Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  When Flaherty and one of his men had gone into the building, the Killer grinned at the others and walked slowly away, but, as soon as he had turned the corner, he broke into a run.

  There were two little Italian kids sitting on the steps of the stairway that led up to Otero’s. They made way for Pepi.

  “Otero upstairs?” he asked.

  One of the kids said:

  “That funny little guy?”

  “Yeah,” said Pepi.

  “I think I seen him go up.”

  “Yeah,” said the other kid, “I seen him.”

  Pepi took the stairs at a run and rapped at Otero’s door. Seal Skin opened it a few inches but Pepi pushed her aside and walked in. Otero was sitting with his feet on the bed, smoking a big cigar.

  “Where’s the boss?” asked Pepi.

  “At Blondy’s. What’s the matter?”

  “Joe squawked,” said Pepi, “and the bulls is looking for Rico. Get your coat on and beat it, Otero. I’ll go after the boss.”

  Otero leapt to his feet and struggled into his coat.

  “Bulls looking for me too?”

  “Sure,” said Pepi, “it’s the Courtney business. You beat it, Otero. This ain’t no picnic.”

  “No,” said Otero, “I go with Rico.”

  “You damn dummy,” said Seal Skin.

  “Yeah,” said Pepi, “you beat it, Otero. Get out of town. They don’t want me for nothing. I’ll see if I can’t get Rico on the phone; if I can’t I’ll go after him. Listen, the bulls is over at Rico’s right now.”

  “Caramba!” cried Otero, and, slipping his automatic into his coat pocket, he ran out into the hall and down the stairs.

  “The damn dummy!” said Seal Skin.

  Pepi stood looking at Seal Skin then he said:

  “Sure he’s a damn dummy, but he’s right.” Before Otero had gone half a block in the direction of Blondy’s, he saw a police car coming toward him. He ducked into a drugstore. It was empty except for a clerk who stood staring at Otero.

  “Show me the back way out, you!” said Otero.

  “Say!” said the clerk.

  Otero took out his gun. The clerk threw himself down behind the counter. Otero ran out through the prescription room and found the back door, which opened into an alley. One end of the alley was blind, the other came out onto a busy street. Otero ran toward the open end, praying in Spanish.

  All along the curbs on both sides of the street pushcarts were drawn up and peddlers were calling their wares. A slow-moving crowd of Little Italians blocked the pavements. Otero, because of his size, disappeared into the crowd, and, although he was forced to go slowly, he was safe from observation. Half a block from Blondy’s he ducked down an alley, crossed a long cement court and climbed the fire-escape.

  A Chicago streetscape in the 1920s.

  Blondy’s bedroom window was locked. Otero beat on it with his fist. For a moment there was no response, then he saw the bedroom door open slowly and Blondy’s face appeared. She ran over and unlocked the window, then she turned and called:

  “Rico, it’s The Greek.”

  Rico came into the bedroom. He had his hat on.

  “Did Pepi get you?”

  “No, what the hell?”

  The phone rang and Blondy went to answer it.

  “They got Joe and he squawked,” said Otero.

  Rico looked at him. Blondy came running back.

  “My God, Rico,” she said, “the bulls’re after you. Joe squealed. You ought to plugged that softie, Rico. You ought to plugged him.”

  Rico stood in the middle of the room, staring. By an effort of the will, he rid himself of an attitude of mind which had been growing on him since his interviews with Montana and the Big Boy. He was nobody, nobody. Worse than nobody. The bulls wanted him now and they wanted him bad. Goodbye dollar cigars and crockery at one grand, goodbye swell food and Tuxedos and security. Rico was nobody. Just a lonely Youngstown yegg that the bulls wanted. His face was ghastly.

  He swung his fist at the air.

  “I ought to plugged him! I ought to plugged him!”

  Otero stood staring at Rico. Blondy was putting on her hat.

  “All right,” said Rico, “let’s go.”

  Blondy said:

  “Take me, Rico.”

  Rico shook his head.

