Steve Cronin steadied himself with an effort.
The name of Morris Clarendon was known to every gangster in Chicago. Clarendon was a fearless prosecutor, one who had sent racketeers and bootleggers to jail despite the efforts of gangland’s high-salaried lawyers.
“You are to get Morris Clarendon,” said Borrango, as though echoing the words of his chief. “He has been a troublemaker. It is time that he was put on the spot. So do not fail.”
Steve Cronin nodded, and a gleam of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. Determination governed his features, for he realized that here was the opportunity he had long awaited.
Steve recalled that an important case was coming up within the next week, and that Clarendon had announced that he would send two prominent racketeers to jail. The assistant district attorney was keeping certain witnesses under cover. Gangland had not been able to reach them.
Now Cronin thought he understood. With Clarendon dead, the unknown witnesses would lose their protector. More than that, they would be terrified by the death of the man upon whom they relied. They would fear the iron hand of Nick Savoli, king of mobsters.
BUT Steve Cronin knew only half the story. Nick Savoli was no clumsy fool. When he used his methods, he always considered the future.
The racketeers who were up for trial had no connection with him. On the contrary, they were secretly identified with Larrigan, archenemy of King Savoli.
This killing was to accomplish two ends: first, to eliminate the one prosecutor who was a thorn to Nick Savoli; second, to make trouble for those gangsters who had interfered too often in Savoli’s business.
Neither Savoli nor Borrango explained this. They wanted Steve Cronin to fear for his own safety; to thank them for the alibi which they had provided. So they remained as motionless and as expressionless as pieces of statuary, while they watched the emotions that Cronin betrayed.