“Don’t touch her,” cried Rico, “my finger’s itching.”
Joe followed the others, backing out with his gun in his hand.
Courtney’s face was purple. He glanced at his wife, lying pale and unconscious on the floor, then, shouting “you dirty bums” reached for his gun. Rico fired. Courtney took two steps toward Rico, staring. Then he fell heavily, his arms spread.
At the door Rico collided with a drunken man, who was just entering. The man tried to hug him, but he knocked him down with a blow of his fist.
Rico jumped on the running-board and bellowed:
“Open her up, Tony. This ain’t no picnic.”
Tony was unnerved and tears were dripping down onto his hands. Joe and Otero sat silent in the back seat. Otero rolled a cigarette between his palms. Nobody said anything.
Tony took a corner, careening. The wind had died down a little and it had begun to snow again, a thin, cold, powdery snow. The whistles were still blowing, but fainter now, one leaving off, then another.
“Well,” said Rico, “I plugged him.”
“Yeah,” said Joe, “I seen him fall. Like a ton of bricks.”
“Well,” said Otero, “what can you do? The fool, pulling a gat!”
Tony said nothing, but sat with his eyes fixed.
“It’s our hips21 for this,” said Joe.
Otero shrugged and lit a cigarette.
“Losing your guts, Joe?” asked Rico.
“Me!” said Joe.
Rico Bandello (Edward G. Robinson) tries to straighten out Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.), in a scene from the 1931 film of Little Caesar.
Tony turned into the alley way back of The Palermo. Rico put the sacks under his coat and jumped out. Otero and Joe followed him.
“Tony,” said Rico, “ditch that can, then come back for your split. Hear what I say. Ditch it good and proper. We’ll wait.”
“Look,” said Joe, “I got to have my split now. I’m on at one-twenty. Boy, I can’t miss that turn.”
“O.K.,” said Rico.
Tony drove off down the alley. Rico knocked at the door and Carillo let them in.
II
When they came in Vettori was standing in the middle of the room mopping his forehead with his big white silk handkerchief. Beads of sweat stood out all over his swarthy, fat face.
Rico threw the sacks on the table and began to empty his pockets.
“Well,” said Vettori.
“There’s the dough,” said Rico; “looks like a good haul.”
Joe sat down at the table under the green-shaded lamp without taking off his hat or coat. Otero took the riot gun from under his coat and locked it up in a cupboard. Vettori knew there was something the matter. His eyes narrowed.
“Well,” he said again.
“Everything was O.K.,” said Rico, “only I had to plug a guy.”
Vettori fell down into a chair and stared out the window.
“Yeah,” said Joe, trying to smile, “and the guy was Courtney.”
Vettori put his head on the back of his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he sat up suddenly and banged on the table with both fists.
“Goddam!” he cried, “what did I tell you, Rico! What did I tell you! Love of God, didn’t I tell you no gunwork?”
Rico was white with rage.
“Listen, Sam, you think I’m gonna let a guy pull a gat on me. What the hell! Any more of them cracks and this is my last job.”
Vettori made an elaborate, tragic gesture.
“Yeah, you bet this is your last job.”
Joe took off his derby and put it beside him on the table. His face was dead white.
“You said it,” said Joe, “they’ll get us sure for this.”
Vettori shook his big head slowly from side to side.
“They’ll get us dead sure for this.”
Rico began to comb his hair.
“Maybe you better go over and give yourself up,” he said; then dropping his sarcastic tone, “listen, how the hell they gonna get us? Why, you’re the finest bunch of yellow bastards I ever seen.”
“Not me,” said Otero.
Joe tried to smile.
“Wait till you see the papers.”
Rico came over and leaned on the table.
“Listen, don’t they always play that stuff up in the papers? Courtney’s the only guy in the place that ever seen one of us before. Come on, snap out of it. And split the dough.”
But Vettori sat inert, mopping his face. Suddenly he asked:
“Where’s Tony?”
