GANGSTERS MEET
MARMOSA’S CAFE was a quiet place at seven o’clock in the evening. The restaurant was well filled with diners; waiters trod noiselessly across the carpeted floor; and the orchestra in the corner played soft music that did not disturb the pleasing atmosphere of the luxurious dining palace.
Harry Vincent found Frank Marmosa in the office when he arrived. The big man greeted him pleasantly, and suggested that he have dinner on the balcony, so that he could watch those who entered.
Harry took this as an indication that Marmosa wanted to test his ability as an observer, so he took the table which the proprietor pointed out, and ordered a sumptuous meal.
While he ate, Harry watched below.
He felt a certain admiration for Frank Marmosa, even though the man was engaged in an illegal enterprise. For Marmosa’s Cafe was certainly one of the most elegant restaurants that Harry had ever patronized, and the food was in keeping with the surroundings.
It was evidently Marmosa’s purpose to attract a high-class clientele, for the diners were fashionable persons, many of whom appeared to be of the elite.
There were comparatively few persons on the balcony, and Harry noticed that no one approached the hidden spot behind the corner pillar.
It was after eight o’clock before Harry had completed his carefully chosen meal, and by that time, the crowd below had thinned out considerably. Marmosa had not returned, so Harry lighted a cigar, and puffed away in enjoyment, still watching from the balcony.
Half an hour later, he noticed that newcomers were entering the place, and he realized immediately that it was from these that the patrons of the gambling den would be gained. Marmosa had said nothing about the opening time of the gambling house, but Harry now conjectured that nine o’clock would be about the earliest.
A thin, sallow man entered the restaurant, and walked upstairs. Harry saw him disappear behind the pillar that obscured Marmosa’s office.
The man did not return immediately, so Harry again looked from the balcony, until he became conscious that some one was approaching his table, and he turned quickly to encounter Frank Marmosa and the sallow man who had arrived a short while before.
“Meet Joe le Blanc,” said Marmosa genially. “This is Harry Vincent, Joe.”
The sallow man shook hands with Harry, and sat beside him at the table.
“Vincent is a friend of Barutti,” explained Marmosa. “You know Barutti — you’ve met him in New York.”
Le Blanc nodded. Then Marmosa went away.
Harry studied Le Blanc, and recognized him as a silent type of man. The fellow had a sophisticated air that commanded instant attention.
“No one here yet,” said Le Blanc tersely, after he had made a quick survey of the crowd below.
HARRY watched the man’s eyes. Joe le Blanc had a faculty for looking everywhere, without moving his head. One observing him from below would not have realized that he had made a thorough inspection of the entire room beneath the balcony.
Four people entered the restaurant — two men in evening clothes, and two handsomely dressed women.
“That’s Glen Colliver,” said Le Blanc, in an undertone. “Big advertising man. Don’t know the fellow with him. Some guy from out of town, I guess.
“That blond dame’s been here before. Never saw the brunette before. The whole bunch is O.K. because Colliver is with them. Remember that bird. He pays plenty here.”
The party had scarcely seated itself before another group entered. Le Blanc recognized them immediately, and gave the information to Harry. Then came a few more persons who were identified by the sharp-eyed watcher.
Finally Colliver and his companions walked up the steps to the balcony. They disappeared behind the pillar that hid the entrance of the gambling den.
“They’ll be looked over through the door,” said Le Blanc. “Old Hawk-eye in there can tell any one that’s been here once. Here comes another pair upstairs. They’re O.K., too.”
Nothing was said for a few minutes. Then Harry decided to question Joe le Blanc.
“Don’t we let them know who is coming?” he asked. “I thought we would have to tell the fellow inside — “
“No, no,” replied Le Blanc. “These people don’t mean anything to us. We haven’t begun to work yet. Wait a while, until some of the gunmen begin to come in. That’s when we’ve got to keep a real look-out.”
“Why?”
“Listen close, Vincent,” said Joe le Blanc. “Marmosa tells me you don’t know anything about this racket.
“That’s all right. You’ve got to learn, and I’m here to tell you. There’s going to be a pile of dough spent in that place tonight. You savvy that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, who gets the dough?”
“Frank Marmosa.”
“Sure, but he pays a lot of it out — to several places. There’s a lot of cuts, fixing the coppers, and everything else, but the real jack goes to the big shot.”
“Who’s the big shot?”
“Nick Savoli, of course. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him?”
HARRY had heard of Nick Savoli, the gangster whose fame had long since reached New York. He knew that Nick Savoli held the strings that governed the great majority of Chicago gangs.
“Nick will have his man here tonight,” went on Le Blanc. “Ready for the collection, after the dough has been taken in.”
