why, come up to the office and we’ll have a little drink.”
“Sorry,” said Rico, “I don’t use it. But thanks just the same.” DeVoss’s eyebrows rose.
“You mean you don’t drink!”
“Rico drinks milk,” said Joe, trying to be funny.
But Rico didn’t even smile.
“Yeah,” he said, “sometimes I drink milk.”
“Well, drop in anyway on your way out,” said DeVoss.
DeVoss closed the door. Rico noticed that the girl in the Japanese kimono was staring at him. She didn’t look like much to him; too skinny; all the same he insolently ran his eyes over her. The big man said:
“I guess there’s no use for us to offer you a drink.”
Joe took Rico by the arm.
“Olga, I want you to meet Rico. Rico, this is Olga Stassoff.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Rico.
Olga sat up and tried to smile, but it was no use. Rico was repulsive to her, principally because she was certain that he had killed Joe’s friend, Tony, but also because he stared at her insolently with his small, pale eyes.
“This boy here,” said Joe, taking the big man familiarly by the arm, “is Mr. Willoughby, the millionaire.”
“Why bring that up?” said Willoughby.
Rico had an instinctive respect for wealth. Money was power. He smiled affably, and offered his hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said.
Willoughby shook hands strenuously, then he inquired:
“Have you got some private business with Joe?”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “but there ain’t no hurry about it.”
“That’s all right,” said Willoughby. “Olga and I’ll go over next door. Eh, Olga? When you get through, why, give us a rap and we’ll come back. Don’t suppose I could persuade you to join us in a little supper before the show?”
Rico was flattered.
“Well,” he said, “I might.”
“Good,” said Willoughby; then taking Olga by the hand he pulled her to her feet. But Olga hesitated and stood looking from Joe to Rico.
“Run along, baby,” said Joe.
“Well, don’t take all night about it,” said Olga.
“I won’t keep him long,” Rico put in.
When Olga and Willoughby had gone, Rico said:
“Flying pretty high, ain’t you, Joe?”
“Willoughby’s just one of Olga’s fish. He’s gonna back her in a big show.”
“Yeah? Well, if that bird’s got a million bucks you both better clamp on to him. Nice little Jane you got, Joe.”
“Olga’s OK,” said Joe.
Rico unbuttoned his ulster to display his finery. He had on one of his striped suits. It was dead black with a narrow pink stripe. The colour scheme was further complicated by a pale blue shirt and an orange and white striped tie adorned with the ruby pin.
Joe stared at him.
“All lit up, ain’t you, Rico?” he said.
Rico nodded, pleased.
“Yeah, I kind of got it into my head I ought to dress up now.”
“They tell me you crowded Sam out,” said Joe. Rico looked at him.
“Didn’t nobody tell you the boys was giving a banquet for me?”
“Yeah, they told me,” said Joe, hurriedly, “but it was on at the wrong time for me.”
Rico took out a cigar and bit off the end of it.
“I ain’t seen you since the big stand.”
“No,” said Joe looking at the floor. “I been laying low. They had me scared.”
Rico banged his fist on the arm of his chair.
“Goddamn it, Joe, what you got up your sleeve?”
Joe looked startled. He sat silent and from time to time raised his eyes to glance at Rico, who was staring at him.
“Spill it, Joe,” said Rico.
“Well,” said Joe, “I been making pretty good money with my dancing. Olga and me has got a turn together that’s going over big. They want to put us in a show. Listen, Rico, I got enough of the racket. This last stand damn near fixed me. Jesus, but we was lucky.”
“We ain’t out yet,” said Rico, “and we don’t want no softies spoiling things.”
Rico and Joe stared at each other for a moment. Joe began to grow pale.
“You ain’t dumb, Joe,” said Rico, “what the devil! You mean to tell me you’re gonna quit the racket. Why, boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. In a couple of weeks I’m gonna take over Little Arnie’s joint. The Big Boy even wants to be declared in. Listen, Joe, you’re a smart boy and I can use you. To hell with that dancing stuff. As a front it’s OK, but no man’s gonna make his living that way.”
Joe slumped down in his chair.
“I got your number, Joe,” Rico went on, “it’s that damn skirt. She’s making a softie of you, Joe.”
“Lord, Rico,” said Joe, “can’t a guy quit? I ain’t gonna spill nothing. You think I want to get my neck stretched?”
