Part 18 (1/2)
”Do you think so?”
”I know so. I've seen it tried. Some people are born cowards and can't help themselves. As for me, I was never troubled much that way. I suppose you find it the same, too.”
”No. My only consolation lies in thinking it's barely possible the other fellow may be as badly frightened as I am.”
Donnelly scoffed openly. ”I never saw a man stand up better than you.
Why I've touted you as the gamest chap I ever saw. Do you remember that dago Misetti who jumped from here into your parish when you were sheriff?”
Blake smiled. ”I'm not likely to forget him.”
”You walked into a gun that day when you knew he'd use it.”
”He didn't, though--at least not much. Perhaps he was as badly rattled as I was.”
”Have it your own way,” the Chief said. ”But that reminds me, he's out again.”
”Indeed! I hadn't heard.”
”You knew, of course, we couldn't convict him for that killing. We had a perfect case, but the Mafia cleared him. Same old story--perjury, alibis, and jury-fixing. We put him away for resisting an officer, though; they couldn't stop us there. But they've 'sprung' him and he's back in town again. d.a.m.n such people! With over two hundred Italian outrages of various kinds in this city up to date, I can count the convictions on the fingers of one hand. The rest of the country is beginning to notice it.”
”It is a serious matter,” Blake acknowledged, ”and it is affecting the business interests of the city. We see that every day.”
”If I had a free hand I'd tin-can every dago in New Orleans.”
”Nonsense! They're not all bad. The great majority of them are good, industrious, law-abiding people. It's a comparatively small criminal element that does the mischief.”
”You think so, eh? Well, if you held down this job for a year you'd be ready to swear they're all blackmailers and murderers. If they're so honest and peaceable, why don't they come out and help us run down the malefactors?”
”That's not their way.”
”No, you bet it isn't,” Donnelly affirmed. ”Things are getting worse every day. The reformers don't have to call my attention to it; I'm wise. So far, they have confined their operations to their own people, but what's to prevent them from spreading out? Some day those Italians will break over and tackle us Americans, and then there will be h.e.l.l to pay. I'll be blamed for not holding them in check. Why, you've no idea of the completeness of their organization; it has a thousand branches and it takes in some of their very best people. I dare say you think this Mafia is some dago secret society with lodge-rooms and grips and pa.s.swords and a picnic once a year. Well, I tell you--”
”You needn't tell me anything about La Mafia,” Blake interrupted, gravely. ”I know as much about it, perhaps, as you do. Something ought to be done to choke off this flood of European criminal immigration.
Believe me, I realize what you are up against, Dan, and I know, as you know, that La Mafia will beat you.”
”I'm d.a.m.ned if it will!” exploded the officer. ”The policing of this city is under my charge, and if those people want to live here among us--”
The telephone bell rang and Donnelly broke off to answer it.
”h.e.l.lo! Is that you, O'Connell? Good! Stick around the neighborhood.
We'll be right over.” He hung up the receiver and explained: ”O'Connell has him marked out. We'd better go.”
It was not until they were well on their way that Norvin thought to mention the letter, which he had wished to see.
”Oh, yes, I meant to show it to you,” said Donnelly.
”But there's nothing unusual about it, except perhaps the signature.”
”I thought you said it was anonymous.”
”Well, it is; it's merely signed 'One who Knows.'”