The Gangster (Isaac Bell 9)

SAME PAPER

Bell wired Mack Fulton and Wally Kisley,

FIND WHO BOUGHT PAPER AND INK

PRINTER’S ROW BRING HELEN

STAY OUT OF AGENT LYNCH WAY

and ran for his train.

He had three days to New York to ponder how the Black Hand case had grown both larger and oddly interconnected. Sante Russo identifying the same dynamite and the Black Handers’ penchant for the same stationery had pretty much confirmed that four separate crimes—kidnapping little Maria Vella, the dynamite overcharge that wrecked her father’s business, bombing Banco LaCava, and the Black Hand attack on Luisa Tetrazzini were engineered by the same gang. And now counterfeiting? A gang of all-rounders? he wondered.

Except that all-rounders did not exist. Criminals were inclined to repeat themselves. Like most people, they stuck with what they knew best and trusted that what had worked before would work again. Strong-arm men intimidated, confidence men tricked, safecrackers blew vaults, thieves stole, kidnappers snatched, bank robbers robbed banks.

Changing trains in Chicago, Bell found a wire from Harry Warren waiting for him on the 20th Century Limited. Harry, too, found all-rounders unusual and said as much in the telegram.

PENNSYLVANIA GREEN GOODSER SALATA THUG

ODD

I’LL MEET YOUR TRAIN

“Ernesto!” said Charlie Salata. “Where you running off to?”

Ernesto Leone’s heart sank. Salata had two gorillas with him and they blocked any hope of escape.

“I’m not running. I’m going home. You know I got a room in this house.”

“Invite me in.”

The four men climbed a flight of stairs. The counterfeiter unlocked his door. The gorillas stayed in the hall. Leone lighted a sputtering gas jet. The broad-shouldered Salata filled the room. Last time he was here, he stole some expensive paper. This time, it seemed to Leone, that he was sucking out the air.

“Listen, Charlie. I told the Boss the money wasn’t ready. He wouldn’t listen.”

“Don’t blame the Boss.”

“I’m not blaming him. I’m just saying . . . Oh, come on, Charlie. We knew each other since we was kids. You go your way, I go mine, but we’re not enemies.”

Salata slid his fingers inside a terrible set of brass knuckles. A blade jutted from the metal rings. Leone stared at the weapon. Maimed or stabbed? How would Salata do him up?

Salata raised his fist very slowly and pressed the knuckles to Leone’s cheek. Leone could see the blade in the corner of his eye. Salata said, “I got a man in jail. Thousand dollars bail.”

“I’ll get the bail.” Where? He could only wonder.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else you going to do to make it up?”

“I’ll do what I can. What do you want? I’m getting better paper. You want part of the new stuff?”

“That was the last time I ever pass false money.”

“Then what?”

“Me and Ferri got something started.”