Little Men, Big World

by W. R. Burnett

  She broke off. Finished with her mopping, she filled the coffeepot again and put it on the stove; then she sat down and studied Arky’s face.

  “You don’t seem like a criminal or anything, Arky.”

  He laughed shortly. “I’m not, baby, I’m not. Never been more than a young guy trying to get along without much education and practically no ambition. Not so young even anymore.”

  The conversation lapsed. When the coffee was ready, Arky showed her where the dishes were; she put out the cups and saucers, then poured the coffee.

  “You never had much training around the house, did you, Arky?” she said as they sat sipping their black coffee.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you just point, like a man who’s used to being waited on.”

  Arky thought this over for a moment. She was right. Anna had spoiled him, waiting on him hand and foot for nearly ten years. “Yeah,” said Arky, “I just sit down and expect the grits to be on the table.”

  “The what?”

  “The food, the food!”

  There was a long silence as they sipped the coffee. Arky began to study Robbie’s face, noting that she was very pale and seemed nervous and worried.

  “Look, honey,” he said finally, “want me to get that heap of Leon’s and take you home?”

  “No,” said Robbie.

  “Well, seems to me like you’ve got the jumps. Maybe you’d feel better at home.”

  “No,” said Robbie. “I’m never going back there—not even to get my clothes.”

  “Don’t talk silly. I’ll bet you got lots of nice things.”

  Robbie sighed. “Yes, Ozark, I’ve got lots of nice things. But they can stay there. Leon kept trying to tell me those men were watching the apartment. But I thought he was imagining things…”

  “They might have been, but I doubt it. Leon’s got plenty on his mind, all right-—plenty to worry about—but he may be building it up a little too. See what I mean?”

  “You’re wasting your breath, Ozark. This little girl’s not going back.”

  Arky shrugged, and smiled slightly. “That suits me fine. I’ll send Turk after your things tomorrow. They may get back here in a mess, but they’ll get back.”

  “But, Ozark—I can’t stay here. This is just as bad. Worse.”

  “I’ll figure something out,” said Arky, carelessly. “You stay here tonight and I’ll tell you what I told Leon. To get to you, anybody’s got to take care of the Turk, myself, and another guy. Rough going.”

  Robbie sighed, and the color slowly began to come back into her cheeks. She started to pour herself another cup of coffee. Arky tapped her sharply on the forearm.

  “Hey! What about me?”

  Robbie looked at him blankly, then understood, and poured his cup full. “I’m sorry, Ozark,” she said. “You first, is that right? Always you first. I’m not much good at being a squaw, but maybe I’ll learn. Back home the women eat at the second table. Right?”

  Arky laughed. “They used to.”

  There was a long silence, then Robbie turned her head slightly and seemed to be listening. After a moment, she said: “Sounds to me like a baby crying in the house. You wouldn’t by any chance have—among other things—a baby around here, would you, Ozark?”

  Arky looked at Robbie for a long time before he asked: “How do you feel about babies?”

  “Ozark, that is a baby crying! How do I feel about them? That’s a silly question. I love ’em.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Why should I be kidding? I was a baby once myself.”

  “Anything for a laugh,” said Arky in disgust.

  “My goodness! What lungs that baby’s got!”

  “He’s a strong little bastard all right,” said Arky and there was a touch of pride in his voice which made Robbie study him with surprise.

  “Is he your baby, Ozark?”

  “Sure is,” said Arky.

  Robbie stared at him, speechless, her pretty lips parted, showing even, white, fanatically cared-for teeth, seeming almost artificial in their perfection.

  A door banged someplace; then Leon’s voice called: “Arky! Ark!”

  “His Highness is being disturbed,” said Robbie with a certain satisfaction in her voice.

  Arky got up and went out into the hall. Leon was in the doorway of Anna’s bedroom, staring. His thick dark hair was standing up all over his head in oily curls. He was in his underwear: a monogrammed silk undershirt and silk shorts, both lavender. He looked soft and out of shape minus the sharply styled façade of his outer clothing.

  “Something wrong with me, Ark,” he said. “I keep hearing a baby crying in the next room. There! Don’t you hear that?”