  “Nothing doing, Blondy. I’m traveling fast and I can’t be bothered with no dame.”

  “Jesus, Rico,” said Blondy, unable to realize what had happened, “everything was going so nice.”

  “Sure,” said Rico, “but it’s all over now and that’s that. You stay planted, Blondy, and as soon as I get a chance I’ll send you a stake.”

  Otero crawled out the window onto the fire-escape and Rico followed him. Blondy began to scream.

  “Shut your mouth,” said Rico, “and if the bulls come up the front way kid ’em along. Make ’em think you got me hid, see?”

  “O.K., Rico,” said Blondy.

  Otero and Rico went down the fire-escape.

  They stopped at the foot of the fire-escape and Rico took Otero by the arm.

  “Listen,” he said, “here’s the dope. We got to get to Ma Magdalena’s. She’s got most of my jack and a good hide-out. It ain’t gonna be easy, because the bulls’re probably scattered all around. But once we get there, we’re O.K.”

  “All right,” said Otero.

  They started. Rico knew every alley in the district, and he led Otero by such a safe route that they were soon within a block and a half of Ma Magdalena’s without having crossed a main thoroughfare.

  “Now,” said Rico, “we got to watch our step. If the bulls are cruising, they’re cruising this street sure.”

  “All right,” said Otero.

  “Listen,” said Rico, “don’t be afraid to use your gat if the fun begins. They can only hang you once.”

  “I ain’t afraid,” said Otero.

  They left the alley and were half way across the street when somebody shouted at them to halt. Without turning, they broke into a run.

  “It’s only one bull,” said Rico.

  A bullet sang over them and they heard the blast of a policeman’s whistle. Otero stopped in his tracks, turned, took a steady aim and fired. The policeman staggered forward three or four steps and fell to his knees.

  “Got him,” said Otero.

  Rico turned. The policeman was kneeling in the middle of the street, trying to steady his hand for a shot.

  “Duck,” cried Rico, simultaneously with the firing of the policeman’s gun.

  Otero twisted sideways, looked at Rico with surprise, then dropped his gun, and began to walk up the alley holding his stomach. Rico put his arm around him and, pulling him over to the side of the alley where he could keep a telephone pole between them and the policeman, guided him along. But after a few steps, Otero pulled away from Rico and cried:

  “Run, Rico, run. They got me sure. I can’t feel nothing.”

  Rico grabbed him and tried to pull him along, but he resisted.

  “Goddam you, Rico,” cried Otero, “run! I can’t go no farther. I’m done for.”

  Rico heard the roar of a police car. He released Otero, who staggered away from him and then fell flat on his back.

  “Run, Rico,” said Otero.

  Rico climbed a fence, ran up through a filthy back yard, and in at an open back door. There was a young Italian girl sweeping in the hall. At Rico’s sudden appearance, she dropped her broom and flattened herself against the wall. Rico took her by the arm.

  “Listen, sister,” he said, “the bulls’re after me. I’m going out the front way, see, but if the bulls come through here you tell ’em I hopped the fence next door and doubled back. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” said the girl, then looking up at Rico, “I know you.”

  “Yeah?” said Rico. “Well, do your stuff then, sister.”

  In the alley behind the house there was a shriek of brakes and someone cried in a loud voice:
>
  “He went in that way!”

  The girl picked up her broom and went on sweeping. Rico ran out through the front hall, down the long flight of stone steps, and crossed the street leisurely.

  VII

  Ma Magdalena let him in at the alley door.

  “Well, Rico,” she said; “got yourself in a nice fix, didn’t you?”

  Rico grinned.

  “Yeah,” he said, “who told you?”

  “The bulls were here and searched the place.”

  “Didn’t find the hide-out, did they?”

  Ma Magdalena laughed.

  “What a chance!”

  Rico followed Ma down into the basement. She led him through a short tunnel and back into the hide-out. A small, round opening just large enough to admit one person had been pierced in a heavy stone wall. In front of the wall rows of pine shelves had been built and these were filled with canned goods. The section of the shelves which hid the opening was hinged and could be swung open.

