Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER X. NEXT NOON

AT twelve o’clock the next noon, Jack Targon was seated at a desk in the office of the New Century Advertising Agency. The ex-convict was busy rewriting advertising copy — a task that had been assigned him in order that he might gain experience.

A friendly hand dropped on Jack’s shoulder. Jack looked up to recognize the austere face of Galen Flix, his new employer. Flix returned Jack’s frank smile.

“You’re going out to lunch with me, Targon,” informed the advertising man. “We have an appointment with a friend of mine. Joseph Daykin.”

“The importer?” questioned Jack, as he arose to get hat and coat. “The chap who hired Steve Zurk?”

“The same,” said Flix with a nod. “And Zurk will be there also. Let us drop the subject until we meet for lunch.”

Flix and Jack went from the office. They descended to the street and entered a hotel half a block away.

In a quiet corner of the grillroom they found Daykin, a portly, tired-faced man, waiting with Steve.

Handshakes were exchanged. The four men ordered from the menu. Then, as they began their leisurely meal, Galen Flix looked from Jack Targon to Steve Zurk. Solemnly, the ad man came to the subject that had brought this meeting.

“I presume,” he stated, “that both of you have read to-day’s newspapers?”

Nods from Jack and Steve.

“Then,” added Flix, “you have read of the murders that took place in the Swithin Apartment. The killing of Theobald Luftus and his servant, Barry.”

New nods.

“Luftus was a retired manufacturer,” explained Flix. “His company places all its advertising through my agency. Moreover, it imports certain raw materials through the Daykin Importing Company.

“Therefore, Mr. Daykin and I are greatly concerned over the death of Theobald Luftus. We are anxious to see his murderer brought to justice. It occurred to us that you two men” — he looked from Jack to Steve — “might have opinions regarding that terrible crime. If so, we should be glad to hear them.”

Jack Targon smiled slightly. Steve Zurk maintained a poker-faced countenance. It was Jack who spoke.

“I THINK the police are all wet,” he declared. “They haven’t got anything on this broker, Murson. It looks to me like a bunch of crude workers decided to bust in on Luftus, figuring the old gentleman had dough.

“The coppers muffed it. To cover up their dumbness, they’re following this Murson steer. There’s my opinion, Mr. Flix. But it’s not much of a one.”

“Why not?” questioned Flix.

“Well,” replied Jack, soberly, “I’m trying to forget my past; but I’ll talk about it for the time being. My specialty, when I was crooked, was confidence work. Swindles mostly; sometimes forgery. I stayed away from thugs.

“They’re crude, those fellows are. I always figured that if they were really smart, they’d be in some other racket. But I don’t know as much about them as I might. Steve here is the chap who can give you the expert opinion on that sort of crime.”

Flix looked toward Steve. The dark-faced man gave a slow, reminiscent nod.

“What about it, Zurk?” questioned Flix, in an urging tone.

“Jack is part right about it,” replied Steve. “And he’s part wrong. That’s my opinion, Mr. Flix.”

“Can you specify?” questioned the ad man.

“Yes,” nodded Steve. “It’s a case of even chances. Maybe those killers just blundered into Luftus’s place. Maybe they were wise to go there.”

“Assuming that they had a planned purpose,” urged Flix, “do you think that Murson was behind it?”

“Yes,” declared Steve. “And I’ll tell you why. If there was real swag in that box at Luftus’s, Murson would have known it.”

“That’s the theory held by the police.”

“Yes. And it may be right. Wrong, you understand, if the raid was just hit or miss. Right, though, if there was any brains behind it.”

“Do you think that Murson was with the killers?”

“It looks that way.”

Jack Targon shook his head as Steve paused. The opinion did not agree with his.

“Murson would have stayed out of it,” he assured. “You’re getting into my field of experience, Steve. Murson, if he hired killers, would have acted smooth—”

“You never bought up a crew of gorillas, did you?” quizzed Steve.

“No,” admitted Jack. “I wouldn’t have been fool enough to deal with murderers.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was smooth enough to handle my own jobs—”

“That’s enough. You’ve hit it.” Steve turned to Flix. “You hear what Jack says? He was smooth enough to lay off of mobs. He didn’t need them.”

“But you think that Murson—”

“Wasn’t smooth enough. That’s the answer, Mr. Flix. Here. Let me reason it out for you. I’ve seen enough dirty business to know how it works.”

Toying with a spoon and a saltcellar. Steve began to unfold his idea. He used the articles to indicate persons concerned.