“He’s ditching the can,”22 said Rico.
“Suppose they pick him up?”
Rico began to open the sacks.
“That’ll be just too bad,” said Joe.
Rico laughed.
“A fine bunch of yeggs!”23
Vettori got to his feet in a fury.
“You, Rico! Shut your mouth. You think I want to hang because you get yellow and shoot somebody.”
Rico, very calm, put his hand in his pocket and said:
“Sam, you get funny with me and you won’t get no split at all. Only a horseshoe wreath.”
“Oh, hell, Sam,” said Joe, “we’re all in it, ain’t we? Come on, split the dough.”
Vettori sat down. Otero stood a little behind him, watching.
“Since you want it, Sam,” said Rico, his face pale and drawn, “you’re gonna get it. Listen, you split even, that’s all. Hear me! You get an even split.”
Vettori said nothing. Joe sat rigid, ready to dive under the table. For months Scabby had been predicting this break; now it had come. Joe feared Vettori and Rico equally, but something told him that Rico would win.
Vettori let his hands fall on the table.
“All right, Rico,” he said, “I split even. Sit down and we’ll divvy.”
But Rico didn’t move.
“You got a gun on you, Sam?” he asked.
Vettori looked up at him.
“Sure I got a gun on me.”
“Well, don’t try to use it.”
“No,” said Otero, “don’t try to use it.”
Vettori’s face went slack. He sat tapping on the table with his fat fingers.
“Rico,” he said, finally, “I split even on the square.”
Rico’s victory was complete. Joe looked at him with admiration. Sam was a tough bird, but Rico was tougher.
Vettori got up, walked across the room and stood looking out the window.
III
Joe handed Rico a sheet of paper full of figures. Rico read: 9331.75.24
“All right,” said Rico, “split it five ways and we’ll make up Scabby’s split between us.”
Otero sat with his chair tipped back against the wall, smoking a cigarette with his eyes closed. Vettori was playing solitaire and swearing softly to himself.
Joe looked at his watch.
“Quarter till. I got to beat it. Say, Sam, call Carillo and let him get me a cab, will you?”
Sam heaved himself to his feet and called Carillo. In a moment the bouncer put his flattened face in the door.
“Three dicks downstairs, boss.”
“Who are they?” asked Vettori.
“Flaherty and two guys I don’t know, boss. They want to see you.”
Vettori stood looking at the floor. Carillo jumped in and shut the door.
“Christ,” he said, “they’re coming up.”
Rico leapt to his feet, ran across the room and opened a panel in the wall.
“Come on, Joe,” he said, “you can slip out the back way. Stay where you are, Otero, and go right on smoking. Send Joe’s cab around in the alley, Bat.”
Vettori looked at Rico.
“You suppose they know something, Rico?”
“Not unless they picked Tony up. You don’t know nothing, Sam, see? I’ll be right here listening, and if there’s any trouble, why, it’ll be tough on the dicks.”
Vettori scooped up the money, wrapped his
coat around it, and handed it to Rico. Joe went through the panel, followed by Rico. There was a knock at the door.
Vettori nodded and Carillo opened the door. Two plain-clothes men stepped in and stood looking around the room. One was tall and burly in a huge ulster; the other was short and very young. They both had their right hands in their overcoat pockets.
“All right, Carillo,” said Vettori, “go ahead. That’s all.”
“Wait a minute,” said the burly one, “tell Flaherty we’ll be down in a couple of minutes, for him to wait.”
“Sure, sure,” said Carillo.
He went out closing the door softly.
“Well,” said Vettori, “you want to see me?”
“Yeah,” said the burly one, who did all the talking, “we want to see you, Vettori.”
“Well, here I am!”
Otero opened his eyes long enough to look at them, then closed them again and went on smoking.
“Vettori,” said the detective, “we want some information.”
“Well?”
Vettori sat down at the table and began to shuffle the cards.
“There’s a big Cadillac draped around a pole a couple of blocks down the street and we just wondered if you knew anything about it.”