  “Sure I hear it. It’s a baby all right. Go back to bed.”

  “What the hell is a baby doing in your apartment, Arky?” Leon demanded peevishly.

  “Shall I drown him?”

  Leon noted a certain spark in Arky’s triangular eyes, and recoiled slightly.

  “No. No,” said Leon. “Only kidding.”

  He went back in and shut the door. Arky could hear him mumbling to himself, then Arky returned to the kitchen. Robbie was laughing.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “And some people smoke the weed for kicks,” said Robbie.

  Just as Arky sat down, a door was banged back loudly, the baby-howling rose to a new high, and someone could be heard tramping barefoot down the hallway.

  Zand suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing purple and orange striped pajamas about three sizes too big for him. His black eyes were flashing with indignation. He raised his right hand menacingly and pointed the index finger at Arky.

  In a loud voice, trembling with emotion, he began: “Ark, I’m telling you, if you don’t…!” Then he saw Robbie and a look of blank bewilderment crossed his lean, aquiline face. He stood stiff as a clothing-dummy, unable to continue, but with his hand still raised. Finally he recovered, as the two sat staring at him in silence. “What in Christ’s name is she doing here?”

  “I got her to look after the baby,” said Arky.

  Zand leaned against the door-jamb and laughed hysterically, then he said: “This is good! Wait till Lola sees the new nurse.”

  “She knows all about babies, don’t you, Robbie?” said Arky, glancing ironically at her.

  “I certainly do,” said Robbie mildly. “I raised three of them.”

  “You what?’ cried Arky, getting up so suddenly that he almost upset his chair.

  “I was the oldest,” said Robbie. “My mother was only sixteen when I was born and she just kept having them. In fact she’s got one two years old right now.”

  “Well, I’m damned,” said Arky.

  Down the hallway, the baby-howls rose louder and louder.

  “Listen to that,” cried Zand. “We got to do something. Lola’s so sick she can’t hold her head up and I…”

  Robbie rose. “You really want me to help?”

  “Will you?” asked Arky.

  “I’d like nothing better.”

  “It’s a funny world,” said Zand.

  Lola, pale and haggard, raised up on one elbow as they all entered the spare bedroom. In the basket, Orv was yelling at the top of his lungs and kicking wildly with his sturdy little legs. Lola stared in unbelief at the tall, elegant girl bending over the basket. Then she began to stammer.

  “You mean she... that girl... she’s going to…? Where did Turk find her?”

  “Never mind now,” said Zand, soothingly. “Just relax. Lie back. Take it easy. Your troubles are over.”

  Robbie picked the baby up and cuddled him. “Oh, you little love,” she said. “Arky—my God!—what a beautiful child.”

  Arky began to grin and shift about, and Zand stared at him with a mixture of irritation and envy.

  As dawn showed weakly among the brick tenements and sagging frame boarding-houses of the 17th Ward, Leon, wakened by the daylight, a
nd feeling much refreshed by a few hours of sleep, put on his shirt and pants and went looking for Arky. He wanted to talk.

  After a cautious search, he found Arky lying asleep fully dressed on the davenport in the living-room. At the sound of guarded footsteps, Arky woke at once and with one swift movement his hand went behind him and came up with a short-barreled, ugly-looking revolver. Leon recoiled, seemed about to run.

  “Hello, Leon,” said Arky, putting the gun away and sitting up. “What the hell time is it?”

  “Sun’s just coming up,” said Leon, sitting down opposite Arky. “I had a pretty good sleep, thanks to you. Funny what a little decent sleep will do for a guy. I’m going to make another run for it.”

  “Where?”

  “I figure I’ll drive to the Capitol and take a plane for New York. It’s an easy place to disappear in. Then I’ll get a boat to Rio. Quite a town, I understand.”

  “If you’re fixed.”

  Leon looked at Arky steadily. “I’m fixed, loaded. Don’t know why I’ve been taking these knocks so long.”

  “Gets to be a habit. Well, Leon?”

  “Well ... what?”

  “You’re feeling a little better now. Give me an earful.” Leon started slightly and grew a little pale; then he looked about him, stalling. “Where the hell is everybody? What you doing, sleeping in here?”

