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And now he had ditched the commandeered Mafia vehicle, he was in possession of a precious notebook crammed with deadly intelligence, and he was in his war-wagon and moving xmerringly upon the heartland of the enemy. The time to strike was now, and The Executioner was in wipe-out mode.
If Chicago was shivering in the grip of an icy winter storm, the night club belt along South State Street seemed blissfully unaware — or flagrantly disrespectful — of the condition. The entire district was in full swing, the accumulated mass of garish neon overcoming the blinding effect of the heavy snowfall as it swirled in on this tenderloin of mid-America — and it would seem that this was the chosen Mecca to which large numbers of Chicagoans trekked to forget the bleakness and discomfort of a city under storm. Indeed, it appeared that this belt of frenetic human activity enjoyed some sort of special treatment from the city which it so admirably supported — nowhere else were the snow-plows and street machinery in such abundant evidence and in such perpetual motion. In a city where "clout" is king (political influence, the "fix") it is perhaps then no coincidence that South State Street is one of those districts referred to in the federal crime report which stated: "The criminal element is in complete control of many establishments serving liquor to patrons and all of the cabarets featuring striptease entertainment in the main Chicago nightlife areas."
One such cabaret, Ma
Inside was indeed a "special party." Glumfaced men congregated at crowded tables and talked in monosyllabic grunts; some jockeyed for positions at the long bar up front, behind which harried bartenders swirled liquids and filled half-gallon beer pitchers for consignment to the table areas.
The small stage near the rear was darkened and deserted except for several men in overcoats who sprawled there in attitudes of relaxed boredom. Behind that stage were several closet-size dressing rooms and a narrow hallway leading to a rear "clubroom" where well-heeled patrons could receive special attentions from the "girls, girls, girls" between shows. The back room was often used as a sex-blackmail and shakedown parlor — and actually produced more revenue than the rest of the cabaret's business combined. This vicious little racket reputedly used real on-duty policemen as the central feature of the shakedown game.
Tonight, however, there were no pigeons and no games in the room behind the stage. On this night, crew chiefs lolled about and talked in low voices of old times and bolder bosses and the troubling uncertainties of living through the night with a madman stalking their streets and threatening to rub out everything that held meaning for their lives.
And in the "sound-proofed back office" at the other side of the club, host Ma
Ma
He had offered Jake his own desk to sit at, declined — handmade cigars from Manhattan, declined — and the best whiskey in the joint, also declined. Ma
"Is there anything at all I can get you, Jake?" he asked, breaking a prolonged silence.
"Naw, just sit still, Ma
"I'm not on the carpet or anything, I hope," Ma
Mario Meninghetti snickered and drolly observed, "He's got a guilt conscience, Jake. I bet he's been knocking down on th' receipts."
Ma
"Or padding the clout books," Pops Spa
"Aw you guys cut it out," Jake said calmly. "They're ribbing you, Ma
"Well, yeah, I figured — I mean, I put out the closed sign soon as I got your message. And the boys have been coming in regularly all night. And I just been wondering — well, I mean I guess I'd just like to know what's up, Jake."
"What you don't know won't hurt you none, Ma
Ma
The four men sat in silence for several minutes. Then a knuckle signal at the door a
Without looking up, Joliet Jake told the newcomer, "I been waiting here nearly half an hour, Cap'n."
The new arrival removed his coat and hung it on a rack, then pulled up a chair and dropped into it with a tired grunt. "I'll take a double on the rocks, Ma
Ma
"I said I been here a half an hour," Vecci declared, speaking slowly and distinctly.
"I got here as quick as I could, Jake," the Captain replied easily. "Hell, I pick up a paycheck from, the city, too, you know."
"Sure, and you know why," Vecci snapped back. "Just don't forget who sponsored you on that fat job, Hamilton."
"How could I forget?" The made cop was smiling affably. "Anyway I'm here and I'm sorry I'm late. I see you've got an army gathered out there."
"That's right," Vecci replied. "And they're ready to roll. Where's those assignments?"
The cop produced a notebook from his jacket pocket. He sighed and said, "We have to play this cool, Jake. You know that."
"Don't we always?" Vecci accepted the book and passed it to Pops Spa
Vecci's gaze flashed back to Captain Hamilton. "When's the pick up?"
"Starts at eleven. I've got them spaced five minutes apart. I don't want it looking like a police convention out there."
Vecci nodded his head agreeably. "Great. That gives us..."
He was interrupted by a rapping at the door. He nodded to Ma
A man pushed his head and shoulders into the room and addressed himself directly to Mario Meninghetti. "There's a phone company guy out here. Says we should check this phone in here."
"What the hell for?" Meninghetti responded.
"It's the storm. The bar phone's dead, boss. He says this one probably is too."