Vettori began to lay out a game of solitaire.
“How should I know anything about it? Ain’t it got no license plates on it?”25
“Sure, but they’re phoney.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It was stolen about eight o’clock tonight on the North Side and we got a pretty good description of the guy that stole it.”
“Well,” said Vettori, “I got a good business. What the hell’d I be doing stealing automobiles?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“Oh, you got me wrong,” said the detective with elaborate innocence. “You see, it’s piled up right straight down the street from here and I thought maybe it was some of the guys from your joint, see? I mean some of the young guys that come here to dance.”
“Well,” said Vettori, “how would I know?”
The detective took out a cigar and began to chew on it.
“Wasn’t there nobody in it?” asked Otero.
“Yeah,” said the detective, “one guy. But he beat it.”
“I don’t know nothing about it,” said Vettori.
“Well, no harm in asking,” said the detective. “Come on, Mike, let’s get going. I guess Vettori don’t know nothing about it.”
The two of them walked slowly to the door. The big one turned.
“Say, Vettori,” he said, “did you hear the news?”
Vettori looked up.
“What news?”
“Why, some bastard bumped Cap Courtney off over at the Casa Alvarado.”
“Yeah?” said Vettori, “some guys are sure careless with the lead. That’s a tough break.”
The young detective opened the door and they started out.
“Ain’t it?” said the big one. “Well, so long.”
As soon as the door closed, Vettori went over and shot the bolt, then peeped out through the shutter. Rico came out of his hiding place.
“Well,” said Vettori, glancing at Rico, “things ain’t going so good.”
Rico shrugged.
“They don’t know nothing. Just feeling around. Listen, Sam, where’s your guts? We got to stick together on this.”
“I know,” said Vettori, falling back into his chair, “but I never seen things break so tough.”
Rico held out a roll of bills.
“Here’s your split, Sam.”
Vettori took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. Rico handed Otero his. Otero got up and put on his overcoat.
“I think I go see my woman,” he said.
When he had gone Rico went over and sat down beside Vettori.
“Listen, Sam,” he said, “I been taking orders too long. We’re done. Get the idea? But we got to see this through. We get a break and we’ll come clean. Only we got to shoot straight. See what I mean? I got a rope around my neck right now and they can only hang you once. If anybody gets yellow and squeals, my gun’s gonna speak its piece.”
“That’s O.K. with me,” said Sam.
They sat silent. Down stairs the jazzband was playing and the saxophone was sending vibrations along the floor. Vettori laid out another game of solitaire.
“Funny for Tony to crash,” he said.
“He lost his nerve,” said Rico.
“You suppose he’ll show?”
“Not till tomorrow if he’s got any sense. I’ll leave his split with you.”
IV
Rico went over to see Ma Magdalena, the fence. Her fruit store was still open and her son Arrigo was sitting halfasleep beside a pile of oranges.
“Hello,” he said.
“Where’s Ma?” asked Rico.
Arrigo pulled a cord which rang a bell in the rooms beyond the store. Ma, leaning on her stick, came out into the store. Seeing Rico, she said:
“Oh, it’s you! Well, well! Come back. Come back.”
“Can I come too, Ma?” said Arrigo.
“You stay and mind the store, you lazy loafer,” said Ma, shaking her stick at him.
Arrigo sat down once more by the pile of oranges.
Rico followed Ma Magdalena back into her little office. She pulled up a chair for him and he sat down, then she got out a bottle.
“You talk, I drink,” she said, sitting down beside him and pouring herself a drink.
Rico took out his split, peeled off a few bills and handed her the rest.
“Plant it,” he said.
She took the roll, counted it, and put it down inside her dress.
“Had a big New Year’s Eve, did you?”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “plenty big. There’ll be lots of fun tomorrow.”
“Well, well,” said Ma, “that’s the way it goes.”
She poured herself another glass of wine, then she reached over and touched Rico with her stick.