“Yeah? Look at Tony. He turned soft and they patted him with a spade. Once a guy turns soft he ain’t no good in this world. Didn’t Humpy get soft on Red Gus and turn State’s? Yeah! Who got the neck stretching? Red Gus. Humpy got fifteen years and he’ll be out in half of that.”
Joe slumped further down in his chair.
“Rico, you know I ain’t yellow.”
“All right,” said Rico, “if that’s the dope, I can use you. Ottavio and me has been figuring on a little stand that won’t be half bad. I need a good inside man, Joe. A cut will be worth two grand at least.”
Someone knocked at the door. It was DeVoss. He came over to Rico and said:
“Mr. Rico, there’s a couple of dicks out in the lobby. When I asked them what they wanted, they said they was just looking around.”
Rico said:
“Two bits it’s Flaherty. All right, Mr. DeVoss, thanks.”
DeVoss went out. Joe got to his feet and turned agonized eyes on Rico.
“What did you have to come clear across town for, Rico? Can’t you let me alone?”
Rico paid no attention to him.
“There’s one Irishman,” he said, “that ain’t long for this world.”
“Rico,” said Joe, “for God’s sake stay over in your own end of town. I don’t want the bulls coming here.”
“Listen,” said Rico, his eyes glowing, “if I hear any more of this softie stuff I’ll only be back once more.”
Willoughby and Olga came in.
“Didn’t you rap for us?” asked Willoughby.
“No, that was DeVoss,” said Rico, “but we’re done. Say Mr. Willoughby, I sure am sorry but I got to pass up that invitation of yours. I got some important business with a couple of guys.”
“Sorry,” said Willoughby.
“Yes, we’re sorry,” said Olga, trying to be affable on Joe’s account.
Rico shook hands with Joe.
“I’ll be seeing you.”
“All right, Rico,” said Joe.
When Rico emerged he saw DeVoss coming down the corridor. He looked somewhat agitated.
“They’re sure enough looking for you, Mr. Rico. For Lord’s sake don’t cause no trouble in my place.”
Rico grinned.
“There won’t be no trouble unless them damn dummies out there start it.”
Rico followed DeVoss back through the club. On the stage the orchestra was tuning up and few early couples were sitting at the tables. When they got to the lobby Rico saw Flaherty and another detective. Flaherty came over to him.
“Well, Rico,” he said, “kind of out of your territory, ain’t you?”
“What the hell of it?”
Rico buttoned his ulster and carefully arranged his muffler.
“Oh, nothing. Don’t you remember I told you I was keeping an eye on you? Sure thing. I’m interested in young guys that want to get up in the world.”
“Aw, can that,” said Rico.
He noticed that people were coming into the place; in the club the orchestra had begun to play. He remembered what the Big Boy had said about DeVoss.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, “no use causing DeVoss no trouble. You bulls got about as much regard for a guy as a couple of hyenas.”
“You’re long on regard yourself, ain’t you, Rico?” said Flaherty, laughing.
Rico nodded to DeVoss and went out. Flaherty and the other detective followed him. Rico was standing at the curb under the canvas marquee. They came up to him. He stared at Flaherty.
“Listen, Flaherty,” he said, “did you ever stop to think how you’d look with a lily in your hand?”
“I never did,” said Flaherty, with a sneer. “I been at this game for twenty-five years and I’ve got better guys than you hung, and I never got a scratch.”
Rico took out a cigar and lit it. A taxi drew up at the curb.
“Well, here’s my wagon,” said Rico, “want to take a ride?”
“No,” said Flaherty, “when we take a ride together I’ll have the cuffs on you.”
“No Irish bastard’ll ever put no cuffs on Rico!”
Flaherty’s face was red, but he turned on his heel and was about to go when Rico said:
“And another thing, Flaherty, you was always OK with me, see, but now you ain’t. You ain’t got nothing on me and you ain’t got no business trailing me every place I go. Take a tip. Sam and me’re getting tired of seeing you guys climb the stairs. The first floor’s open to anybody, they even allow cops in there, but the upstairs is private.”
“Yeah?” said Flaherty, who had succeeded in controlling his temper.
“Yeah. Some day one of you wise dicks is gonna make a one way trip up them stairs.”
“Getting up in the world, ain’t you, Rico?” said Flaherty, “maybe you better run for mayor.”
Rico slammed the door of the cab. Flaherty turned to the man with him and said:
“I’ll get that swell-headed dago if it’s the last thing I ever do.”