“Looking for the boss?”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “the Big Boy sent me down. I want to have a talk with him.”
“Yeah?” said Pepi. “Getting wise to yourself, huh?”
“Rico was always OK with me.”
“That’s the talk,” said Pepi. “Well, the boss is upstairs by himself.”
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.”
“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.
“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 towards 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.
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 travelling 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?”
“OK, 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 hideout. It ain’t gonna be easy, because the bulls’re probably scattered all around. But once we get there, we’re OK”
“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 halfway 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