“HERE’S Murson,” explained Steve, setting down the saltcellar with a thump. “A business man. A broker. He sees a chance to grab a lot of swag. He’s scary though. Needs somebody to do his dirty work for him. So he finds some bum mobsters.”

Steve set the spoon away from the saltcellar, to indicate the crooks approached by Murson. He lifted a half-filled glass of water and placed it at a new spot.

“Take Luftus,” he decided, looking steadily at the glass of water. “He’s the guy that has the stuff they want. A cinch for these gorillas, any time time want to go after it” — he was pushing the spoon toward the glass — “but Murson over here” — he tapped the saltcellar — “is on pins and needles.”

“Why?” questioned Flix.

“For fear the mob will bungle the job,” replied Steve. “And for another reason. He’s worried that they’ll beat it with the swag. Double-cross him. So he decides he’d better travel with them” — spoon joined saltcellar — “and take no chances either way.”

“Logical,” nodded Flix.

“That’s the way it works,” said Steve. “Well, Murson, to begin with, throws a bluff that he’s leaving for Washington. Then he goes up there with the outfit. They turn berserk and Murson does the same. It’s curtains for Luftus and his servant.

“The bulls get there. Barry tries to squawk. Who’s the first person he mentions? Murson. He says, ‘Murson brought’ — and then he croaks. What did Murson bring? The Mob. That’s simple, isn’t it?”

Flix and Daykin were nodding. But Jack Targon’s eyes were steadily, fixed upon Steve Zurk’s face. A grim smile began to form on Jack’s lips. The former confidence man became narrow in his gaze. Then, suddenly, Jack changed his expression. He lighted a cigarette and puffed in meditative fashion, as though disinterested in the case under discussion.

“I’m no dick,” asserted Steve, suddenly. He pushed spoon, saltcellar and glass aside. “Maybe Murson didn’t go up with that outfit; but if he didn’t, he probably stuck around outside and was ready to meet them when they came out. At least, that’s the way a guy like him would have worked it.

“One way or the other. With the mob or waiting for them. What Barry said makes it look like he was with them. It’s possible that he brought the fellows up to the penthouse; then went out, leaving them to do the dirty work. Barry’s statement would cover that.

“But the law has pinned it on Murson and I think they’ve got the goods. They’ve hit a tough snag, though. I was looking at the evening newspapers, just before lunch. None of the elevator operators at the apartment knew Murson, although they said they’d seen a guy like his picture come in there yesterday afternoon.”

“Do you think it was Murson?” inquired Flix.

“Sure,” said Steve. “He probably went up to look over the lay. Make sure the swag was there. But when he hit with his helpers, he used the service elevator.”

A pause. A waiter brought dessert. As the four men began to eat. Galen Flix made final comment.

“THE police are watching all outgoing trains,” he stated. “They are also on watch at tubes, ferries and bridges. The evening papers commented on that fact — something that the morning journals did not mention.

“Unquestionably, Murson will be apprehended. My worry was that he might not be the right man. But from what you have told us, Zurk, the law appears to be on the proper trail. What do you think of Zurk’s opinion, Targon?”

“Steve knows his stuff,” commented Jack, in a casual tone. “He’s the one to give the opinion. Not me. Anyway, I hope they grab this bird Murson.”

“So do I,” declared Flix — while Daykin nodded. Then, in an affable tone, the advertising man added:

“Both Mr. Daykin and myself must apologize for bringing up this discussion. We know that crime is a subject that you two gentlemen find distasteful.

“But, under the circumstances, we felt a meeting desirable. Because Luftus was our mutual friend you understand. Let us forget the matter. How is our friend Perry Delhugh? Have either of you seen him lately?”

“I dropped in on him last night,” declared Steve. “Along about seven o’clock. No — it was later than that. After eight, I guess. I stayed there about an hour — maybe longer.”

“I expect to call on him this evening,” declared Jack. His eyes were narrowing on Steve as he spoke. “Just for a short chat.”

Conversation turned to business. Flix and Daykin talked while their companions listened. All the while, Steve’s eyes were steady on either Flix or Daykin. He seemed to be avoiding Jack Targon’s gaze.

That was a fact that Jack alone noted. But Jack made no comment. At times, his lips pursed in knowing fashion. For Jack, despite his silence, had gained a definite opinion of his own.

His expression showed that he saw bluff behind the comments that Steve had made; that he believed the dark-faced man had concentrated on the theory of Murson’s guilt in order to avoid too much discussion.

For Jack Targon knew Steve Zurk. He understood the secrets of Steve’s past. He realized that he could easily have dropped remarks that might have worried his former pal. But Jack’s silence was expressive. It showed that for the present, at least, he had decided to keep his real opinions to himself.