“Does he ever come himself?”
“Who? Nick? I should say not! Sometimes he sends Mike Borrango, though. He’s the big enforcement man for Savoli. Keeps things moving when Nick’s out of town.
“But it’s most likely to be Al Vacchi. He comes here right along, and he brings a couple of gorillas with him.”
Le Blanc paused to lean against the rail of the balcony while he carefully inspected two men who had just entered. Then he added a further explanation.
“Here’s the way it goes,” he said. “Nick Savoli runs most everything in this town. He uses Mike Borrango as an enforcer. Al Vacchi is a fix-up man, who smoothes over troubles when they arise. That makes him a good man for collecting here, because he knows all of them, and keeps on good terms.
“Then there’s a bunch of men who have their own gangs, and their own territories. Most of them are in the booze racket. Mike Varona, Casey O’Rourke, Bingo McGurk, and others.
“They keep in with the big shot. They know enough not to battle among themselves.
“But there’s others — like Mike Larrigan — who have never come in line. Right now, there’s trouble between Larrigan and Varona.
“It’s guys like Larrigan’s gunmen that we watch out for here.
“Take Hymie Schultz, for instance. He works with Larrigan, but he’s independent, too. He wouldn’t think anything of coming in and sticking up a swell joint like this.
“If it meant trouble between Larrigan and the big shot, Larrigan would claim that Hymie was working on his own. Savvy?
“Then, every now and then, some small fry crop up and make trouble. That’s what we look out for. See — “
He pointed to the door of the restaurant. Two men entered; both were dressed in tuxedos, but they looked out of place in that garb. They kept close together, and seemed to cast a disdainful look at the diners. The newcomers moved up the stairs toward the balcony.
“John Genara and Tony Anelmo,” whispered Le Blanc. “They call them the Homicide Twins. Tough babies.
“They’re working for Marmosa tonight. They protect the joint. They’ll be inside the door, like they were gambling, but let any guy get tough — well, there’s nothing those fellows won’t do.”
The two men were at the top of the stairs. Genara glanced toward the table where Harry Vincent and Joe le Blanc were seated. Joe nodded his head in greeting, and Genara responded with an ugly scowl, which Le Blanc accepted as a response of friendship.
The two gunmen left the head of the stairs and went into the gambling den.
THEN came a general arrival of well-dressed persons who were evidently coming to play roulette.
“Look there!” Le Blanc’s exclamation was a low one. “Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak. The little guy is Hymie — he’s the one I was telling you about.”
“Do they mean trouble?”
Le Blanc shrugged his shoulders.
“No telling until they get in,” he said. “We can’t keep them out without causing trouble. But with Genara and Anelmo there, I don’t think anything will happen.
“Just the same, it puts our friend Marmosa in a tough spot. The only connection he has with Nick Savoli is this: Marmosa pays cash to Savoli. He gets protection, all right, but the important part is that Marmosa has to pay, and Savoli doesn’t have to protect. Get that?
“If anybody makes trouble for Marmosa, it’s too bad for him. Savoli wouldn’t like it, of course, but he has his own worries, without bothering about Marmosa.”
Two men entered the restaurant while Le Blanc was speaking. Harry saw them as they came up the stairs to the balcony, and he recognized immediately that they were another pair of gangsters. Le Blanc noticed them as they approached.
“Here comes Eddie Heeny,” he said. “Smooth-looking bird for a gunman. I don’t know the other mug that’s with him.”
The arrivals came over to the table where Harry and Le Blanc were seated. Harry studied them closely.
The one designated as Heeny was scarcely of the gangster type, although he carried a determined air that made an instant impression. But the other man — the one whom Le Blanc did not name — commanded Harry’s close attention.
He was tall, and somewhat slender and he had an erect carriage that bespoke a powerful physique. His face was almost masklike in its expression.
When he fixed his eyes upon Harry, they seemed to carry a steady, boring gaze that was challenging and defiant. Harry could not take his eyes from the gangster’s face.
For almost a full minute, no one spoke; then Le Blanc waved his hand toward Heeny.
“Hello, Ed,” he said. “Thought you’d be here tonight. This is Harry Vincent. Fellow that’s going to take my job, after I leave here. Who’s your pal, Ed?”
The gangster grinned.
“Ever hear of Monk Thurman?” he questioned.
“You mean the fellow that used to be with the Four Points gang in New York?” returned Le Blanc.
“That’s who I mean,” replied Heeny. “You’ve heard of him, eh?”
“Sure thing. Never met him, though.”
“Well, you’re meeting him now. This is him.”
Joe le Blanc uttered a low exclamation. Harry could tell by his expression that the name of “Monk” Thurman carried great weight with him.
