“Where’s Joe Peeper?”
The doorman had an agonized look. He was sure they were going to kill him. He just stood there, unable to force himself to speak.
“Say,” said Pepi, “speak up.”
The doorman pointed to a door.
“He’s in with the boss, is he?” said Rico.
The doorman nodded.
“Yeah,” said the lookout, eager to get in good, “Joe’s in there with the boss and a couple of other guys.”
“All right,” said Rico, “now, Pepi, if the door’s locked, do your stuff.”
Pepi could force the heaviest door with his shoulder.
Joe Sansone tried the door; it was locked.
“Now,” said Rico, “Pepi’ll force the door. You cover him, Joe, in case somebody in there gets nervous and pulls a gat. I’ll follow you. Otero, you stay out here and don’t let nobody in. You watch this pair of hard guys here, Ottavio.” Rico jerked his thumb toward the lookout and the doorman.
“You don’t have to watch us,” said the doorman.
They all laughed.
“All right, Pepi,” said Rico.
Pepi hunched his shoulders and flung himself against the door. It opened with a crash. They saw four startled men rise halfway out of their chairs and stand staring. Joe Peeper cried:
“It’s Rico!”
Pepi was on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, but Joe Sansone stepped in behind him and covered the four men with his big automatic. Rico came in, took off his hat and bowed.
“Hello, Arnie,” he said; “how’s business?”
Little Arnie sat with his mouth slightly open. As a rule Little Arnie was imperturbable. He hid an excess of both cunning and timidity behind a cold, repellent, sallow Jewish mask. But this cyclonic entry was too much for him. His mask had slipped, revealing a pale, terrified countenance.
“Well,” he said, “what’s the game?”
Joe Peeper, who was in Rico’s pay, said:
“Pull up a chair, you guys.”
Pepi found two chairs. Joe Sansone and Rico sat down; Pepi stood behind Rico’s chair.
Little Arnie turned to the two men sitting beside him. They were strangers to Rico and they looked tough.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” said Arnie, “but it’s a private row, so you guys better beat it.”
Rico said very quietly:
“Nobody’s gonna leave this room.”
One of the toughs shouted:
“Think not, wop! Well, who the hell’s gonna stop us?”
Before Rico could reply, Joe Sansone said:
“Me, I’m gonna stop you, see! And I ain’t gentle. I’m just itching to put some lead in a couple of hard guys.”
“Yeah,” said Rico, smiling, “you guys are invited to this private party.”
The two men looked at Arnie, who sat tapping his desk with a pencil.
“Say,” said one, “you sure got a fine bunch of friends, Arnie.”
“Yeah,” said Arnie.
Pepi laughed and said:
“Yeah, he sure has. Arnie, you ought to had better sense than to get a couple of outside yaps to bump Rico off.”
Nobody said anything. Arnie took out a cigar and lit it. The two strangers sat staring at Rico. Pepi sat staring at them. Finally he asked:
“Where you guys from?”
The men looked uneasily at Arnie. Little by little they were losing their nerve.
“Speak up,” said Pepi, “where you guys from?”
“We’re from Detroit,” said one of the men.
“Where the hell’s that?” Joe Sansone inquired. “I never heard of it.”
“Say,” said Pepi, “don’t you know that tough guys like you oughtn’t to be running around loose. No sir. You’re liable to get arrested for firing a rod in the city limits.”
“Listen,” said one of the men from Detroit, “what you guys got against us? We ain’t done nothing. We just got in.”
They were thoroughly intimidated.
Arnie, who had recovered his poise, said:
“Well, Rico, what’s the talk? Let’s have it.”
Pepi and Joe Sansone both started to talk at once, but Rico motioned for them to be quiet.
“Arnie,” said Rico, “you’re through. If you ain’t out of town by tomorrow morning, you won’t never leave town except in a box.”
Arnie said nothing but sat staring at the smoke rising from his cigar.
“In the first place,” Rico went on, “you been double-crossing me for two months. In the second place, you hire these bums here to pop me. Now I guess that’s about all.”
Arnie laughed.
“Rico,” he said, “somebody has sure been stringing you. Why, you ought to know I wouldn’t double-cross you. Hell, that wouldn’t help me none.”
“Can that,” said Rico. “Your number’s up, Jew. Take it like a man.”
Arnie’s face turned red.
“Listen, Rico, if you think you can muscle into this joint you’re off your nut.”
“All right, Joe,” said Rico, jerking his head in Joe Peeper’s direction, “spill it.”
Joe Peeper looked sideways at Arnie.
“The books’re crooked, Rico,” said Joe Peeper; “he’s been gypping you out of half your split every week.”
The Detroit toughs began to shift about uneasily.
“Well, you two-timing bastard,” said Arnie.
Rico laughed.
“Arnie,” he said, “that’s that. Here’s the dope. You get your hat and beat it. Leave the burg. If I ever hear about you being in town again, why, I’m gonna turn the Killer loose on you.”
“Yeah,” said Pepi, “and I never did like kikes.”
“I ain’t any too fond of them, myself,” said Joe Sansone.
Arnie meditated. Rico said:
“I been square with you, Arnie, but you couldn’t stand prosperity, that’s all. So take it standing up.”
“What the hell else can he do?” Pepi demanded.
“I’ll tell you what I can do,” said Arnie. “I can have a talk with Mr. Flaherty.”
Arnie studied Rico carefully to see what effect this would have. But Rico merely smiled at him.
“Getting pretty low, Arnie,” he said, “when you take the bulls in with you.” Then he paused and leaned forward in his chair. “If you go to see Mr. Flaherty you better have an alibi because he might ask you about Limpy John.”
Arnie dropped his cigar and sat staring into space, his hands lying palms up on the table.
“All over but the shouting,” said Joe Sansone, “somebody better
