Part 17 (1/2)
”I tell you I don't know. But I can guess pretty closely. It was one of the Pallozzo gang. This Narcone--he calls himself Vito Sabella, by the way--is a leader of the Quatrones. The two factions have been at war lately and some member of the Pallozzo outfit has turned him up.”
The light died out of Norvin's face, his body relaxed. He had followed so many clues, his quest had been so long and fruitless, that he met disappointment half-way.
Up to this moment Bernie Dreux had listened without a word or movement, but now he stirred and inquired, hesitatingly:
”Pardon me, but what is this Pallozzo gang and who are the Quatrones?
I'm tremendously interested in this affair.”
”The Pallozzos and the Quatrones,” Donnelly explained, ”are two Italian gangs which have come into rivalry over the fruit business.
They unload the s.h.i.+ps, you know, and they have clashed several times.
You probably heard about their last mix-up--one man killed and four wounded.”
”I never read about such things,” Dreux acknowledged, at which the Chief's eyes twinkled and once more wandered over the little man's immaculate figure.
”You are familiar with our Italian problem, aren't you?”
”I--I'm afraid not. I know we have a large foreign population in the city--in fact, I spend much of my time on the other side of Ca.n.a.l Street--but I didn't know there was any particular problem.”
”Well, there is, and a very serious one, too,” Blake a.s.sured him.
”It's giving our friend Donnelly and the rest of the city officials trouble enough and to spare. There have been some eighty killings in the Italian quarter.”
”Eighty-four,” said Donnelly. ”And about two hundred outrages of one sort or another.”
”And almost no convictions. Am I right?”
”You are. We can't do a thing with them. They are a law to themselves, and they ignore us and ours absolutely. It's getting worse, too. Fine situation to exist in the midst of a law-abiding American community, isn't it?” Donnelly appealed to Dreux.
”Now that will show you how little a person may know of his own home,”
reflected Bernie. ”Has it anything to do with this Mafia we hear so much about?”
”It has. But the Mafia is going to end,” Donnelly announced positively. ”I've gone on record to that effect. If those dagos can't obey our laws, they'll have to pull their freight. It's up to me to put a finish to this state of affairs or acknowledge I'm a poor official and don't know my business. The reform crowd has seized upon it as a weapon to put me out of office, claiming that I've sold out to the Italians and don't want to run 'em down, so I've got to do something to show I'm not asleep on my beat. I've never had a chance before, but now I'm going after this Vito Sabella and land him. Will you look him over, Norvin, and see if he's the right party?”
”Of course. I owe Narcone a visit and I'm glad of this chance. But granting that he is Narcone, how can you get him out of New Orleans?
He'll fight extradition and the Quatrones will support him.”
”I'm blamed if I know. I'll have to figure that out,” said the Chief as he rose to go. ”I'm mighty glad I had that hunch to come and see you, and I wish you were a plain-clothes man instead of the president of the Cotton Exchange. I think you and I could clean out this Mafia and make the town fit for a white man to live in. If you'll drop in on me at eight o'clock to-night we'll walk over toward St. Phillip Street and perhaps get a look at your old friend Narcone. If you care to come along, Mr. Dreux, I'd be glad to have you.”
Bernie Dreux threw up his shapely hands in hasty refusal. ”Oh dear, no!” he protested. ”I haven't lost any Italian murderers. This expedition, which you're planning so lightly, may lead to--Heaven knows what. At any rate, I should only be in the way, so if it's quite the same to you I'll send regrets.”
”Quite the same,” Donnelly laughed, then to Norvin: ”If you think this dago may recognize you, you'd better tote a gun. At eight, then.”
”At eight,” agreed Blake and escorted him to the door.
IX