A gang-leader named Zantzinger had been dancing with his wife at a ball on the second floor of a house in Avenue A. As he waltzed past the door leading to the back stairs, a friend looked in and called Zantzinger aside.
"Excuse me a minute," said the gangster to his wife.
He left her and went to his friend.
"Well?" he demanded.
"Butch Dellitt's down there," warned his friend, nodding toward the door. "His crowd's after you 'cause they say you piped off Dutch's brother-in-law's poolroom to the fly cops. He says he's goin' to croak you."
"Where is he?"
"He'll be 'round front when you come out."
"Where is he now?"
"Down back."
"Down these stairs?"