“What’s he doing — laying low?”
“No. That ain’t it.” Spotter warmed up to his explanation. “I think Birdie’s in some soft racket, Reds. He ain’t no ordinary crook. He went to college, and all that. Then he found he could make soft dough.
“Come in on a guy like a thug; take the sap’s bank roll; then double on his tracks, and walk up to the guy like he was his friend, ready to sympathize with him.”
“That sounds smooth.”
“That ain’t nothin’, Reds. This Birdie Crull has gone to the station house with a guy he’s stuck up, reported it, an’ started the bulls out to find the crook that did it. All the time he’s got the stuff he took from the sap right in his pocket.
“Beat that?”
“Sounds good, Spotter. But what about the rod, and the knife?”
“He’s used ‘em both, Reds, an’ got away with it.”
“Maybe he’s done it too much to be safe.”
“Not him, Reds” — Spotter leaned forward to whisper — “he plants everything on some sap, and lets him be the goat. That’s his game, Reds. Don’t let on I told you. I’m the only guy that knows it.”