“Okay,” said Tony. “I’ll go home. If he does come around asking for me what do we do?”
“We’ll protect you,” said Pete. “Now get.”
They watched him walk away.
Roachy smiled ruefully. “He’s the guy who knows our names. Rock only knows where he lives.”
“I know,” said Pete.
Tommy cursed. “He’ll talk if Rock gets ahold of him, you can bet on it.”
“We gotta take that chance,” said Pete.
Tony ducked into the alleyway, darting swiftly through the vast parking space of the Cab Company, and had to pause for breath when he hit South Halstead Street.
His hands shook miserably as he cleared the sweat from his eyes. He wished he had a cigarette.
He cursed shrilly. Only two more blocks now. He carefully walked into another alley, automatically flattening his back against the wall of a building. The chipped bricking of the wall bit into his spine but he didn’t notice. He panted but he knew he wasn’t that tired. He remembered a George Raft picture, but it seemed sorta silly now. He didn’t even have the girl Raft had had to fight for; he was just acting scared.
He counted slowly up to ten, glanced up the mouth of the alley; no danger from that quarter. He walked deeper into the smells and debris of the alleys that sliced up the neighborhoods just a ten minute trolley ride from the Loop.
He looked up at the back porch of the tall, narrow building. His mother was hanging shirts and pillow-cases on the clothes-line. It cringed every time she yanked the rope outward to place more clothing on the line.
He carefully unhooked the bar of the door and went into the yard. He quickly went up the stairs.
“Ma.”
She sighed deeply, viciously yanking the cord.
“Ma... you gotta listen.”
She rummaged for some clothespins in the deep pocket of her dirty apron.
“Did anybody come lookin’ for me, Ma?”
She jerked around. “What did you steal?”
“Nothin’, Ma, honest. Just some big guy’s looking for me. He’s gonna beat me up.”
Her thick neck reddened angrily. “What did ya rob?” she repeated doggedly.
“Honest to God I didn’t pick up anything, Ma. I’ll tell you: I went to the warehouse to put in a little time like you told me this morning.”
“Then why ain’t you working?” she thumped, rubbing the rust from her hand against her thigh.
“I’m trying to tell you,” he screeched. “Listen, Ma: Rock, the foreman at the warehouse took me and the guys on to work. Then this guy Rock slugs Pete for nothin’ at all. We guys just knocked around the other guys who try to pile on us. Then we ran away.”
“What you worried about? You’re in the right.”
“Yeah... but this guy Rock is tough.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated. “Anyhow, that kid Pete had it coming to him; he’s a troublemaker.”
“Ma, will you listen,” he snarled. “Rock doesn’t know Pete’s last name or address. He only knows my name and address. Jeez, why did I have to go to work there?”
“What the hell you want me to do?”
“Listen: when somebody comes askin’ for me you just tell ’em I went to the country, you don’t know where.”
She sighed, her meaty shoulders rising and falling with the motion; her hand went to the back of her dress. At length she said, “Okay, I’ll tell that. You really going outta town?”
“Naw, I’ll be in the hallway.”
She laughed. “You nuts? Why don’t you go outta town? You’ll learn what it means to be on your own.”
“Oh, Ma. Honest, when this blows over I’ll get a steady job and really work.”
“Okay, but don’t hang around the hall.” She stared at the reddish streak of rust on her apron. “Somebody’ll see you skulkin’ ’round and really get suspicious.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“What did ya steal?”
“Dammit, I told you I didn’t steal anything!”
“Better be right orest I’ll kick you out. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, and leave the kitchen window open. I’ll sneak in late tonight. So don’t get sore.”
She reached into the wicker basket and brought up a pair of tattered shorts, carefully pinning them to the clothes-line, jerking it forward with another whine of the rusty pulley.
“Ma?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you loan me twenty cents? I’m dying for a smoke.”
“There’s some beer bottles, go get the deposits.”
“I can’t be seen on the street.”
“Then get the hell outta here.”
“Please, Ma. I mean it, I’ll get a job, just give me twenty cents.”
“Ain’t got it.”
“C’mon, Ma.”
She picked up the empty basket and grunted as she stepped over the high wooden plank leading into the kitchen. For a minute she stood stock-still, her elbow working furiously. He looked at the swaying mass of clothes on the line.
“Go buy some beer an’ I’ll give you the money,” she said, flattening her hand against her bulky hip.
“You bum,” he choked out, and charged out the kitchen door.
He made his way through the alleys. He walked slowly, carefully, sort of storing up his energy if flight became imperative. He wasn’t shaky any more. Hell, if it wasn’t for him picking up those crates and heavin’ ’em at the guys on the boat, Pete woulda got killed sure.
He ran across Meriden Street, squeezed between the bent bars that encircled the large YMCA baseball diamond, and trotted behind the park benches, his feet dully padding against the loose gravel.
He paused at the water fountain which stood at the path leading onto Sholwa Street, drank deeply, the water splashing against his bare throat.
He gulped the air noisily, quickly twisting around. Not a person in sight.
He walked slowly up Sholwa Street, waited for the light to switch to green, dashed across the avenue, and again eased his gait. He glanced behind: no one was tailing him.
He walked very slowly past the Church, made certain that no one was in sight, and quickly ran up the stairs and entered the gloom of the House of Worship.
He dipped his finger in the Holy Water font, hurriedly made the sign of the cross. He peered deeply into the darkness of the Church.
“Pssstr.”
He jerked erect.
“Over here, Tony.”
He followed the damp echo, gently making his way to the extreme right where a row of pews were set.
A sickly smile spread over Tony’s face as he nodded to Tommy and Roachy, who were sitting on the kneeling board below the benches. Pete Semo was sprawled on the bench.
“What did your old lady say?” husked Pete.
“She’ll tell ’em I went to the country if anybody comes nosing around.”
“Why didn’t you stay in the hallway like I said?” croaked Pete, hopelessly trying to curb his tone to the cooly elegant quiet of the Church.
“That wouldn’t be smart,” said Tony. “Somebody’d see me sneaking around and get suspicious.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” muttered Pete.
The quick precise clicking of heels stopped at their pew. They quickly turned. Father Littono regarded them suspiciously. “The Church is no place for gossip, boys.”
Pete gazed at the sleek blackness of Father Littono’s street suit, the glistening white collar about his throat being the immature halo that someday he would lay permanent claim to.
“We just thought we’d give a little prayer,” Pete said a bit quicker than he’d intended. “We got a ball game tonight.”
“Very fine thought,” said the priest. “Let me know how you make out. I’ll remember your intention, boys.”
“Gee, thanks,” Pete said, hastily making for the entrance, his gang behind him.