The Mobsmen On The Spot

CHAPTER X ERNIE COMPLETES PLANS

IT was early the following night when Ernie Shires appeared on a side street that led to Eighth Avenue. He walked along leisurely until he came to the blank wall of a large building. There he paused to light a cigarette.

He stood beside the building, scanning the street in both directions. The tiny end of the cigarette formed a meteoric streak as it shot across the sidewalk and fell in the gutter.

Satisfied that he was not observed, Ernie retraced his steps a few paces, ducked into an opening at the back of the building, and entered a small door. Prowling through the darkness, he came to another door and entered.

He pressed a switch. The light revealed a battered desk and several chairs. Ernie was in a back office of the New Era Garage!

There was an evil look on the gangster’s face as he sat at the desk, smoking another cigarette. He pushed a pile of papers on the floor, so that he could put his feet on the desk.

A newspaper attracted his attention. It was a copy of the Evening Sphere. Ernie began to read it.

Only the tightening and curling of his thin lips showed the various thoughts that passed through his mind. For the news story which Ernie was reading brought him both resentment and satisfaction.

The shooting at the Club Drury had caused a tremendous sensation. The management had done its best to suppress the news. The malefactors had escaped, and there was no direct clew to their identity.

It would have been easy to fix the police — the management had done it before — but the fact that three bullet-riddled bodies had been found on the premises put a serious aspect on the situation.

Ernie began to make a mental summary. There had been nine men in the gang — including himself — when the affray had commenced.

Bosker, the man who had gone to investigate, had been killed by a single shot. Bill, the gangster who had gone to the door, had been shot by the mysterious stranger who had turned out the lights and opened fire.

When the gangsters had responded, the stranger had no longer been there; but Bill’s inert form had received its quota of bullets. His own pals had killed him!

Luke Romano was the third who had been killed. His body had been found huddled in a corner near the doorway. Ernie remembered that corner. He had seen a revolver spurt, and had fancied that it was the stranger’s gun. He had fired in return.

He had killed Romano, himself! Luke was a useful man. It was too bad!

What the newspapers did not give was the toll of injuries. Three of the nine men had been killed; three had been wounded; only three had escaped unscathed.

Ernie was one. “Big Ben” Hargins, the dock walloper, was another. The third was Geek, the watcher in the hall.

Geek had taken a haymaker on the chin. He had been completely out during the battle; but he had come to his senses when Ernie and Big Ben had lifted him up, after they had been unable to find their adversaries.

THE shooting at the panel had brought a flock of tough waiters — the Club Drury possessed a horde of professional bouncers on its pay roll — but Ernie and the remainder of his mob had made a get-away through an exit at the other end of the corridor.

Ernie had held the waiters at bay with his threatening automatic, while Big Ben and Geek had helped three crippled gunmen to safety.

Then Ernie had followed.

The fact that displeased Ernie more than the death of his men was the linking of the shooting with racketeering. Another column on the front page announced that the police were forming antiracket squads.

Ernie realized that it had all started with his fiasco when he had attacked the storage van. Since then, there had been other incidents — all cited in the newspaper.

A baker had resisted gangsters who had sought to wreck his shop because he was selling bread below the racket-determined price. In the midst of the fracas, shots from the street had dropped the gangsters. Two of them had been captured.

Another group, bent on ruining a florist’s greenhouse in New Jersey, had been surprised in the darkness. One of them had been captured by the local police, and had been identified as a Manhattan gunman.

There had been other perplexing incidents, and all of these were bringing worriment to racketeers.

Ernie flung the newspaper on the floor. He kicked the edge of the desk with his toe.

He could see the menace that lay behind all this. The Shadow was responsible!

The methods of the racketeers had been too bold. They had passed by the police. The methods of the law were slow. Crooked politicians were many. It was easy to fix cops.

But here was some one — and Ernie knew who — trimming the edges of prosperous rackets, and causing public outbursts.

Notoriety was damaging to racketeering. That had been proven in the past. It was being proved now.

A door opened, and Big Ben Hargins entered. Ernie waved his hand in greeting. Hargins noted the scowl on Ernie’s face.

“What’s goin’ wrong, Ernie?” he questioned.

Ernie pointed to the newspaper on the floor.

“Some smart guy is trying to queer the rackets,” he said. “I’ll bet it’s the same bozo who messed things up for us last night. Well” — Ernie laughed sullenly — “we’ll see how far he gets with us! We’re organized for guys like him!”

“You’ve got six less men than you had last night,” was Big Ben’s candid reply. “Three dead — three laid up! That’s somethin’ to laugh off, ain’t it?”

“Well, ain’t you bringing in six dock wallopers to fill in?”

“Sure thing. They’ll be here tonight!”

“All right! That fixes us!”

“Yeah. But how about the three guys that was to drive them old trucks to—”

“That’s been fixed. I got hold of three others to-day. They’ll be in soon. That’s why I’m here now.”

BIG BEN picked up the newspaper that Ernie had discarded. He began to read the headlines laboriously, spelling out each word.

“There’s sure been a lot of squawkin’ lately,” was his comment. “Last night didn’t do no good.”