Harry had heard the name, too. Monk Thurman was notorious in New York. He had been arrested for dozens of crimes, and had always established an alibi.
Le Blanc was looking at the New York gangster, and Harry followed suit. Monk Thurman was the type of man who would command attention. He seemed to take no interest in what Eddie Heeny had said. His attitude was one of complete indifference.
“Brought him along tonight,” said Heeny. “He blew into town to-day.
“Did you read the New York papers, yesterday? They had a rumor that Monk had disappeared. Well, this is where he disappeared to. Chicago. Here he is!
“I used to know him back in New York. This is the one and only Monk Thurman.”
LE BLANC did not question why the New York gunman had made his visit to Chicago. Questions of idle curiosity were not common among gangsters. Instead, he took the attitude that Heeny had accomplished something by bringing in this notorious master of the automatic.
“Want Monk to see the place in here?” he asked.
“Good idea, Joe,” replied Heeny. “It’s time for you to go in, anyway. Take him along with you; but don’t introduce him. Let him look the lay over. He’ll be recognized soon enough.”
“All right, Ed,” replied Le Blanc. “Keep your eye out tonight. Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak are inside.”
“No!” Heeny’s exclamation was one of astonishment. “They inside — alone?”
“Of course not,” laughed Le Blanc. “The Homicide Twins are there, too. That evens things up, Ed, but I just thought I’d better tip you off.”
“You hear that, Monk?” asked Heeny. “The Homicide Twins — that’s them Italians — Genara and Anelmo. Couple of tough greaseballs, them fellows. Come over here a year ago. Pete Varona brought them in, and they’ve been on the job ever since. Working for the big shot now, ain’t they, Joe?”
“They stand in right with Savoli,” admitted Le Blanc. “Come along with us, Monk. We’ll show you a gambling joint that would look neat in New York.”
He left the table, motioning to Harry as he went. Monk Thurman followed, while Eddie Heeny took his place at the look-out position.
When they reached the wall behind the pillar, Le Blanc knocked twice, and a small peephole opened. The man behind recognized Le Blanc. The sliding panel moved aside, and the three men entered.
HARRY had not realized that so many people had entered the gambling den. There was a good-sized crowd there now, and the room was filled with tobacco smoke. There was a low buzz of conversation, but most of the persons present were intent on their gambling.
Two quiet croupiers were operating the roulette wheels, and stacks of bills of high denomination were on the tables. The place was a miniature Monte Carlo, and the size of the stakes was evidently pleasing to Frank Marmosa, for that gentleman was walking about with a broad, beaming smile.
The proprietor noted Le Blanc the moment that he entered, and cast a glance of interrogation in his direction. Harry caught the significance; Marmosa wondered who Monk Thurman might be. Le Blanc made an upward gesture with his thumb, and Marmosa nodded.
“That’s the O.K.,” whispered Le Blanc to Harry. “The boss wanted to know if Monk was all right.”
Then Le Blanc turned to the New York gangster, and took him across the room to the bar, where several men were drinking. The New Yorker ordered a drink, but left the glass on the bar. He seemed too deeply intent on his surroundings to indulge in the questionable enjoyment of Marmosa’s liquor.
Harry’s eyes wandered everywhere. All seemed occupied, with the exception of four sinister figures who commended Harry’s close attention.
Two of these were “Hymie” Schultz and “Four-gun” Spirak. Those gangsters were apart; one watching a roulette wheel, the other near the door beside a faro table.
The other two were the Homicide Twins, Genara and Anelmo. They stood together in a corner of the room. One was watching Schultz; the other had his eye on Spirak.
Harry realized that he was watching four of the toughest killers in Chicago; notorious gunmen who thought nothing of murder in cold blood.
They were evenly matched, but the Homicide Twins were on the defensive. Unless the opposition started something, they would not act tonight.
Looking toward the bar, Harry noticed that Le Blanc and Thurman were engaged in close conversation.
Joe le Blanc was not worrying about the presence of Schultz and Spirak. He knew that Genara and Anelmo had them covered. Hence he was quietly talking with Monk Thurman, who had not yet been recognized by any one there.
Thurman, like Le Blanc, was indifferent to the presence of the four Chicago killers.
Five gunmen had gathered, and the comparison was intriguing to Harry Vincent — Schultz and Spirak, swaggering and leering; Genara and Anelmo, silent, and watchful.
But the most sinister figure of them all was Monk Thurman, the man who neither swaggered nor watched. His firm, immobile face betokened a calm determination that made him a more terrible personage than any of the Chicago gangsters.
As the minutes went by, Harry found that his gaze continually reverted to that man with the frozen face.