Barbary Street Incident, A John Cronin Private Eye Short Story - Plot & Excerpts
And you can’t have sympathy for all of them; sometimes you have to be hard, and I’ve been hard with plenty of them. But never let anyone tell you that a private detective has no heart at all, because even old yours truly himself—the old, cold stone of Barbary Street—got to feeling pretty bad once about the affairs of people, especially one big guy that could have broken me in two if he’d had a mind to do it. His name—the only one he had as far as I knew—was Little Caesar. The first time I saw Little Caesar he was bending over me slapping my face. I struggled to a sitting position and inspected myself. I had been lying in the gutter, rather grotesquely since I hadn’t moved since I had been dumped there. I used one elbow and the curb to keep myself from slipping back into my old position. Little Caesar was stooping over me, grinning. His huge hulk blocked everything else from sight. Straining my bloodshot eyes, I regained my perception of proportion; he was the biggest man that had ever picked me out of the gutter.
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