The blue-jowled man regarded him with level eyes.
“My name’s Jacaro,” he said after an instant. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m from Chicago.”
Tommy smiled more widely.
“To be sure,” he admitted. “You were the man who introduced machine-guns into gang warfare, weren’t you? Your gunmen lined up half a dozen of the Buddy Haines gang against a wall and wiped them out, I believe. What do you want this secret for?”
The level eyes narrowed. They looked suddenly deadly.
“That’s my business,” said Jacaro briefly. “You know who I am. And I want that trick y’did. I got my own reasons. I’ll pay for it. Plenty. You know I got plenty to pay, too. Or else—”
“What?”
“Something’ll happen to you,” said Jacaro briefly. “I ain’t sayin” what. But it’s damn likely you’ll tell what I want to know before it’s finished. Name your price and be damn quick!”
Tommy took his hand out of his pocket. He had a gun in it.
“The only possible answer to that,” he said suavely, “is to tell you to go to hell. Get out! But Von Holtz stays here. He’d better!”