“Yes sir, boss, you sure are lit up,” said Ottavio.
“Here’s the half-pint,” said Killer Pepi, pushing Joe Sansone forward.
Joe shook hands with Rico.
“Yes sir,” said Ottavio, “the half-pint’s a good boy, but he and Gentleman Joe’re too swell for us.”
Rico looked around the room.
“Joe Massara here?”
“Ain’t seen him,” said Pepi.
“He won’t be here,” said Joe Sansone; “he’s busy.”
Rico didn’t say anything. Blondy took hold of his arm.
“I want a drink.”
Rico looked at Pepi.
“Get her a drink,” he said.
The Big Boy took Rico aside and said:
“I want to see you a minute, Rico.”
Rico said:
“Listen, if you see Joe Massara tomorrow you tell him to look me up. I got something to say to that bird.”
“I’ll be seeing him maybe,” said the Big Boy. “I got a date with his boss tomorrow morning. There’s a square guy, Rico. DeVoss is a square guy all right. Never have to nudge him for dough.” Rico seemed in a bad humour.
“They tell me you lined up something good,” said the Big Boy. Rico nodded.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a money maker. Little Arnie wised me up. I’m gonna give him a split. That’s the game now. Sam never had sense enough to get in on it.”
“Little Arnie, eh? That guy’d double-cross his grandmother.”
“He’ll only double-cross me once,” said Rico.
“I believe you,” said the Big Boy; then, putting his hand on Rico’s shoulder, he went on: “Funny for you to split with Arnie. How about Blondy?”
“Arnie don’t give a damn. He’s all shot to pieces. He can’t do a woman no good.”
“No wonder,” said the Big Boy, “with a woman like that.” Rico grinned.
“Ain’t she a bearcat!” he said; then his face clouded. “Wonder what the hell Joe Massara’s game is?”
The Big Boy looked at Rico for a moment.
“That little hunky dancer over at DeVoss’s has got him down. They tell me he’s going straight.”
Rico laughed unpleasantly.
“Yeah? Well, I’ll have to go over and give that bird an earful.”
“Better stay out of that end of town, Rico.”
“To hell with that.”
Sam Vettori came in, followed by three waiters bringing the soup.
“All right,” said Sam, “we’re all set.”
Rico took his place at the head of the table. The Big Boy sat on his right and Blondy Belle on his left. The gunmen and their women arranged themselves according to rank. Blackie Avezzano sat at the foot of the table.
III
When the meal was over, the Big Boy asked Rico to make a speech. There was a prolonged clamour. Rico got up.
“All right,” he said, “if you birds want me to make a speech, here you are: I want to thank you guys for this banquet. It sure is swell. The liquor is good, so they tell me, I don’t drink it myself, and the food don’t leave nothing to be desired. I guess we all had a swell time and it sure is good to see all you guys gathered together. Well, I guess that’s about all. Only I wish you guys wouldn’t get drunk and raise hell, as that’s the way a lot of birds get bumped off.”
Rico sat down. The applause lasted for over a minute. Then Ottavio got up with a bottle in his hand.
“Here’s to Rico and Blondy and the Big Boy.”
Everybody shouted and made a grab for bottles and glasses. Blackie Avezzano fell under the table and stayed there, lying on his face. After the toast was drunk, Killer Pepi and Kid Bean began to quarrel. The Kid picked up a plate and struck at Pepi, who threw a bottle at the Kid, missing him by a fraction of an inch.
Rico banged on the table.
“Cut it out, you guys. Ain’t that a hell of a way to act?”
Pepi and the Kid shook hands and another toast was drunk.
A waiter came in the door and went over to Rico.
“Couple of newspaper guys, boss. They want to take a flashlight.”
“What’s the idea?” the Big Boy inquired.
“Send ’em up,” said Rico.
“We’re gonna get our mugs shot,” cried Blondy Belle.
“Maybe we are,” said Rico.
“What’s the idea?” the Big Boy reiterated.
“We ain’t got nothing to hide,” said Rico.
The waiter returned, followed by two newspaper men, one of whom was carrying a big camera. Rico motioned them over.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
Sam Vettori came in and went over to Rico.
“They’re OK, Rico,” he said, “they been here before.”
“Sure, we’re OK,” said the photographer, a little intimidated by Rico’s manner.
“Well, spill it,” said Rico, “what’s the idea of the flashlight?”
“Well, we got a section in the Sunday paper about how different classes of people live in Chicago. See? Last week we featured Lake Forest. Had some pictures of the swells, see, and the dumps where they lived. This Sunday we want Little Italy. We just heard about the banquet they were giving you, Mr. Rico, so we kinda thought …”
“OK,” said Rico, “but make it snappy.”
“I’m out of this picture,” said the Big Boy, rising and walking over to the doorway. Sam Vettori took his place.
After manoeuvring about for a few minutes the photographer got the correct slant. He put the powder on the little tray.
“Now!” he cried.
Rico sat with his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, looking very stern. There was a blinding flash. Ottavio Vettori leapt into the air, and crying “My God, I’m shot” fell face down across the table. Everybody laughed.
When the newspaper men had gone, the Big Boy came over and put his hand on Rico’s arm.
“They may pick you up on that.”
“Who the hell’s gonna see it.”
“You don’t know who’s gonna see it. That was a bad play, Rico.”
Rico laughed.
“If they pick me up, I’ll alibi them to death.”
When the banquet was over, Rico had Otero call him a cab. Blondy Belle was a little drunk and Rico had to support her as they went down the stairs. As she weighed about twenty pounds more than he did, this was not an easy
