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It was my turn, and I asked if we could just go in. Chaney opened the door and led us into the same room I had been in before. Costello was behind us. The room had the same furniture, a card table with chairs, a sofa, an old worn easy chair and a picture on the wall of a horse. The big difference was the people. Nitti was in the same chair at the table as if he hadn’t moved in days. A heavy-set guy with greying curly hair and a familiar face sat in the easy chair. I figured him for Ralph Capone, but I never found out for sure. Two unfamiliar men stood on either side of the room, far back and silent. One was leaning against the wall, smoking and watching us. The other was just watching us. Their job may have been to hold up the wall, but I had the feeling they were there to back up the curly head in the soft chair. The one person missing from the picture was the one we’d come to see, Gino Servi.

“Who’re they?” Nitti said through his teeth, indicating the Marxes.

“Oh,” said Groucho stepping forward, “permit me to introduce ourselves. I am Mr. Hardy and this is my friend Mr. Laurel. The gentleman next to him is Edgar Kennedy.”

Nobody in the room cracked a smile or gave any indication that they realized Groucho was trying to be funny. Costello had some experience with Groucho and said, “He’s being funny, Frank. The talker is Groucho. The one next to him is Chico and the other one is Harpo.”

Nitti looked at Groucho, his eyes narrow, and whispered, “Don’t talk no more.”

Groucho opened his mouth and Nitti’s hands clenched, turning red-white.

“Grouch,” said Chico. “Don’t.”

Harpo put a hand on Groucho’s shoulder and Groucho shrugged, found a chair, put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand.

“Well,” said Chico, “Which one is Servi?”

“Not here yet,” said Costello. “Soon.”

“O.K.,” said Chico rubbing his hands together, “How about a couple hands of poker, or-”

I cleared my throat loudly and Groucho groaned. Harpo walked over to look at the picture of the horse.

We sat around for about fifteen minutes, looking at our watches. Chaney and Costello spent some of their time looking at me. The curly-haired guy lifted his hand, and one of the guys near the wall came to him. They whispered. The guy left the room and came back five minutes later with a dark drink with ice for the guy I was sure was Ralph Capone. Nitti looked at him.

“You bring those cops?” said the guy in the soft chair.

“Me?” I said pointing to my chest. “What cops?”

“The ones parked outside,” he said calmly, putting away half the liquid in the glass with two swallows. We all watched his Adam’s apple.

I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t know what he knew. Maybe their boys in blue had told them something. If they did, I could lie and get caught. I could tell the truth or say nothing. I kept my mouth shut, and the guy who must have been Capone didn’t push it. Ten minutes later he looked restless.

“Where’s Servi?” he asked Nitti.

“I don’t know. I told him nine. He knows better.”

“Can I say something?” said Groucho.

“No,” said Nitti.

“Yes,” said Capone.

Nitti’s head spun toward Capone, who started to get out of his chair. The two boys near the wall moved forward. Costello and Chaney put their hands in their coats. Harpo pretended to keep looking at the horse, which he had been examining steadily for twenty minutes.

Nitti’s eyes stayed on Capone and he spoke softly.

“Talk,” said Nitti, “but no smart-ass Jew talk.”

“This guy Servi’s not coming,” said Groucho. “He’s not coming because he can’t identify Chico. He’d walk into this room, look at the three of us and make a wrong guess, because I think this guy Servi helped set you up with a guy imitating my brother.”

“The guy who got killed on the West Side yesterday,” I threw in. “Old actor named Morris Kelakowsky. I think maybe Servi set it up for him to take you for $120,000. Then he tried to hold Chico up for it.”

Nitti rose, glaring from Groucho Marx to me. Chico just leaned back and watched.

“Sounds possible to me,” said Capone.

“Gino’s my cousin,” said Nitti.

Capone laughed.

“You never heard of a cousin doing in a cousin, or a brother a brother? They may be right, Frank. Gino set all this, got rid of Bistolfi, the Canetta kid and the Jew to keep them from talking.”

“Maybe,” said Nitti, rubbing his chin.

“If he did,” said Capone, “I want him. Bistolfi was working for me.”

Capone motioned to Chaney and told him to make some phone calls, to track down Gino. We sat while Chaney reached for the phone and started his calls. He got nervous and turned his eyes down. On the third call, to the Fireside, he got lucky, and kept saying, “Yeah, O.K.” He hung up and talked slowly to Nitti.

“Gino left there two hours ago, said he was coming right here. He ain’t been home or to any of the other places. You want me to check the hospitals?”

“No,” said Nitti.

Capone got up and nodded to the guys against the wall.

“Remember, Frank. I get him.”

“We talk to him first,” said Nitti.

“Sure,” said Capone, “you talk to him. Then I talk to him.”

It was my turn.

“Then we can go?”

“You can go back to the Drake and stay there till we find Gino,” and Nitti. “Then you get out of town fast if things don’t look good for him. We’ll let you know.”

Groucho was going to say something, but Harpo moved quickly to his side and touched his shoulder, shutting him up. Chico put five bucks on the table, reached down and cut the deck of cards in front of Nitti. Nitti smirked and looked up at him with something that might have been dyspepsia or grudging respect. Nitti cut the cards. Chico’s card was a five of clubs, Nitti’s a jack of hearts. Chico led the way out of the door with Costello and Chaney behind us.

When the door closed, we could hear the voices of Capone and Nitti, but couldn’t make out the words.

No one said anything on the way down. In the lobby, Chico suggested when he saw the blonde that he might be back at the Drake a little late. I suggested strongly that he do as Nitti said and just go to the hotel.

It had worked out, but not the way I expected. All I had left to do was stick around till the mob nailed Servi. In the morning, I’d tell Kleinhans that Servi was the triple killer. I didn’t think the cops would get to him first. Then I’d call Mayer and tell him the whole thing was wrapped up.

The cop car was across the street when we went through the door. Costello followed us out into the wind with his hands in his pockets. He moved his blue face close to me so that I’d be the only one to hear.

“When Frank gives you the word to go,” he said without moving his lips, “you got exactly two hours to be out of town and not come back, not ever. Got it?”

“I got it,” I said, and led the way around the corner to Narducy’s cab. The street was pretty well deserted. The area was mostly industrial. A couple of big factories stood in the sky, silhouetted against the moon. We got in, and Narducy asked how it had gone. The Marxes were quiet. I told Narducy everything looked fine.

We pulled away, and he made a U-turn to take us back to Michigan Avenue. Something bumped in the car and rattled. Narducy said he’d check it later and guessed it was a loose muffler.

We got back to the Drake in ten minutes, and the Marxes got out. I said goodnight and that I’d see them in the morning. Groucho leaned through the door and said “Thanks.” No gags, no smirk. No sour face. Harpo shook my hand and grinned, and Chico suggested that he never knew when he might need my help again. I closed the door, and Narducy pulled away singing “Lydia the Tattooed Lady” in his Groucho voice. I didn’t mind.

When he pulled in front of his apartment building, I paid him and marked the price and tip in my black book. He said he’d be on the street for a few more hours. I turned to head in and up to Merle while Narducy got out of the cab to check the loose muffler.