  Rico followed Ma through the opening and came out into a little room with a cot in one corner, a table, and one chair. Rico took off his hat and sat down.

  “They got The Greek,” he said.

  “Yeah?” said Ma.

  Rico took out a cigar and lit it.

  “Listen,” he said, “I want to stay here a couple of days. Then I’m gonna pull out. Get me some magazines and keep me posted.”

  “All right,” said Ma, “but it’s gonna cost you, because I’m taking chances, see, I’m taking big chances.”

  “Well,” said Rico, “you got my roll, help yourself.”

  Ma Magdalena smiled broadly.

  “That’s the talk, Rico. Old Ma’ll sure take care of you.”

  “O.K.,” said Rico; “now, get this: in two days I want a car.”

  “Arrigo’s got a car. If we go hooking one, it might spoil your get-away.”

  “That’s good,” said Rico; “all right, I want a jumper suit, you know, one of them suits like a garage mechanic wears, and a razor.”

  “All right,” said Ma Magdalena.

  When she had gone, Rico took off his coat and shoes, and lay down on the cot. His nerves were jumpy and he couldn’t seem to get settled. He flung his cigar away and turned his face to the wall.

  “Just when I thought things was on the up and up,” he said.

  Rico felt resentful, but his resentment was not directed at any specific group or person; it was vague as yet. He turned from side to side on his cot, then he gave it up.

  Ma Magdalena came back with a big mug of coffee and a couple of papers. Rico sat down at the table.

  “They got Sam,” said Ma.

  “Well,” said Rico, “that’s hips for Sam.”

  Rico took the papers from her and glanced at the headlines.

  GENTLEMAN JOE WILTS

  GANG CHIEF NAMED AS SLAYER

  Ma Magdalena went out. Rico sat reading the paper and sipping his coffee.

  Gentleman Joe Massara looks more like a movie actor than a gunman. When arrested he was wearing an expensive Tuxedo and the rings that were taken from him are valued at $3000.

  “To hell with that,” said Rico. He read on:

  Cesare Bandello, known as Rico, the Vettori gang chief, was named as the actual slayer of Courtney. . . .

  “Yeah,” said Rico, “and I’m the only one they ain’t gonna get.”

  51 Thrasher reported: “Members of the [Valley] gang have boasted that they have worn silk shirts and have ridden in Rolls-Royce automobiles since the war. Their great opportunity for wealth came with prohibition and their entrance into the rum-running business. Eventually they controlled a string of breweries both in and out of Chicago, and their leaders are said to have made millions in these enterprises. One of them occupies an exclusive North Shore estate purchased for $150,000. . . . At present they dress in the height of fashion, ride in large automobiles with sleek chauffeurs, and live on the fat of the land,” (pp. 433–34).

  52 Prison.

  53 Uniform, outfit—especially formal wear.

  54 “Hop” is opium.

  55 Automobiles.

  56 A “red cent”—money.

  57 A tramp’s stew, made of meat, potatoes, vegetables, whatever is at hand.

  58 A Spanish brand of luxury automobiles.

  A 1929 model Hispano-Suiza automobile.

  59 The opium pipe, that is—the modern expression would be “Have you been smoking dope?”

  60 According to the Encyclopedia of Chicago, “[Chicago] was [p]erhaps second only to Pittsburgh in smoke pollution at the opening of the twentieth century . . . Chicago gained a national reputation for its terrible air, but it also became a leader in regulation. In the early 1900s, a movement to force railroad electrification focused on the Illinois Central’s waterfront line and kept the smoke issue in the news. Still, air quality did not significantly improve until coal use began to decline after World War II,” http://www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/32.html. The fishing in Wisconsin would have been superior as well: A study of sewage discharge into Lake Michigan in 1924 from the industries of Chicago found the water supplies of Hammond, Whiting, and East Chicago, all of which drew from the like, “unfit” and the water supply of Gary, Indiana, “seriously contaminated,” while the supplies of Chicago itself were “seriously endangered by sewer pollution.” “Report of an Investigation of the Pollution of Lake Michigan in the Vicinity of South Chicago and the Calumet and Indiana Harbors. 1924–1925,” by H. R. Crohurst and M. V. Veldee of the U.S. Public Health Service, summarized in the American Journal of Public Health (1926), pp. 1236–38.