  “I run out of rooms. Robbie’s in my bedroom with the baby.”

  “She’s what?” Leon shook with laughter, then calmed himself at a look from Arky “Okay. Okay. But that’s sure a yuk. Robbie with a baby!”

  “What’s so funny about it?”

  “Robbie and babies don’t go together, like me and church. That’s a smart little girl—Robbie. Always got her eye on the main chance. Watch it, Arky—or she’ll take you for a roll. They talk about dames being sophisticated. Most of ’em are about as sophisticated as my old Aunt Marie up in Quebec—it’s all talk, paint, and hair-do. Not with Robbie.”

  “All right, all right,” said Arky. “The hell with Robbie. Let’s talk.”

  Leon stared uncomfortably at the floor, then he searched himself nervously and futilely for a cigarette. Arky handed him one in silence and lit it for him.

  “Well,” said Leon, burning up half an inch of tobacco with every puff, “to make it brief, we’re dead. When the Mover kicked off, that was it. But even before that, we were in trouble. The boys are already operating with a strong fix in the Paxton Square district—I think they got to Captain Megher, must have. He was scared to death of the Mover and also the Commissioner, but now with both of them out of the way…” Leon nervously waved his cigarette in the air and left his sentence unfinished.

  “Okay,” said Arky impatiently. “Who’s running the show?”

  “Why, the Big City boys, naturally. Riebe’s still here, I think.”

  “I don’t mean them.”

  “Well, Stub Baxter’s the front. You know Stub.”

  “Sure I know him. A nothing.”

  “He’ll be hitting the headlines soon. He’s getting paid big for taking the heat.”

  “All right, all right,” cried Arky. “What I want to know is, who’s really running the show for Kelly? Who’s the in-between, the me of this outfit?”

  Leon swallowed and almost dropped his cigarette, then he sat for a long time staring off at the open window. A couple of noisy sparrows were hopping about on the sill, greeting the new day.

  “You know him well,” said Leon. “He’s been horsing around here for a long time, trying to get a real foothold, and a boost into the real money.”

  “Well...?”

  Leon flipped his cigarette butt at the sparrows; it passed harmlessly over them and they ignored it.

  “Harry Radabaugh.”

  Arky got slowly to his feet. His face was hard as flint and his blue eyes seemed to give off electric sparks for a moment.

  “The finger!” he said quietly.

  Leon fussed around in his chair. “Well, now, Ark; I wouldn’t know about that... I wouldn’t really be able to say that he…”

  Arky came over to Leon and patted him on the shoulder. “Okay, Leon. Thanks. I know you couldn’t say positively. Forget it. Forget it. Just get out of town.”

  Leon, pale, glanced up at Arky as if expecting a blow, but Arky was smiling at him somewhat indulgently.

  A few hours later, Turk and Leon set off for the Capitol in Leon’s black Cadillac limousine. Leon liked Turk’s looks and felt safe with the crop-headed, tight-lipped kid. Before they left, Leon said to Arky:

  “Tell you what. You been a life-saver to me. I’m going to make you a little present. Rudy’s got the convertible—he’s in love with it. But this Cadillac’s yours. Okay?”

  Arky merely nodded, but Turk’s eyes popped, though he kept his face emotionless. What kind of guys were these—handing Cadillacs around like they were cigarettes? Turning to Arky he said:

  “Don’t worry, mister. I’ll be back before dark. With this hack, it’s a breeze.”

  Later, Arky chased Robbie out of the bedroom and settled down to make a few phone calls. From time to time, he glanced over at the basket where Orv was sleeping with his tiny fists raised above his head.

  “What a promoter that Robbie is,” he said with a smile. “A guy would think she was really nuts about that kid.”

  First he called the Dighton and Black law firm and had a long talk about various matters with the senior partner, who was so agitated that he could hardly keep his voice from trembling. He slavishly agreed to all of Arky’s requests and kept saying: “I know he’ll be delighted to co-operate in every way. In fact, it isn’t really necessary to bother him. I can assure you of his co-operation.”

  “How is he, by the way?” asked Arky.

  “Very low. Very low. He may be hospitalized for months. A general collapse. Too bad, too bad. But he’ll be glad to co-operate.”

