“We need perfect work, Steve,” interrupted Mike Borrango. “One slip is one too many. If it was any one but you — ” He waved his hands to indicate that dismissal would have been the verdict.
“You get The Shadow,” interposed Savoli. “Then we will forget last night.”
Steve Cronin arose.
“Well,” he said bitterly, “you fellows know best. I don’t know where you’re going to get a guy that will take Steve Cronin’s place, though. Perhaps-”
He caught himself. As he turned away he failed to see the knowing expression that appeared on the faces of both the other men.
“So long, Mike. So long, Nick.” Cronin was hasty in making his farewell. “I’ll be at Marmosa’s tonight.”
He left the apartment. When the door had closed behind Steve Cronin, Mike Borrango laughed, and Nick Savoli grinned.
“You know what he was thinking, Mike?” questioned the big shot, in Italian.
“Of course,” responded the enforcer. “He knows who we’re going to get in his place — Monk Thurman.”
“Has Al Vacchi got hold of Thurman, yet?”