  61 The Chicago Crime Commission was an organization of businessmen formed in 1919 (and continuing today), spurred in part by a notorious burglary and by a climbing murder rate, allegedly the highest in the world. The Commission implemented a system of criminal record-keeping, reformed the parole and bail-bond procedures, and assisted in numerous individual cases. In its first published report, read before the Annual Meeting of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology, held in Indianapolis on September 17, 1920, the Commission declared, “The Chicago Crime Commission . . . does not contemplate the apprehension nor the prosecution of criminals. It has no political axe to grind. It is interested solely in making Chicago a place in which to live and work with a reasonable assurance that its citizens will not be the prey of gunmen and thieves. . . . Crime today is a gigantic system organized and protected, reaching into business and politics, and while still subject to indictment and prosecution, is largely immune from punishment. It is the task of the Chicago Crime Commission to deal with this system, dispose of it, and with the assistance of every right minded man and woman bring about its defeat.”

  The Commission furnished the following information about crime in Chicago:

  Crime

  Burglary

  Robbery

  Murder

  1919

  6,108

  2,912

  330

  1920

  5,495

  2,782

  194

  1921

  4,774

  2,558

  190

  1922

  4,301

  2,007

  228

  1923

  3,019

  1,402

  270

  1924

  2,136

  1,755

  347

  1925

  1,147

  1,702

  394

  1926 (1st seven months)

  536

  767

  210

  Thus, while the Commission appeared to have been reducing burglaries and robberies, homicides were increasing steadily, perhaps as a result of the illegal-liquor business becoming the principal criminal activity of the professional gangs.

  62 Originally a term for a man of Spanish parentage commonly used in the southwestern United States, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Subsequ
ently, it was applied to include Italians. It appears in print as early as 1723. Although the term’s origins are obscure, some suggest that it is a corruption of “Diego,” a common Spanish name applied as a generic proper name to Spaniards.

  63 Henry Barret Chamberlin was the Operating Director of the Chicago Crime Commission in 1920.

  PART VII

  I

  It was dark when Rico reached the outskirts of Hammond.64 He drove into a field, took the license plates off and buried them, and got out of his jumpers. Then he took some clean waste from the tool box and wiped the grease from his face.

  “What a cinch,” he said.

  Things had gone a lot better than he had expected them to. There hadn’t been a hitch of any kind. A motor cop out in Blue Island had waved to him even. Rico laughed. You never know. When you’re looking for things to go right they never do. When you’re looking for trouble, why, things are O.K. Yeah, funny!

  Rico walked to the car line. He was wearing a plain, dark suit and an army shirt Arrigo had given him. He had shaved off his mustache and the hard, short bristles on his upper lip worried him. Rico felt very proud of his escape. It was a good idea to dress himself up like a garage mechanic and drive across town in broad daylight. Yeah, it was a good idea and if things broke right he’d write to one of the papers and tell them all about it. Only the postmark would give him away. Not so good. Well, anyway, he could tell Sansotta about it.

  Rico got on a street-car.

  “Well, how’s things?” he said to the conductor.

  “All right,” said the conductor; “getting cooler, ain’t it? Reckon we’ll have winter before we know it.”

  “Yeah,” said Rico.

  II

  Rico went up the alley at the side of Sansotta’s place and knocked at the back door. It was a long time before somebody came and took a look at him through the shutter. A voice with a marked Italian accent said:

  “Who are you?”

  “Where’s Sansotta?” asked Rico.

  “What do you care?”

  “Listen, buddy,” said Rico, “don’t get all het up. I’m right. Go tell Sansotta that Cesare wants him.”