The Boss, and How He Came to Rule New York

“But you spoke of a robbery!” I interjected; “Sheeny Joe has robbed no one.”

“I’m gettin’ to that,” returned Big Kennedy, with a repressive wave of his broad palm, “an’ I can see that you yourself have a lot to learn. Listen: If I knew of any robbery Sheeny Joe had pulled off, I wouldn’t have him lagged for that; no, not if he’d taken a jimmy an’ cracked a dozen bins. There’d be no lesson in sendin’ a duck over th’ road in that. Any old woman could have him pinched for a crime he’s really pulled off. To leave an impression on these people, you must send a party up for what he hasn’t done. Then they understand.”

For all Big Kennedy’s explanation, I still lived in the dark. I made no return, however, either of comment or question; I considered that I had only to look on, and Big Kennedy’s purpose would elucidate itself. Big Kennedy and I were in the sanctum that opened off his barroom. He called one of his barmen.

“Billy, you know where to find the Rat?” Then, when the other nodded: “Go an’ tell the Rat I want him.”

“Who is the Rat?” I queried. I had never heard of the Rat.

“He’s a pickpocket,” responded Big Kennedy, “an’ as fly a dip as ever nipped a watch or copped a leather.”

The Rat belonged on the west side of the town, which accounted for my having failed of his acquaintance. Big Kennedy was sure his man would find him.

“For he grafts nights,” said Big Kennedy, “an’ at this time of day it’s a cinch he’s takin’ a snooze. A pickpocket has to have plenty of sleep to keep his hooks from shakin’.”

While we were waiting the coming of the Rat, one of the barmen entered to announce a caller. He whispered a word in Big Kennedy’s ear.

“Sure!” said he. “Tell him to come along.”

The gentleman whom the barman had announced, and who was a young clergyman, came into the room. Big Kennedy gave him a hearty handshake, while his red face radiated a welcome.

“What is it, Mr. Bronson?” asked Big Kennedy pleasantly; “what can I do for you?”

The young clergyman’s purpose was to ask assistance for a mission which he proposed to start near the Five Points.

“Certainly,” said Big Kennedy, “an’ not a moment to wait!” With that he gave the young clergyman one hundred dollars.

When that gentleman, after expressing his thanks, had departed, Big Kennedy sighed.

“I’ve got no great use for a church,” he said. “I never bought a gold brick yet that wasn’t wrapped in a tract. But it’s no fun to get a preacher down on you. One of’em can throw stones enough to smash every window in Tammany Hall. Your only show with the preachers is to flatter ‘em; – pass’em out the flowers. Most of ‘em’s as pleased with flattery as a girl. Yes indeed,” he concluded, “I can paste bills on ‘em so long as I do it with soft soap.”

The Rat was a slight, quiet individual and looked the young physician rather than the pickpocket. His hands were delicate, and he wore gloves the better to keep them in condition. His step and air were as quiet as those of a cat.

“I want a favor,” said Big Kennedy, addressing the Rat, “an’ I’ve got to go to one of the swell mob to get it. That’s why I sent for you, d’ye see! It takes someone finer than a bricklayer to do th’ work.”

The Rat was uneasily questioning my presence with his eye. Big Kennedy paused to reassure him.

“He’s th’ straight goods,” said Big Kennedy, speaking in a tone wherein were mingled resentment and reproach. “You don’t s’ppose I’d steer you ag’inst a brace?”

The Rat said never a word, but his glance left me and he gave entire heed to Big Kennedy.

“This is the proposition,” resumed Big Kennedy. “You know Sheeny Joe. Shadow him; swing and rattle with him no matter where he goes. The moment you see a chance, get a pocketbook an’ put it away in his clothes. When th’ roar goes up, tell th’ loser where to look. Are you on? Sheeny Joe must get th’ collar, an’ I want him caught with th’ goods, d’ye see.”

“I don’t have to go to court ag’inst him?” said the Rat interrogatively.

“No,” retorted Big Kennedy, a bit explosively. “You’d look about as well in th’ witness box as I would in a pulpit. No, you shift th’ leather. Then give th’ party who’s been touched th’ office to go after Sheeny Joe. After that you can screw out; that’s as far as you go.”

It was the next evening at the ferry. Suddenly a cry went up.

“Thief! Thief! My pocketbook is gone!”

The shouts found source in a broad man. He was top-heavy with too much beer, but clear enough to realize that his money had disappeared. The Rat, sly, small, clean, inconspicuous, was at his shoulder.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.