“Ain’t he,” said Paul. “Well, I guess we better be moving up town. I ain’t any too anxious to hang around where you’re liable to get bumped off.”
“Aw, stick around, Paul,” Sansotta implored; “you won’t have no more trouble.”
“No,” said Paul, “I’ll be moving. Come on, Mickey. I seen all of your boyfriend that I want to see.”
Sansotta followed them out into the cabaret, trying to persuade them to remain, but Paul went over to the check-window and got their wraps. Rico sat down and went on with his meal. Sansotta came in and slammed the door after him.
“Goddamn you, Cesare,” he cried, “why don’t you be more careful? That guy is Paolo, the political boss. He can close me up tomorrow if he wants to.”
“Take it easy,” said Rico; “how the hell did I know? You think I’m gonna let a guy take a bust at me?”
Sansotta took out a cigar and began to chew on it.
“Cesare,” he said, “you got to be moving. I can’t have you hanging around here no more. It’s too dangerous.”
Rico dropped his fork and stared at Sansotta.
“Giving me the go-by, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving.”
Rico got to his feet and stood looking at Sansotta.
“Just on account of a small town ward-heeler,” he said. “Why that guy couldn’t boss a section gang. You’re a hell of a guy, Sansotta. After all the jack I spent in this dump.”
“I can’t help that,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving right away.”
Rico laughed.
“Don’t get funny,” he said.
“Don’t you get funny,” said Sansotta; “you ain’t in no shape to get funny.”
“Maybe you better call the bulls and turn me up,” said Rico.
“Well,” said Sansotta, “you got to be moving, that’s all.”
IV
Rico was acutely conscious of his position. A lonely Youngstown yegg in a hostile city without friends or influence. Yeah, funny! Just a no-account yap in a burg like Hammond and not four months ago he had been a big guy in a big burg.
He put on his ulster and went out. The wind was cold and it was snowing. He walked around for a while, keeping to the dark streets, then, chilled through, he went into a little Italian restaurant for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
The waiter, an Italian boy with a handsome dark face, brought Rico his food. When he set it down on the table he grinned and said:
“Well, happy New Year.”
Rico looked up in surprise.
“Yeah,” he said, “thanks.”
He felt better. This anonymous friendliness cheered him up. While he was eating, he watched the Italian boy, who was wiping off the counter and singing.
“Nice kid,” thought Rico.
When Rico had finished his coffee, he lit a cigarette and sat smoking. He felt comfortable. Looking around the restaurant, he saw that there was a mechanical piano up front. Like Pete’s!
“Say,” he called, “let’s have a little music.”
“Sure,” said the boy.
He put a slug in the piano. It played “Farewell to Thee” in tremolo. Rico felt sad. He called the boy back and gave him a dollar.
“Keep the change, kid,” he said.
The mechanical piano stopped on a discord, and Rico got to his feet. While he was putting on his coat two men came in the front door. One of them went up to the counter and ordered a cup of coffee, but the other stopped and stood staring at Rico.
Rico, noticing the man’s scrutiny, put his hand inside his coat and started out, but the man touched him on the shoulder and whispered:
“Things ain’t going so good, are they, Rico?”
Rico stared at the man and demanded:
“Who the hell are you?”
Then he recognized him. It was Little Arnie’s doorman, Joseph Pavlovsky, one of the guys he had chased.
“I’m one of Arnie’s boys,” said Pavlovsky; “I been in Hammond ever since you gave us the rush.”
“Yeah?” said Rico.
“Straight,” said Pavlovsky. “I been in the beer racket over here and I cleaned up. I’m going back to the big burg next month.”
Rico envied him.
“Yeah?” said Rico.
“You sure pulled one on ’em, Rico,” said Pavlovsky; “you always was a smart boy, Rico.”
“Aw, can that,” said Rico, and, pulling away from Pavlovsky, he went out.
The wind was blowing hard now and it had stopped snowing. Rico turned up his coat collar and started toward Sansotta’s. But he hadn’t gone half a block when he realized that he was being followed. He turned just in time to see two men pass under an archlight.
“It’s Little Arnie’s boy,” he said, “looking for seven grand.” Rico took out his gun, got behind a telephone pole and fired a warning shot. The two men ran for cover and Rico ducked down an alley, ran for two blocks, then turned up another alley and doubled back. He had lost them.
When the lookout let him in he said:
“Louis, the boss wants to see you.”
Rico went up to Sansotta’s room.
“Well?” he said to Sansotta.
“Cesare,” said Sansotta, “a friend of mine is pulling out for Toledo tomorrow night. He’ll take you for fifty bucks.”
“What’s his game?”
“Running dope.”
“It’s OK with me,” said Rico.
Rico went up to his room, took off his overcoat, and flung himself down on the bed. He’d have to pull out now whether he wanted to or not.
V
The dope-runner dropped Rico at the edge of town. It was about five o’clock in the morning and still dark. A heavy fog had come in from Lake Erie and a damp, cold wind was blowing. Rico walked up and down to keep warm while waiting for a car. He felt pretty low.
“Yeah,” said Rico, “right back where I started from.”
The headlight on the streetcar cut through the fog. The motorman didn’t see Rico and ran past him.
“Ain’t that a break?” said Rico.
There wouldn’t be another car for half an hour. Rico decided to walk. He turned up his coat collar against the damp wind and lit a cigar. His mind
