Free Neon Mirage by Max Allan Collins

that a fair exchange.”
    Guzik grunted his laugh. “Frank got a charge out of you. I can see why.”
    He meant Nitti.
    “How did you know I’d be going to my office?” I asked.
    “I didn’t. I posted a man there and another at the Morrison.”
    Fat little bastard thought of everything.
    “Mr. Guzik, before we get into anything, there’s something you ought to know: Lt. Drury has a warrant out for your arrest right now.”
    Guzik shrugged gently. “I’ll talk to my lawyer. Go in to the station, tomorrow or the next day.”
    “But you’re in a public place…”
    “Don’t be silly, Heller. Are the police going to bother me here? Who is Drury going to get to make the collar?”
    He was referring to the fact that St. Hubert’s was where Guzik acted as paymaster for the police, prosecutors and political bosses of the eight-county metropolitan area. So that pretty much made it hands off. He felt safe here. That was more than I could say.
    “I have a job for you,” he said, cutting the lamb.
    “I guess you know I’m working for Jim Ragen,” I said, carefully. “I don’t mean to insult you, Mr. Guzik, but there’s such a thing as a conflict of interests.”
    “I like you, Heller,” he said, but I didn’t figure he liked me. I didn’t figure he liked anything or anybody, except maybe his family, money and food. Of course that’s true of a lot of people.
    He went on: “Loyalty is important. Al was loyal to me, and now I’m loyal to Al. He’s down there in Miami nutty as a squirrel, and a lot of the boys think there’s no need to keep him on the payroll. There’s not a lot of call for brain-damaged people in our business. But I keep him on the payroll. That’s loyalty.”
    He ate a bite of lamb, leaving a place for me to say something, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I could feel the eyes of the bodyguards on me.
    “We aren’t friends,” he said. “I don’t expect loyalty from you. If you do a job for me, I expect it. But you and me—well, I think you and Frank had an understanding. But to be truthful, to me you’re just a guy who did me a favor once. A guy who can be trusted. That’s a lot. I don’t mean to play that down.”
    “I already asked you for a favor, Mr. Guzik,” I said, meaning when I asked him to lay off Ragen’s niece because she was my girl. “I don’t figure you owe me anything.”
    “I don’t know about that. When those bookies snatched me, we needed somebody both sides trusted to deliver the dough. And when things got ugly, during the exchange, you came through for me. You did right by me. I don’t forget things like that.”
    He was finished with his lamb chop. Since it was after ten o’clock, I wondered if this had been a late supper for him or just a snack.
    He poured himself some Mosel wine; then he poured me some.
    “Jim Ragen is a friend of mine,” he said. “This has all been a misunderstanding.”
    “Mr. Guzik, I was there. I had shots fired on me. I took Ragen’s body to the hospital—he’s been crippled for life from this. Excuse me, but that’s not a misunderstanding.”
    Guzik’s eyes went hard behind the gray glass. He pointed a stubby finger at me; it was as steady a finger as has ever been pointed my way.
    He said, “That wasn’t my hit. It was that crazy bastard Siegel.”
    I felt my face tighten. “Siegel? Bugsy Siegel?”
    “Don’t ever call him that or he’ll have you killed.”
    Yeah, and you don’t like being called “Greasy Thumb,” either, do you, Jake? But you can’t peel off all those bills without getting some ink on your thumb…
    “Why Siegel?” I asked.
    “Siegel wants Ragen gone. He figures when Ragen goes, Continental Press will close up shop. The survivors will be too afraid to compete with him and his Trans-American.”
    “I thought that was your operation. I thought Siegel was your boy.”
    Guzik’s mouth twitched. “He’s supposed to be working for us, and for his Eastern friends.” He shook his