“All right, Ed,” replied Le Blanc. “Keep your eye out tonight. Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak are inside.”
“No!” Heeny’s exclamation was one of astonishment. “They inside — alone?”
“Of course not,” laughed Le Blanc. “The Homicide Twins are there, too. That evens things up, Ed, but I just thought I’d better tip you off.”
“You hear that, Monk?” asked Heeny. “The Homicide Twins — that’s them Italians — Genara and Anelmo. Couple of tough greaseballs, them fellows. Come over here a year ago. Pete Varona brought them in, and they’ve been on the job ever since. Working for the big shot now, ain’t they, Joe?”
“They stand in right with Savoli,” admitted Le Blanc. “Come along with us, Monk. We’ll show you a gambling joint that would look neat in New York.”
He left the table, motioning to Harry as he went. Monk Thurman followed, while Eddie Heeny took his place at the look-out position.
When they reached the wall behind the pillar, Le Blanc knocked twice, and a small peephole opened. The man behind recognized Le Blanc. The sliding panel moved aside, and the three men entered.
HARRY had not realized that so many people had entered the gambling den. There was a good-sized crowd there now, and the room was filled with tobacco smoke. There was a low buzz of conversation, but most of the persons present were intent on their gambling.
Two quiet croupiers were operating the roulette wheels, and stacks of bills of high denomination were on the tables. The place was a miniature Monte Carlo, and the size of the stakes was evidently pleasing to Frank Marmosa, for that gentleman was walking about with a broad, beaming smile.
The proprietor noted Le Blanc the moment that he entered, and cast a glance of interrogation in his direction. Harry caught the significance; Marmosa wondered who Monk Thurman might be. Le Blanc made an upward gesture with his thumb, and Marmosa nodded.