Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  “All right,” said Rico, “now you know so damn much, how we gonna prove it?”

  “It’s a cinch,” said Blondy; “hand Arnie’s boy, Joe Peeper, some dough and he’ll spill the news. Joe hates Arnie.”

  “Good!” said Rico, banging the table with his fist; “I’ll run Arnie out of town and declare you in, Blondy. You got brains.”

  Blondy looked at him.

  “You stick to me, boy, and we’ll own the town.”

  “Don’t get swelled up,” said Rico, “just because you happened to be in the know.”

  That’s what she liked about Rico. He was hard to impress.

  “Hell of a lot of thanks I get for it,” said Blondy.

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Rico, his head buzzing with projects, “you’ll get something better than thanks.”

  Rico went to the closet and got his coat and hat.

  “Wait a minute, big boy,” said Blondy, “you ain’t heard it all. Listen, that joint of Arnie’s is worth plenty of dough. He ain’t gonna give it up without a battle.”

  “Hell,” said Rico, “he’s yellow.”

  “Sure he is. But he’s tricky. Rico, if you can’t work the Joe Peeper stunt, here’s a lever. Remember Limpy John?”

  “Sure,” said Rico, “they bumped him off.”

  “Who did?”

  “The cops.”

  Blondy laughed.

  “They thought they did. Arnie bumped him off.”

  Rico grinned.

  “I got you.”

  Rico put on his overcoat.

  “Be round tonight?” asked Blondy.

  “No, I got business.”

  “Monkey business.”

  “No, I got to go cross town. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.”

  Blondy lay back on the davenport.

  “You’ll sure be missing something,” she said.

  “I’ll ketch up,” said Rico.

  When Rico had gone, Blondy played a couple of rolls on the pianola, then she drank half a pint of liquor and went back to bed.

  V

  Rico found the door of his apartment unlocked. Before entering he unbuttoned his overcoat and took out his automatic. Only one person had a key to his apartment except himself: Otero. If Otero wasn’t in there then whoever was in there was in trouble. Rico opened the door slowly. Otero was sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, smoking a cigarette and dozing.

  “Otero!”

  Otero opened his eyes.

  “Hello, boss.”

  Rico locked the door behind him.

  “Listen, don’t you know better than to leave that door open?”

  “I forgot, Rico.”

  Rico took off his overcoat and hat.

  “You better keep your head working, boy,” said Rico, “or you’ll get your neck stretched. What you doing here, anyway?”

  Otero got up from his chair and stood dangling his hat.

  “I want money.”

  Rico looked at him.

  “I’m broke, boss. I ain’t got a cent.”

  Rico laughed. Otero seemed so helpless.

  “You mean to tell me you ain’t got a cent out of that Casa Alvarado split?”

  Otero shrugged.

  “What in hell did you do with it?”

  “Well, Seal she spends money, spends money. I take it out of my pocket till I ain’t got any more.” Otero shrugged and rolled a fresh cigarette.

  Rico took out his billfold and handed Otero a fifty.

  “I’ll take that out of your next split.”

  Otero smiled.

  “That’s all the same to me, boss.”

  He was speaking the truth. He hadn’t the slightest conception of the value of money. He spent till what he had was gone, then he asked Rico for more. Rico shook his head.

  “Listen, Otero, ain’t you never gonna get no sense ! You got over a grand and a half out of that Casa Alvarado stand. And here you are broke. Why some guys work a whole year for less than that.”

  Otero shrugged.

  “I have worked for two pesos a week.”

  Rico took some small change out of his pocket and handed it to Otero.

  “Go down to the corner and get a couple of Tribunes. Get three.”

  “Three of the same kind?”

  “Sure.”

  Otero went out. Rico opened the window a few inches and sat down beside it. There was a touch of Spring in the air and it made him feel restless. He wanted to be doing things. In a week or less, he’d have Little Arnie’s big gambling joint. That meant dough and plenty of it. He’d turn it over to Sam Vettori and let him run it. Sam was looking for something to do. Then maybe he could muscle in on the North Side graft. That wasn’t easy. Pete Montana was a wise bird and he had the North Side tied up. Well, maybe the Big Boy could help him there. Rico jumped to his feet and began to pace up and down.

  Otero came in with the papers. Rico took them from him and tore one of them apart till he came to the magazine section. There it was. Big type proclaimed:

  ITALIAN UNDERWORLD CHIEF

  GIVEN BIG FEED

  Otero, looking over Rico’s shoulder, saw the flashlight picture. In his excitement he pushed Rico aside and placing his finger on a section of the picture, cried:

  “There I am!”

  Rico took the other two papers apart and got out the magazine sections. Then he put the three sections side by side and compared them.

  “All too dark,” he said. Nevertheless, having chosen the clearest one of the three, he took his scissors and cut it out.

  “I want one too,” said Otero.

  “All right,” said Rico, “help yourself.”

  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-colored 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! He congratulated himself on his acumen. By God, he kept repeating to himself, I knew he was a bad one.

  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 mo
re 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 Pekingese 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 onto him. Nice little Jane you got, Joe.”

  “Olga’s O.K.,” 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 color 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.

  “Goddam 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 get 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 O.K., 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?44 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,45 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 a few early couples were sitting at the tables. When they got to the lobby Ric
o 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 got red, but he turned on his heel and was about to go when Rico said: “And another thing, Flaherty, you was always O.K. 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: