Sometimes we met our victims at saloons. Velica would be talking to some Italian immigrant who had money, when I would turn up and be introduced. Treating all around and flashing a roll of bills I could soon win the sucker's respect and confidence, and make him ante up on any old con. One day in a saloon in Newark we got an Italian guy for one hundred and fifty dollars. Before he left the place, however, he suspected something. We had promised him the position of foreman of a gang of laborers, and after we got his dough we could not let well enough alone, and offered to give his wife the privilege of feeding the sixty Italians of whom he was to be the foreman. I suppose the dago thought that we were too good, for he blew and pulled his gun. I caught him around the waist, and the bartender, who was with us, struck him over the head with a bottle of beer. The dago dropped the smoke-wagon and the bartender threatened to put him in prison for pulling a rod on respectable people. The dago left the saloon and never saw his money again.
About this time, too, I had an opportunity to go into still another lucrative kind of swindling, but didn't. It was not conscience either that prevented me from swindling the fair sex, for in those days all touches,—except those made by others off myself—seemed legitimate. I did not go in for it because, at the time it was proposed to me, I had enough money for my needs, and as I have said, I was lazy. It was a good graft, however, and I was a fool for not ringing in on it. The scheme was to hire a floor in a private house situated in any good neighborhood. One of the mob had to know German, and then an advertisement would be inserted in the Herald to the effect that a young German doctor who had just come from the old country wanted to meet a German lady of some means with a view to matrimony. A pal of mine who put such an advertisement in a Chicago paper received no less than one hundred and forty five answers from women ranging in age from fifteen to fifty. The grafters would read the letters and decide as to which ladies they thought had some money. When these arrived at the office, in answer to the grafters' letters, they would meet two or three men, impersonating the doctor and his friends, who had the gift of "con" to a remarkable degree. The doctor would suggest that if the lady would advance sufficient money to start him in business in the West it would be well. If he found she had plenty of money he married her immediately, one of his pals acting the clergyman. She then drew all her money from the bank, and they went to a hotel. There the doctor leaving her in their room, would go to see about the tickets for the West, and never return. The ladies always jumped at these offers, for all German women want to marry doctors or clergymen; and all women are soft, even if they are so apt to be natural pilferers themselves.
When I was hard up, and if there was no good confidence game in sight, I didn't mind taking heavy chances in straight grafting; for I lived in a dream, and through opium, was not only lazy, but reckless. On one occasion a Jew fence had put up a plan to get a big touch, and picked me out to do the desperate part of the job. The fence was an expert in jewels and worked for one of the biggest firms that dealt in precious stones. He kept an eye on all such stores, watching for an opening to put his friends the grafters "next." To the place in question he was tipped off by a couple of penny weighters, who claimed it was a snap. He agreed with them, but kept his opinion to himself, and came to see me about it. I and two other grafters watched the place for a week. One day the two clerks went out together for lunch, leaving the proprietor alone in the store. This was the opportunity. I stationed one of my pals at the window outside and the other up the street to watch. If I had much trouble with "the mark" the pal at the window was to come to my assistance. With red pepper (to throw, if necessary, in the sucker's eyes) and a good black jack I was to go into the store and buy a baby's ring for one dollar. While waiting for my change, I was to price a piece of costly jewelry, and while talking about the merits of the diamond, hit my man on the head with the black jack. Then all I had to do was to go behind the counter and take the entire contents of the window—only a minute's work, for all the costly jewels were lying on an embroidered piece of velvet, and I had only to pick up the four corners of the velvet, bundle it into a green bag, and jump into the cab which was waiting for us a block away. Well, I had just about got the proprietor in a position to deal him the blow when the man at the window weakened, and came in and said, "Vix." I thought there was a copper outside, or that one of the clerks was returning, and told the jeweler I would send my wife for the ring. I went out and asked my pal what was the matter. He said he was afraid I would kill the old fellow, and that the come-back would be too strong. My other pal I found a block away. We all went back together to the fence, and then I opened on them, I tell you. I called them petty larceny barnacles, and came near clubbing them, I was so indignant. I have often had occasion to notice that most thieves who will steal a diamond or a "front" weaken when it comes to a large touch, even though there may be no more danger in it than in the smaller enterprises. I gave those two men a wide berth after that, and whenever I met them I sneered; for I could not get over being sore. The "touch" was a beauty, with very little chance of a come-back, for the police don't look among the pickpockets for the men who make this kind of touches, and I and my two companions were known to the coppers as dips.
Just before I fell for my third and most terrible term, I met Lottie, and thought of marrying. I did not love her, but liked her pretty well, and I was beginning to feel that I ought to settle down and have a decent woman to look after me, for my health was bad and I had little ambition. Lottie seemed the right girl for the place. She was of German extraction, and used to shave me sometimes at her father's barber shop, where I first met her. She seemed to me a good, honest girl, and I thought I could not do better, especially as she was very fond of me. Women like the spruce dips, as I have said before, and even when my graft had broadened, I always retained the dress, manners and reputation of a pickpocket. Lottie promised to marry me, and said that she could raise a few hundred dollars from her father, with which I might start another barber shop, quit grafting, and settle down to my books, my hop and domestic life. One day she gave me a pin that cost nine dollars, she said, and she wouldn't let me make her a present. All in all, she seemed like a sensible girl, and I was getting interested in the marriage idea. One day, however, I discovered something. I was playing poker in the office of a hotel kept by a friend of mine, when a man and woman came down stairs together and passed through the office. They were my little German girl and the owner of a pawn-shop, a Sheenie of advanced years. Suddenly I realized where she had got the pin she gave me; and I began to believe stories I had heard about her. I thought I would test her character myself. I did, and found it weak. I did not marry her! What an escape! Every man, even a self-respecting gun, wants an honest woman, if it comes to hitching up for good.
Soon after I escaped Lottie, I got my third fall for the stir. The other times that I had been convicted, I was guilty, but on this occasion I was entirely innocent. Often a man who has done time and is well-known to the police is rounded up on suspicion and convicted when he is innocent, and I fell a victim to this easy way of the officials for covering up their failure to find the right person. I had gone one night to an opium joint near Lovers Row, a section of Henry Street between Catherine and Oliver Streets, where some guns of both sexes were to have a social meeting. We smoked hop and drank heavily and told stories of our latest touches. While we were thus engaged I began to have severe pains in my chest, which had been bothering me occasionally for some time, and suddenly I had a hemorrhage. When I was able I left the joint to see a doctor, who stopped the flow of blood, but told me I would not live a month if I did not take good care of myself. I got aboard a car, went soberly home to my furnished room, and—was arrested.
I knew I had not committed any crime this time and thought I should of course be released in the morning. Instead however of being taken directly to the station house, I was conducted to a saloon, and confronted with the "sucker". I had never seen him before, but he identified me, just the same, as the man who had picked his pocket. I asked him how long ago he had missed his valuables, and when he answered, "Three hours," I drew a long sigh of relief, for I was at the joint at that time, and thought I could prove an alibi. But though the rapper seemed to weaken, the copper was less trustful and read the riot act to him. I was so indignant I began to call the policeman down vigorously. I told him he had better try to make a reputation on me some other time, when I was really guilty, whereupon he lost his temper, and jabbed me in the chest with his club, which brought on another flow of blood from my lungs.
In this plight I was taken to the station house, still confident I should soon be set at liberty, although I had only about eighty dollars for fall-money. I hardly thought I needed it, but I used it just the same, to make sure, and employed a lawyer. For a while things looked favorable to me, for I was remanded back from court every morning for eight days, on account of lack of evidence, which is almost equivalent to a turn-out in a larceny case. Even the copper began to pig it (weaken), probably thinking he might as well get a share of my "dough," since it began to look as if I should beat the case. But on the ninth day luck turned against me. The Chief of detectives "identified" me as another man, whispering a few words to the justice, and I was committed under two thousand dollars bail to stand trial in General Sessions. I was sent to the Tombs to await trial, and I knew at last that I was lost. My character alone would convict me; and my lawyer had told me that I could not prove an alibi on the oaths of the thieves and disorderly persons who had been with me in the opium joint.
No matter how confirmed a thief a man may be, I repeat, he hates to be convicted for something he has not done. He objects indeed more than an honest man would do, for he believes in having the other side play fair; whereas the honest man simply thinks a mistake has been made. While in the Tombs a murderous idea formed in my mind. I felt that I had been horribly wronged, and was hot for revenge. I was desperate, too, for I did not think I should live my bit out. Determined to make half a dozen angels, including myself, I induced a friend, who came to see me in the Tombs, to get me a revolver. I told him I wanted to create a panic with a couple of shots, and escape, but in reality I had no thought of escape. I was offered a light sentence, if I would plead guilty, but I refused. I believed I was going to die anyway, and that things did not matter; only I would have as much company as possible on the road to the other world. I meant to shoot the copper who had beaten me with his club, District Attorney Olcott, the judge, the complainant and myself as well, as soon as I should be taken into the court room for trial. The pistol however was taken away from me before I entered the court: I was convicted and sentenced to five years at Sing Sing.
Much of the time I spent in stir on my third bit I still harbored this thought of murder. That was one reason I did not kill myself. The determination to do the copper on my release was always in my mind. I planned even a more cunning revenge. I imagined many a scheme to get him, and gloat over his dire misfortunes. One of my plans was to hunt him out on his beat, invite him to drink, and put thirty grains of hydrate of chloral in his glass. When he had become unconscious I would put a bottle of morphine in his trousers pocket, and then telephone to a few newspapers telling them that if they would send reporters to the saloon they would have a good story against a dope copper who smoked too much. The result would be, I thought, a rap against the copper and his disgrace and dismissal from the force would follow. Sometimes this seemed to me better than murder; for every copper who is "broke" immediately becomes a bum. When my copper should have become a bum I imagined myself catching him dead drunk and cutting his hamstrings. Certainly I was a fiend when I reflected on my wrongs, real and imaginary. At other times I thought I merely killed him outright.