by Grey, Harry
Big Max with ferocious brutality jammed the nozzle of the Tommy right in his mouth, knocking two teeth out. He fell back with a yelp of pain. He spit teeth and blood out of his mouth. He sat down on a chair, holding a handkerchief to his mouth.
“Pat and Cockeye take care of things up here.” Maxie motioned to me to pick up the trap door. “Everybody else down the hole,” Max barked.
Patsy yanked the big shot up by the collar and pushed him down the cellar. “More garbage coming down, Jake.”
Jake was standing at the bottom of the stairway, grinning. He had two guns in his hands.
“Okay, all you goornoughs with horns, get to one side,” Max snapped, once everybody was downstairs.
They obeyed with alacrity, all but one of the uniformed guards. He was pale and in a sweat. He didn't move.
“Get going,” Maxie lashed at him.
“I can't. I got a nervous stomach,” he stammered. “I got to go upstairs.”
“Okay,” Maxie said, “you got to go, you got to go. Goo-Goo, you escort this gentleman up to the office crapper.”
Big Max bowed with mock politeness.
Maxie called derisively after them. “Hey, Goo-Goo, make sure the jerk defecates and doesn't masturbate.”
We thought the remark was hilariously funny. I saw Goo-Goo turn to Maxie and laugh. That was his mistake.
We heard a shot.
Big Max whipped around with his Tommy.
Goo-Goo was falling down the stairs.
We saw a pair of legs running up.
Big Max sprayed a stream of hot lead after them.
The guy in uniform came tumbling down.
He lay sprawled on top of Goo-Goo.
He was shrieking, “Oh, my legs!”
Blood was pouring all over Goo-Goo.
It came from the holes in the guard's legs.
Patsy came running down the stairs.
His face bore a wild murderous look.
“You'll croak for this, you friggin bastard.” Max stopped him with a reprimand.
He held his Roscoe ready in his hand.
Goo-Goo was grimacing in awful pain.
I took his jacket and shirt off. There was a nasty hole in his back high up around the right shoulder. I tore his shirt and bandaged him up.
Max bent over anxiously. “What do you think, Noodles?”
“He'll be okay,” I said. “We can't waste too much time. Hell need attention. The bullet's got to come out.”
“I'll make it short and sweet with these bastards,” Maxie promised.
“Hey, Pip,” I called, “get two bottles of whiskey from the bar.”
“Good idea,” Maxie said. He held his big hand over the wounded guard's mouth to suppress his loud crying.
I took the guard's pants off. Funny how the holes were evenly distributed. He had four in each leg. I tore his shirt into strips. I made two tourniquets, one on each leg. I plugged up the holes and bandaged them.
I whispered to Maxie, “This guy needs a hospital, bad, or hell be a goner.”
Maxie shrugged indifferently.
Pipy came down with two bottles of whiskey. I gave one to Goo-Goo, the other to the guard.
“Sip them slowly,” I said.
Maxie asked Pipy, “How are the people upstairs? Did they hear the shooting?”
Si, the cashier, answered, “A few people asked questions. I told them it was nothing, just some workmen using a pneumatic drill down the cellar.”
“Thanks for the cooperation. I won't forget you,” Max said. “Okay, Pat, you better go back upstairs.”
We took the politician owner of the place to one side. Jake and Pip stood guard on the rest. We backed him up in a corner. There was no getting away from it. Loudmouth's braggadocio was all gone. Even his clothes, including his tie, seemed subdued in the dim light. His hat was no longer at a rakish angle. There was fear in his eyes.
“The first thing, bastard,” Maxie had the nozzle of the Tommy dug into the guy's belly. “You close the joint up, okay?”
He mumbled a timid, “Okay.”
I interrupted, “I think I better go up to the attic and get our clothes. It's chilly down here.”
“Right,” Max said. I left.
I came down with our shirts and suits. We dressed quickly.
“Okay, bastard,” Maxie nudged the guy sharply with the Tommy towards the stairway. “Upsa daisy.”
When we got upstairs, Maxie gave fast and curt instructions.
