me in time. But you'll have to start at the bottom, of course, and I'll have to test you awhile first. I'll give you a job driving a truck at a hundred dollars a week."
Tony's heart sank. Driving a truck—he who had never been a roustabout but always a white collar gangster, who had never done any but the smoother and more gentlemanly types of gangster activity, and who had been somewhat of a figure in that small-time pre-war gangland. But then these were different times and this was a much bigger game that he wanted to sit in.
"All right, sir," he assented. "But I don't want to do that any longer than I have to; there's plenty of common hoods that can be hired for jobs like that."
"You can shoot?" queried Lovo softly.
"Yes; I have."
"In the army, you mean?"
"Yes. And before I went into it."
"Interesting. No, I don't think you'll be driving a truck very long. . . . Got a gat now?"
"No, sir."
"We'll furnish you one. . . . You broke?"
"No, sir. I got about six grand of my own."
"Good. But don't let anybody else know it.