  Then Arky called Rudy, who began to scream at him right away.

  “Don’t come here, Ark—for God’s sake. They’ll be laying for you if you do. Take my word for it. Things have gone to hell. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Even Robbie has disappeared. I don’t know where anything is… I don’t know where—”

  “What about the take?” Arky broke in, harshly.

  Rudy laughed sadly and derisively. “What take? All the boys are talking poor. Business is falling off, you know. Some of them are even saying ‘try and collect.’ ”

  “All right,” said Arky grimly. “Sit tight. They’ll change their tunes before they’re through. Just ignore them, Rudy. Don’t call them. Nothing. If they call you, don’t talk to them. Just be busy. We’ll sweat ’em. Then later, we’ll see.”

  “Just as you say, Ark. But it’s terrible—I lost five pounds this week.”

  “You can stand it,” said Arky, laughing, as he hung up.

  Later, he managed to run Captain Dyson down. The Captain’s hippopotamus-like groans sounded more dismal than usual over the wire.

  “Hopeless, Arky. Hopeless. If the rumors are true…”

  “Never mind the rumors. Get a pencil and paper. I got a list for you.”

  The Captain patiently wrote down on his pad the list of business addresses Arky gave him, and when Arky had concluded he said:

  “I got ’em. Now what?”

  “You knock ’em over. All of them. Sneak raids. Knock ’em over good. We’ll teach these guys to switch.”

  “But, good Christ, Arky! At a time like this ... listen a minute. Listen! Stop shouting. I want to tell you about the rumors that are flying around. We hear that the Commissioner did not go back to the Capitol after the funeral, but is hiding out.”

  “Why would he be hiding out? He’s not the kind of man that hides.”

  “Lot of talk about it.”

  “Well, suppose it’s true? It will make you look pretty big right now won’t it? Knocking over all these gambling joints? Go to it, Cap. Like I told you, you may end up Chief of Police.”
r />   A deep bass groan like an organ-note came over the wire. Arky hung up.

  As a “big” man now, Reisman had an office of his own in the Journal Building, an office that he used merely as a place of refuge when things became too irksome and irritating at home, or when his co-workers, acquaintances, and friends bored him to the point of homicide.

  The room resembled a rather large and neglected clothes-closet more than it did an office, and it was somewhat of a surprise to find not only a window in it, but a desk and a chair.

  In the past it had been used by the “literary department,” which consisted, under the old dispensation, of Professor Crews, his old-maid sister, and an office-boy who had run errands for half a dozen of the other offices and had also written fifty per cent of the book reviews. But now fuzzy-minded old Professor Crews, who had spent much of his time quoting Longfellow, W. D. Howells, and William Cullen Bryant, and viewing with alarm such revolutionary writers as H. L. Mencken and Eugene O’Neill, was dead, his sister on a pension, and the office-boy a reporter on another paper. The department had been streamlined and moved to new quarters, but an office-boy still wrote half of the reviews.

  Reisman’s refuge was covered with dust and stank of ageing, mildewed books. Nobody had ever thought to clean it out, least of all Reisman. He was always running across “sensational” novels of the thirties by authors who had long since gone back to whatever they had been doing before they fell on their heads and wrote a book. It was a melancholy experience and, sighing, Reisman would sit at the window reading an impassioned blurb of a book which had had a life of maybe three weeks and an impassioned thumbnail sketch of an author nobody had ever heard of. The author was usually pictured with his hair mussed, his shirt open at the neck, and a pipe in his mouth.

  Reisman would tell himself that maybe after all it was a good thing that he’d stayed on a newspaper and not written those excessively clever novels and plays everybody had expected him to write. They were in his head. Let them stay there and not come out to clutter dusty comers or lay unwanted on out-of-the-way remainder counters.

  Today, however, he was enjoying himself in the quietude of his dingy, dusty, melancholy retreat, abode of stillborn masterpieces and dead authors. He was reading a good book, a new one; in fact, he’d just finished it, and he sat looking through the dirty window-pane at the crowded Boulevard, feeling somewhat uplifted, lost in rather pleasant thoughts.