“Pat, you go around with Si. Tell everybody to leave. Everybody— shills, guards, everybody. Tell them the place is closing early tonight. As soon as they start moving out, come back here with Si. We'll cash all the outstanding chips for the customers. And you, bastard,” Maxie motioned menacingly with the Tommy to the quaking boss of the place, “you stay by the window to assure any of your men who may get suspicious that everything's okay and for them to scram. One wrong move from you, I'll splatter you over the floor like cow crap. Noodles, you stay with him.”
Maxie went into the toilet. I stood alongside the guy, my shiv sticking in his ribs.
In twenty minutes most of the people had left. Only a few stragglers stood around.
One of the shills seemed a little too inquisitive. He kept asking at the window, “Why we closing so early, boss? What's up? What happened to your mouth, it's bleeding?”
I didn't like his looks. He seemed suspicious. I whispered to his boss, “Tell him to come in.”
He came in, reeking of perfume. I opened the trap door and said, “Down you go, sweet boy.”
He hesitated. I flashed the ten-inch blade at his throat. He ran down in a hurry, pale with fright. I slammed the door after him.
One at a time, we got rid of the rest of the stragglers. We locked the door. We had the place to ourselves.
Max, Patsy, the boss of the place and I adjourned to the bar. Max put the Tommy down and said, “Okay, boys, put the hardware away.”
We put our Roscoes in our holsters.
Max put four glasses on the bar. He took a fresh bottle of Mt. Vernon and poured.
Loudmouth smirked ingratiatingly as he reached for his drink. “I sure need this.” His speech sounded odd with his two teeth missing.
On our second round, Max asked, “Do you know what we're here for?”
The liquor gave him a little courage.
He simpered, “Not for any of my good, I suppose.”
He hesitated to see how we took his remark.
Maxie prompted him, “Okay. Go ahead.”
Blood was still trickling from his mouth but he managed a small smile.
He continued, “At first I thought you lads were out on a heist.” He took the bull by the horns. “I suppose you're some of Frank's boys from the Combine?”
Max deadpanned. “Never heard of the guy.” He scrutinized him speculatively. “Okay, let's say we come from a source that wants to take this joint over. What then?”
Maxie poured the third round. He was feeding him whiskey, evidently to restore him to his blatant self. Max was proving the old Roman adage, In vino Veritas.
Sure enough.
He straightened his noisy tie, adjusted his felt hat to the rakish Jimmy Walker angle, and answered Max out of the corner of his mouth.
“Why should I give this joint up? I had big offers to sell out. This place is a gold mine. I built it. It's mine. And I tell you guys something: nobody's going to push me out or muscle in either.”
I guess he caught Maxie's warning expression. His thin veneer of Dutch courage evaporated.
“Ain't I right, fellas? Is it the right thing to do to go around bulldozing people? To scare people into giving away their rights? I—I,” he pounded his chest self-righteously, “built this casino, I tell you, fellas. It isn't legal, especially to a foreigner like this Frank guy.” His eyes lit up with justification.
“I'm an American, a hundred percent American.”
At the word “American” Max spit his burning cigar square
into the guy's eyes. Ashes and sparks flew all over his face.
Patsy clipped him a left hook in the belly.
He lay on the floor moaning, wiping the ashes out of his eyes.
“You flag-waving stinkin' bastard.” Maxie spit in his face. “I was going to give you a break. I was about to give you a proposition. To let you run this joint with honest equipment. On a partnership basis. But there's no hope for you. You're lousy through and through. Aren't you, bastard? You talk about rights? You sonofabitch, you're lower than whale shit and that's at the bottom of the ocean. You run a crooked gambling joint. You grab all the profits for yourself. You underpay your help. You probably intimidate everybody with your yellow-bellied Klan set-up. You, a good American? You rob the people of their vote with your forged registration books. You consider yourself a better man than Frank? You rat bastard. A man who'll give a guy a break? Who runs his joints on the up and up? Who overpays his help? Who don't give a damn for a buck? Whose word is his bond? Who gives away more in charity? He's more of an American—”
“Yeh,” I was thinking, “they're both right. This bum is America, with his Ku Klux Klan and everything else crooked around him. Where else in the world but in America can you find a character like this crooked politician? Where else but America could a fabulous figure like Frank be produced? And the rest of us hoods, all true and typically American?” I laughed to myself. “God bless America.”
