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There's half a dozen here knows I ain't heeled and kin swear to it case of a frame-up. Now go ahead and frisk me!" "That'll be all right we could easy take your word for it," said Casane, still maintaining his placating pose.
But Ginsburg had edged round past Casane, ready at the next warning move to take the gang leader on the flank with a quick forward rush, and inside their overcoats, the shapes of both the officers had tensed. "Call it a pinch if you want to," went on Casane. "I'd call it more of an invitation just to take a little walk with us two and then have a chat with somebody else.
The gangster put his open hands against the edge of the table as though for a rearward spring. "I'm tellin' you all we know ourselves?" countered Casane. His voice was conciliatory soothing almost.
One of the detectives detailed to this assignment was Hyman Ginsburg. His partner on the job was a somewhat older man named Casane. These two frequently worked together. Pulling in double harness they made a dependable team. Both had wit and shrewdness. By sight, Casane knew the individual they were deputed to take; Ginsburg, to his knowledge, had never seen him.
Like a match under shavings the words kindled half-forgotten memories in the young detective's brain and now for his part recognition came flashing back out of the past. "I thought so," he said, choosing to ignore the gangster and addressing Casane. "I thought from the first Gorman wasn't his right name. I've forgotten what his right name is, but it's nothing that sounds like Gorman. He's a wop.
"Unless you make it necessary, we won't be callin' for the wagon," Casane stated. "Just the three of us'll take a little stroll, like I'm telling you just stroll out and take the air up to Headquarters." He slipped into position on one side of the gangster, Ginsburg on the other.
Ginsburg winced at the pain but did not speak; he had not spoken at all up until now, leaving it to Casane as the elder man to conduct the preliminaries. "Why don't you say something, you Jew!" taunted the prisoner. "Don't you even know enough to excuse yourself when you stick your fat feet in people's way?" "That'll be all right," said Ginsburg crisply.
Taking their cue of action from their superior's words, Casane and Ginsburg, having come down the short flight of steps leading from the sidewalk, went directly across the barroom to where their man sat at a small table with two others, presumably both of his following, for his companions. The manner of the intruders was casual enough; casual and yet marked by a businesslike air.
"Evening," said Casane civilly, pausing alongside him. "Call yourself Gorman, don't you?" "I've been known to answer to that name," he answered back in the curious flat tone that is affected by some of his sort and is natural with the rest of them. "Wot of it?" "There's somebody wants to have a talk with you up at the front office that's all," said Casane. "It's a pinch, then, huh?"
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