“Look, Rico, you ain’t got a nice little girl who wants a big diamond ring, have you?”
“Me, buy a diamond ring for a skirt?”
Ma Magdalena made a clucking noise and shook her head.
“You are cold, Rico. Don’t like wine. Don’t like women. You are no good, Rico.”
Rico smiled.
“Me, I like women once in a while, but I ain’t putting out no diamond rings.”
Leaving Ma Magdalena’s Rico went in the direction of Sicily Pete’s. The wind was blowing hard and Rico, turning up his overcoat collar, leaned against it. It was after three o’clock and the streets were empty. Southward the lights of the Loop made a reddish glow in the sky.
At Sicily Pete’s the mechanical piano was playing. Three men, all Italians, and two girls, both Americans, were sitting at a front table. They were drunk. They played with their food, spilled their coffee, and banged on the plates with their knives. Pete stood behind the counter, scowling.
When Rico came in he said: “Hello, my friend, where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I haven’t been around lately. Got some noisy birds, ain’t you?”
Pete shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, the fools. They drink gin. That is no drink for an Italian.”
Rico took out his cigarettes and offered Pete one. They stood smoking. One of the girls pulled up her dress and fixed her garter. Rico smiled.
“Get an eyeful of that, Pete.”
“Yes, yes,” said Pete, “that’s all I get, an eyeful. Every night I stand here while other people have a good time.”
The girl looked up at Rico and he winked at her. She said to one of the men:
“Look at that smarty over there. He thinks he’s cute.”
The man looked foggily at Rico. Pete put his hand on Rico’s arm.
“My friend, don’t start no trouble, please. That’s all we have around here, trouble. With one thing and another, I think I go back to
Italy.”
Rico turned his back on the girl.
“O.K.,” he said.
While Pete was getting Rico a cup of coffee, a newsboy came in:
“EXTRA! EXTRA! All about the big hold-up.”
Rico bought a paper and glanced at the three inch headlines.
THUGS KILL CAPTAIN COURTNEY
IN CASA ALVARADO HOLD-UP
Rico showed Pete the paper.
“Another killing,” he said.
“Yes,” said Pete, “kill, kill, that’s all they do. I wish to God I was back in Sicily. The Mafia, what is that?26 That is a kindergarten.”
One of the Italians bought a paper and started to read the account of the hold-up aloud. All the people round the table stopped eating to listen. Rico sipped his coffee and watched them.
V
Tony hadn’t slept all night. He lay in the cold dark room, sweating. The covers felt heavy as lead and from time to time he tossed them off, only to pull them over him again as the lake wind, streaming in the window, made him shiver. At intervals he would fall into a doze. Then he would see a windy street, feel a car skidding under him, feel a sickening jolt. He would wake with a start and sit up in bed.
“They’ll get us for this,” he kept repeating, “they’ll get us sure.”
Unable to control his imagination, he saw the high forbidding walls of the State Prison, the tiny death cells with their heavily-grated windows; then in the prison yard, the gallows. He remembered what Rico had said about Red Gus, on the night of his execution: “Well, they’re gonna put a necktie on Gus he won’t take off!” Yeah, they sure put a necktie on Gus.
Tony smoked cigarette after cigarette. In his despair he cast about for someone to put the blame on. It was all Midge’s fault. Wasn’t she always after him to make more jack so she could put on the dog? Hadn’t he tried to go straight and drive a taxi and make an honest living? Yeah, and hadn’t Sam Vettori and Rico offered him money to quit his job and give them a lift on their stick-ups? Well, you couldn’t quit a gang; once you were in, you were in!
Tony sat up in bed and looked out across the roofs outside his window. The sun was coming up and a cold, windy winter morning was dawning. Of a sudden he began to feel sick at his stomach. He lay down, but that didn’t help him; then he tossed from side to side.
He heard his mother moving about in the next room. She was getting dressed to go to work. An alarm-clock in a room across the court rang, then there was some loud swearing, and a window was slammed.
Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s Page 97