Bill Quint and I were both fairly mellow by the time we had got this far. He emptied his glass again, pushed his hair out of his eyes and brought his history up to date:
“The strongest of ’em now is probably Pete the Finn. This stuff we’re drinking’s his. Then there’s Lew Yard. He’s got a loan shop down on Parker Street, does a lot of bail bond business, handles most of the burg’s hot stuff, so they tell me, and is pretty thick with Noonan, the chief of police. This kid Max Thaler—‘Whisper’—has got a lot of friends too. A little slick dark guy with something wrong with his throat. Can’t talk. Gambler. Those three, with Noonan, just about help Elihu run his city—help him more than he wants. But he’s got to play with ’em or else—”
“This fellow who was knocked off tonight—Elihu’s son—where did he stand?” I asked.
“Where papa put him, and he’s where papa put him now.”
“You mean the old man had him—?”
“Maybe, but that’s not my guess. This Don just came home and began running the papers for the old man. It wasn’t like the old devil, even if he was getting close to the grave, to let anybody cop anything from him without hitting back. But he had to be cagey with these guys. He brought the boy and his French wife home from Paris and used him for his monkey—a damned nice fatherly trick. Don starts a reform campaign in the papers. Clear the burg of vice and corruption—which means clear it of Pete and Lew and Whisper, if it goes far enough. Get it? The old man’s using the boy to shake ’em loose. I guess they got tired of being shook.”
“There seems to be a few things wrong with that guess,” I said.