Big Maxie continued his ridiculous harangue on true Americanism. He was working himself up to a murderous frenzy. He picked up his Tommy gun and held it to the whimpering guy's head. “Pray, you goornough, pray.” The guy was looking at Max with horror.
He sniveled and pleaded. “Please, please, give me a break. I got dough. I'll give you my dough. Anything. Let me go.”
I shook Maxie by the arm. I whispered in his ear. We retreated to the bar. I poured two drinks. Max cooled off. We turned back to the guy.
I said, “How much other cash you got lying around? We won all the money Si had in the office. You got any more lying around?”
“You fellas will give me a break?” he whimpered hopefully.
“We keep our word, bastard. We aren't like you,” Max said.
“A deal is a deal,” I assured him. “What's on your mind?”
“I have some more money on the premises. I'll give you all of it. You let me go?”
“How much you got?” I asked.
“Forty-five thousand.”
“Yeh, it's a deal. Where you got it?” I asked.
“You promise to keep your word?” he whimpered.
“Yes, we promise,” I assured him. “Where do you keep it?”
“I got it right here in the joint,” he mumbled.
“Where in the joint?”
“In the refrigerator.”
“In the ice box?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes, I got it in the office refrigerator.”
“Okay, let's go.”
Max motioned him to get up. We followed him into the office. He opened the door of the refrigerator. All we could see was the milk bottles. He put his hand in and tugged. He was trying to get the ice cube tray out. The one I had tried to get for our drinks earlier in the day.
“In there?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded.
“For forty-five grand, I'll dull my blade,” I said. I started to chip away. I picked with my knife all around the tray. I gave a strong yank. I almost fell over backward with the tray. It was a solid block of ice in my hand.
The ice wasn't transparent. It was cloudy.
I asked him, “You mixed the water with milk when you froze it?”
“Yes,” he said weakly.
We took the block of ice into the toilet and put it under the faucet. The water loosened up the ice. I tapped it gently with my knife. A package wrapped in white oilskin appeared.
Maxie unwrapped it. He counted ninety five-hundred dollar bills in the bundle.
“This is okay,” Max said in delight.
The guy asked warily, “All right, then? You let me go? I can operate the casino?”
“Look, I didn't promise you could operate the casino. Don't try to outsmart me by putting words in my mouth. All I said was we'll let you go,” Maxie said angrily. “What do you think—I was made with a finger, bastard?”
Maxie took Cockeye aside and whispered to him for a while. All I could overhear was the one word “gasoline.”
Cockeye said, “Okay,” and left the building.
Maxie turned to Patsy. “Stay with that goornough.”
He turned to me. “Come on, Noodles.”
We went down into the cellar. Goo-Goo and the guard were resting comfortably. They were drunk.
I said, “How you feeling, Goo-Goo boy?”
“Copasetic,” he said with a silly smile all over his face.
“We're going to move you, okay, Goo-Goo?” Max asked.
“I don't care what you do,” Goo-Goo giggled.
Big Max picked him up gently in his arms. Over his shoulder he said, “Everybody upstairs. You guys bring him up.” He nodded to the casino employees to carry upstairs the guy shot in the leg.
We all walked through the office toward the bar. Patsy remained in the office guarding the boss of the casino.
We propped the two wounded men comfortably on the dice table. I poured drinks for everybody.
Maxie faced the group.
“Sorry we had to be a little rough with you guys,” he said. “Your loyalty to that cheap sonofabitch was more than he deserved. We're putting the bum out of action completely. No more casino for him. He's finished. Forget all about us or I guarantee I come back and bury the lot of you.”
Maxie went down the line waving the lead sprayer under their quivering noses.
