Sometimes he would go to his room early and just sit in the dark and think. He would imagine himself in the Big Boy’s wonderful apartment; he would see the big pictures of the old time guys in their gold frames, the one grand crockery, and the library full of books; or he would recall the night when Little Arnie’s Detroit toughs tried to bump him off and how when he came back to The Palermo the people stood on the chairs and shouted: “Rico! Rico!” God, it was hard to take!
The stories in the magazines about swell society people that he used to read with such eagerness failed to interest him now. After a paragraph or two he would fling the magazine aside and swear.
“Yeah,” he would say, “ain’t that great! The damn dressed-up softies. Got everything in the world and never had to turn a hand for it.”
Rico was filled with resentment and when he spoke, rarely now, it was to denounce or ridicule something. The wops around Sansotta’s, though they were obtuse enough, were not long in noticing this, and Rico began to be known as Crabby Louis.
They would say: “Well, Crabby Louis, it’s your shot,” or “All right, Crabby, deal the cards.”
The only thing that really interested Rico was the trial of Sam Vettori. Joe Massara, who had turned State’s evidence, had been sentenced to life. “Lord,” said Rico, when he read Joe’s sentence, “I never thought they’d give Gentleman Joe a jolt like that after he turned State’s. Them boys means business.” Sam’s trial had been rushed because of the hubbub raised by Mr. McClure and other influential men, and the outcome was never in doubt. Sam Vettori was sentenced to be hanged.
When Rico read the verdict he lay back in his chair and looked at the wall.
“Well, old Sam had a long whack at it,” he said; “never seen the inside of a prison in his life. A guy’s luck’s bound to turn.”
Then he went over in his mind the robbery of the Casa Avarado and all the steps which had led to his own rise and fall.
“It made me and it broke me,” he said.
On New Year’s Eve, Rico dressed up more than usual and went down into Sansotta’s cabaret. It was jammed, and unable to get a seat he went into Sansotta’s office and had one of the waiters bring him a meal. He sat with the door open and watched the antics on the dance-floor. There was plenty of liquor about and the crowd was pretty rough. Rico saw a big blonde dancing with a fat Italian. She gave him a look and he motioned for her to come in the office. She nodded. Rico got up and closed the door. In a few minutes the Blonde came in.
“Well, kid,” she said, “what’s on your mind?”
“I got a room upstairs,” said Rico, “that ain’t occupied.”
“The hell you have,” said the Blonde.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “and I got a bank roll that ain’t got any strings on it.”
“Now you’re talking,” said the Blonde, putting her arm around Rico.
“Well,” said Rico, “let’s go.”
“Listen,” said the Blonde, “I’ll be back after a while. I got a guy out here that’s plenty tough and I got to humour him.”
“Aw, hell,” said Rico, “I’ll take that toughness out of him. Stick around.”
The Blonde looked at Rico and laughed.
“Say,” she said, “you ain’t big enough to talk so big.”
“No,” said Rico, resentful, “I ain’t so big.”
“Listen, honey,” said the Blonde, “this boy would eat you alive.”
“Yeah?” said Rico.
The fat Italian opened the door and came in.
“What’s the idea, Mickey?” he said to the Blonde.
“Why, I just happened to bump into an old friend of mine,” said the Blonde, scared.
Rico got up and stood looking at the fat Italian.
“What’s it to you!” he said.
“Why, listen, kid,” said the fat Italian, “you better go get your big brother, cause if you make any more cracks I’m gonna dust off the furniture with you.”
The Blonde took the fat Italian by the arm.
“Come on, Paul,” she said, “let’s go dance.”
“Yeah,” said Rico, “take that bird away before something happens to him.”
The fat Italian pulled away from the Blonde and started towards Rico.
“That’s one crack too many,” he said.
But Rico, standing with his back against Sansotta’s desk, perfectly calm, reached under his armpit and pulled his gun. The fat Italian hesitated and looked bewildered.
“Well,” said Rico, “kind of lost your steam, didn’t you?”
The fat Italian turned and looked at the Blonde.
“That’s a nice boyfriend you got,” he said.
The Blonde stood there with her mouth open.
“All right, big boy,” said Rico, “we can get along without you.”
Sansotta opened the door and stood looking from one to the other.
“What’s the matter, Paul?” he inquired.
The fat Italian pointed at Rico.
“That bird there tried to grab my girl, and when I told him about it he pulled a gat on me.”
Sansotta’s face darkened.
“Put that gun up, Louis,” he said, staring hard at Rico; “what you think you’re at? Listen, Paul, Louis’s a new guy here and he don’t know the ropes.”
“Well,” said the fat Italian, “he sure is quick with a gun.”
“That’s all right, Paul,” said the Blonde, laughing, “he needs a handicap.”
Rico, furious, put on his hat and started to go. But Sansotta said:
“Wait a minute, Louis, I want to see you.” Then turning to the fat Italian: “I’m sure sorry this happened, but you know how it is when a guy don’t know the ropes, he’ll butt in where
