Chapter 17
OTTO SUNDERLAND:
"Cops get lucky, like everybody else. I had been chasing Luis Scalici for a lot of years. All the way from the old neighborhood to easy street.
He wasn't Mister Big in the mob, but he was riding good and high. He was an organizer. The more widespread the mob operations, the more they needed organization. It was 'way out of his line to set up a pigeon and knock him over, I didn't believe that Boodle had had anything to do with the death of Mr. Warwick, but you never can tell. I had heard he knew Stephanie Warwick. That kind of thing had been in the columns. I just gave it a try.
He was surprised to see me. He was living in a joint that reeked with plush and fur. He had a fancy blonde and expensive liquors. They told me he changed the blonde daily. I mentioned the Warwick hit and he played dumb.
He played a little too dumb. It made me wonder.
I got the boys to check up on Stephanie, the wife. She had taken a boat to Europe, but the Warwick enterprises were too well known. It only took about a week to run down some interesting facts. She was broke and owed money. He had been tight with dough, according to some of his friends and associates, and was wiser to her than she knew.
He didn't shell out easily. We figured she might have had him killed. According to everyone who would talk to us, she had a heart like a ball bearing. A small one.
Luis Scalici was the only one of the mob that she had known well. The more we examined it, the place and circumstance, the more it looked like a very smooth professional job. The kind of job the mob might do. Stephanie's description of the gunman would fit a million guys. She had said she was hysterical.
It didn't add up.
So we searched Scalici's apartment. And we found a snapshot of a foreign car. Warwick's car.
We had evidence that a hood named Gillie had been in town and was now vanished. The job fitted Gillie's MO, and marksmanship.
We pulled Scalici in and made the rap stick. We didn't get him for murder one, but we sent him up for manslaughter-better than nothing.
By the time he got out his kind of mob was passe. We got him again for hustling and white slave. He made the circle, from poverty to poverty. Some whores do better. Not many, but one here and there."
LILLI de WITT:
"I never did encourage a girl to get into the life. You didn't have to, of course, there were always enough girls banging on the door to get in.
It was easy. That's what hooks 'em, I think. I've heard so many girls say: "I got into it too young. I was only fourteen-I was only just out of school-."
Most of them admitted to me that they didn't know what they were getting into. It seemed easy, and then the longer they worked at it the worse it got. Some grew to hate men; some grew to hate themselves. The easy money didn't stick. Pimps got it or they gave it away. Many whores considered it 'dirty' money, even without consciously thinking about it. They showed what they thought by throwing it away: easy come, easy go.
Whores are almost always associated with the lower or criminal classes too. That's the way it is. You buy 'Hot' goods from them, clothes and merchandise, and you learn to hate cops.
I've seen some girls who wouldn't believe anything you said to them, not if you told them the time of day. They've heard so many lies and been involved in so many shady deals that they can't adjust to honesty. That's a terrible way to live.
So, many of them take narcotics or drown in liquor. Damn few save anything for old age. I don't know how many reach old age. They damn sure haven't paid taxes on their earnings; I wonder how many are on social security. It's a great life if you can stand it. For a while. Every whore wants to get out, and the ones who marry and live minus sin are the lucky ones to my mind.
The odds are against anyone sinning six days a week and praying one.
I'm not dumb enough to think that there won't always be whores around. If there's a demand, there'll be some cute little hustler to fill it.
My advice is, don't let it be you. It is not a heaven on earth. It may be for a while, but honey, you'll get old. The Johns want 'em young and you're not going to win where Ponce de Leon failed. It's the worst ride there is with nothing but parasites to keep you company.
That's the way it is."