Maxie took money out of his pocket. He counted out one thousand dollars and walked to the guy with the eight slugs in his legs. “One G for you until you get back on your feet.”
For the moment the guy looked dumbly at Maxie's extended hand. Then the combination of pain, fear, drinks and money got him. He was laughing and crying at the same time. Finally, he stuck out his hand.
In a drunken emotional voice, he said, “Thank you, Mister. You're a fine man. Thank you.”
Maxie handed the guy whose nose was broken five hundred dollars. He also gave Si, the cashier, five hundred dollars. The rest, he gave two hundred apiece.
I kidded Max. I said, “You giving these guys severance pay?”
Cockeye came to the doorway. He called out. “Hey, Max, I got it.”
“Okay, leave it outside.”
Max turned back to the group and warned them again. “From here on, you guys saw nothin', heard nothin', and know nothin' or—” Maxie patted the Tommy significantly.
Max and I went outside. There were two five-gallon cans of gasoline standing by the door. Maxie tapped them with his foot. “Full?”
“To the top,” Cockeye said.
A Buick and a Plymouth were in the parking space.
Max said, “I guess the Buick must be Loudmouth's. Noodles, let's get everybody going.” Max walked briskly back into the building.
With compassionate care he picked Goo-Goo up, gently laid him on the back seat of our Caddy.
The guy wounded in the legs we carried into the Buick. Maxie turned to Si. “You drive?” he inquired.
“Yes,” Si answered.
“Okay, take the wheel of the Buick. The rest of you guys in the Plymouth. Jake, you drive. Pipy, you help Jake chaperone those fellas.”
Maxie continued snapping out orders. “Si, you follow the Caddy. Jake, you keep behind the Buick, okay?” They nodded.
He walked over to Cockeye at the wheel of the Caddy. “Drive down the road around that bend.” Maxie pointed. Cockeye nodded. “Wait for us there.”
Cockeye said, “Bight.”
The three-car caravan started. We waited until they were out of sight around the bend.
Max picked up a five-gall
on tin. He motioned for Patsy to pick up the other. “Pat, you go down the cellar and sprinkle three quarters of your tin down there. Careful now, spread the stuff all over. But look out for your clothes.”
Pat gave a curt nod and went down the stairway with the tin.
“You wait here, Noodles. I'll take care of upstairs.” Maxie disappeared up in the attic with the tin.
I looked around the main floor with regret. It seemed too beautiful a set-up to destroy. Plenty of dough could be made in this joint if properly handled. I bet the Combination could clear a half million a year if they operated it by giving the player a break. I thought Maxie was acting a little too drastically, too hastily. It was in his hands. I guessed he figured this was the only cure. Maybe the joint was too loused up for the Combination to handle. Oh well, it was probably for the best, but it did seem a shame. Such a beautiful set-up.
Maxie came down first. He asked, “Pat still down there?”
I nodded. “He must be doing a good job,” I said.
Maxie went to work briskly on the main floor, swishing gasoline around with the motions of a porter sprinkling water on the floor.
Pat came up grinning. “Boy, did I do a good job!” he said.
“Okay, Pat, finish emptying your tin on the other end of the room.” Max gestured with his thumb.
Regretfully I watched them wetting everything down with conscientious care.
When they had finished, Max said, “Okay, Pat, down the cellar for you. You got matches?”
Patsy nodded.
“Take this wad of paper to work with.” Maxie was rolling up a newspaper. He gave it to Patsy.
Maxie prepared more wads of newspapers. “Okay, Noodles, you work here. I'll work upstairs. Be careful,” Maxie cautioned.
I went to the far end of the room. I lit the newspaper into a torch. The rest was simple. All I did was touch the saturated floor and furniture. It lit up instantly.
The roaring flames seemed to do something to me emotionally. I felt like running around, shouting and laughing. It was wonderfully exhilarating. I guess everybody has a little of the instinct of a firebug.
Maxie came down the stairs laughing. He shouted, “How you doing, Noodles? Patsy still down there? He's a conscientious worker, isn't he?”