“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.
CHAPTER V
GUNS BARK
MIDNIGHT had passed, and the crowd had thinned. Many players had lost all their money, but those who remained were playing for tremendous stakes. Thousands and thousands of dollars were in view, stacked in piles of bills.
Harry moved alongside of Joe le Blanc, and nudged the man, to indicate the immense sums of money that formed the stakes. Le Blanc nodded.
“Big night,” he said, in an undertone. “Marmosa’s getting all he can. Savoli’s man will be around to collect later on.”
The Homicide Twins were still watching Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak, but the two unwelcome mobsters seemed quite indifferent to the money that was on display.
As for Monk Thurman, he seemed to be utterly oblivious to his surroundings. He was leaning with his back against the bar, his eyes half closed, as he listened to the chatter of Joe le Blanc, who had become voluble under the encouragement of many drinks.
Glen Colliver and his party were the principal players left. The advertising man tossed a thousand-dollar bill on number nine, and lost his bet. He shrugged his shoulders, and turned his pockets inside out with a laugh.