“Tonight’s the night that counts!” retorted Ernie. He withdrew his feet from the desk and leaned forward in his chair.

“Lookit, Ben! Things are fixed O.K. The Bronx is a tough place. The D.A. up there has been working against the rackets. That’s why we’re going to be down here when the blowoff comes!

“Three o’clock’s the time — that’s when we’re going to go places down here and clinch things right! There’s six garages we’ll bust into.

“I’m the only guy knows what ones they are. I got my instructions higher up. The mob follows me, see?

“There ain’t no guy can make trouble for us when we get started. Whoever the guy is that’s been making trouble — well, I hope he tries to crash in on us tonight! He’ll get his!”

“He will if he tries to bother my mob,” said Big Ben emphatically. “We’ve got things all our own way down at the docks. I notice they’ve laid offa the boys down there. There’s only one bird that can make trouble with my gang. That’s Hoke Larrigan.”

“Still trying to muscle in, is he?”

“Yeah. He’s gotta mob of his own, but it ain’t big enough to do nothin’. Bart Hennesy is too tough for him, and he knows it.

“I’ve been workin’ for Bart long enough to know that he’s king of the docks, and he’s goin’ to keep on bein’ king!”

“This job you fellows are doin’ tonight,” said Ernie shrewdly. “It’s O.K. with Bart, ain’t it?”

“Of course,” replied Ben. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t O.K. by Bart. He’s gettin’ his cut — and it’s plenty!”

A rough-looking, sallow-faced man came through the door which Big Ben had entered. Ernie grunted a greeting. The fellow handed him a storage receipt. It bore the name “Eureka Garage.”

“O.K.,” said Ernie. “Everything fixed, ain’t it?”

The man nodded.

“Get back here at two o’clock,” said Ernie.

The man left.

A few minutes later another appeared. He tendered a coupon that was marked “New Bronx Garage.”

Ernie began another conversation with Big Ben Hargins. While the men were talking, a third arrival appeared with a receipt on which was printed “Fogarty Garage Company.”

“That’s that!” said Ernie approvingly, after the third man had gone. “The smart-aleck D.A. up in the Bronx is going to have something to guess about to-morrow.

“I’ve done the tire-slashing. Been doing it all week, and swiping tires and damaging paint jobs, and all that. The garages that have swung in line are doing a good business with short parking. But these guys” — Ernie spread the three receipts like a poker hand — “have been figuring on getting business without paying for it!

“There’s a lot of others feel the same way. Watch ‘em fall in line, now. It’s going to be easy for the sales talkers and the collectors. This is a smooth racket, Ben!”

Ernie pulled open a drawer in the desk and dropped the receipts in it. He locked the door through which his visitors had come and motioned to Big Ben to follow him. Ernie went to the door that led to the darkened rear of the garage.

“We’ll go out this way, Ben,” he said. “Nothing to do here until later. Come along. We’ll take in a movie.”

HE stopped abruptly as he opened the door. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and threw its rays through the empty space ahead. The glare revealed small piles of boxes and pieces of junk from old automobiles.

“What’s the idea, Ernie?” asked Big Ben, peering over the gangster’s shoulder.

“See anything?” whispered Ernie.

The flashlight caused strange, uncouth shadows as it turned here and there. They were like mammoth, ghostly shapes. The rays swept a corner of the room.

Ernie hesitated an instant as the light revealed a depth of blackness; then he turned the rays in another direction.

“I don’t see nothin’ at all,” commented Big Ben. “Nothin’ except a lot of shadows. They don’t mean nothin’.”

“Maybe they do — sometimes,” replied Ernie cryptically. “I ain’t felt right, tonight, Ben. Guess I must be nervous” — the gangster laughed sarcastically — “because when I come in here, I figured some guy was trailing me.

“But there ain’t nobody here. That’s a bet! Come along!”

He turned out the torch and led the way through the darkness, after locking the door of the office. When they had passed the outside door, Ernie locked it also. The two men walked to the street; there Ernie gripped Ben and held him back.

“It was right here,” he said. “I was smoking a cigarette. I waited, and it seemed like eyes were watching me. Eyes somewhere in the dark. Wait a minute, Ben! We can’t be too careful!”

A short time elapsed; then Ernie was satisfied. He and his companion emerged and sauntered along the street. Ernie began to laugh at his own qualms.

Something moved back in the darkness of the room outside the back office. There was a slight rustling sound in that very corner that Ernie had passed with his light.

A vague, low sound came from the office door. The door opened as an invisible hand finished with the lock. The tiny ray of a vest-pocket torch appeared within the office.

The light rested on the desk. A black-clad hand appeared and opened the drawer. It removed the three receipts that Ernie had placed there. The light went out.

A low laugh filled the room. It was no louder than a convulsive breathing, but its sound was weird and terrifying. The drawer slid shut.

A few seconds later, the door closed. The lock clicked. There was a slight sound at the alley door. It opened. It closed. A vague shape moved toward the street.

The Shadow had come and gone! Like a phantom of the night, he had made his way to Ernie’s lair and had taken away three slips of cardboard.

What was the purpose of this nocturnal visit?

Only The Shadow knew!