“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.
“Goddamn 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 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 hideout, 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 hideout. 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.”
“OK,” 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 getaway.”
“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 $3,000.
“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.”
Part VII
I
It was dark when Rico reached the outskirts of Hammond. He drove into a field, took the licence 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 trouble, why, things are OK. 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 moustache 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
