Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER XV. THE MOB PREPARES

HARRY VINCENT was not the only agent who reported to The Shadow on that Wednesday night.

Other word came through Burbank. Important news from Cliff Marsland. Results had been accomplished in the underworld.

The Shadow had foreseen that Beak Latzo, from his new hideout, would begin to replenish the thinned ranks of the mob that he had used for battle. As yet, The Shadow had not gained a key to the identity of Beak’s chief lieutenant. Lucky Ortz had managed to keep his connection well covered.

But already, The Shadow’s agents — Cliff and Hawkeye — had picked out the gathering places of Lucky’s clan. The Shadow had ordered them to frequent those dives; and Cliff, now a habitue of the new hangout near Sooky’s pawnshop, had gained an important contact.

Posing as a gorilla anxious to gain a berth, Cliff had received a tentative proposition from a tough-mugged slugger known as Mike Rungel. The cagey offer to join up with an unknown mob had come on Wednesday night, some time after Harry Vincent had reported to The Shadow.

Cliff had arranged a new meeting with Rungel for the next day. The Shadow, after receiving this report, had sent instructions back through Burbank. With Cliff moving to a definite goal, The Shadow had decided to bide his time until word came through again from Cliff.

Cliff had arranged his next meeting with Mike Rungel for four o’clock Thursday afternoon. He had learned one important fact: namely, that Mike was not in direct contact with the leader higher up. Mike, a second-rate gorilla, was working through some pal.

AT three o’clock Thursday afternoon, an event occurred that was to show the wisdom of The Shadow’s waiting policy. Lucky Ortz, strolling from the neighborhood of Times Square, turned his paces in the direction of the building where Dangler’s little office was located.

He was paying an early visit to the unwitting tool who served as post office for Beak Latzo. When he reached the building, Lucky went up past the Chinese restaurant and strolled into Dangler’s office. The timid man blinked as he saw his visitor.

No customers were in the stamp dealer’s shop. Lucky noted that fact and lost no time in questioning Dangler.

“Anything for Beak?” asked the lieutenant.

Dangler nodded. He produced a letter from the old stamp album beneath the counter. Lucky received it, noted Steve’s scrawl on the envelope and uttered a gruff laugh as he pocketed the message.

Twenty minutes later, Lucky arrived at the door of Beak’s well-secluded hideout. He rapped five times.

Beak opened the door. Lucky entered and handed him the envelope.

Ripping the flap open, Beak snatched out the message and read it with eager eyes. A leer showed on his ugly lips.

“Looks good?” queried Lucky.

“Great!” returned Beak. “Here — read it.”

“No use. I can’t make out that writing.”

“Well, I’ll give you the lay. Steve’s got hep to something. Big boodle. A lawyer named Dokeby has it. Richard Dokeby. In the Hanna Building.”

“Where’s that located?”

“Here’s the address” — Beak pointed to a paragraph in Steve’s letter— “and it’s easy enough for you to read, being figures instead of words.”

Lucky looked at the letter; then nodded. His tone was quizzical.

“Forty-eighth Street,” he remarked. “I’m trying to figure out just where that street address is located. West of Sixth Avenue, it ought to be — maybe west of Seventh—”

“Steve says something here about an old garage. Place where they store cars from the Goliath Hotel.”

“I got it now. Sure, I know the place. Say, that ought to be a cinch to get into. What’s the system? Same as we used at the penthouse where we bumped Luftus?”

Beak nodded; then added a comment.

“The same, only easier,” he stated. “Because there won’t be anybody in this office of Dokeby’s. Steve wants a lot of us on the job, though. Just in case there’s trouble.”

“From The Shadow?”

“You guessed it. We’re going to hold off until nine bells, on account of there being a theater near Dokeby’s building. You know the way those theater crowds go. All over the street until the show starts; then they’re all stowed away until eleven.”

“Inside, watching the show.”

“Yeah. And no cops around bothering about traffic. Gives us a couple of hours in between. Listen now: here’s the way Steve wants it worked.”

“Spill away.”

“WE don’t move in a bunch. Instead, we tip the gorillas where to go. They slide around about the time people are getting into the theater across the street.”

“Good stuff.”

“It ought to be. It’s Steve’s idea. While the outfit’s getting posted, you and I wait. Then we blow in from a taxi and walk into the building.”

“It’ll be open?”

“Sure. And it’s an old dump with a stairway we can use to go up to the third floor. That’s where we’ll find Dokeby’s office. Well, when we go in, we’ll have a couple of good torpedoes waiting to follow us.”

Lucky nodded his understanding.

“Sherry and Pete are the guys for that,” he decided. “I’ll wise them where to be. Say — Steve must have looked over this lay.”

“He has.” Beak gestured with the letter. “He walked around there last night, before he sent this message. Something else, too” — a glance at the scrawled sheet — “about a garage next door. There ought to be some guys up there.”

“Up in the garage?”

“On the roof.” Beak was applying a match to the letter as he spoke. “They can get there easy, just about the time we’re going in. We want that lawyer’s office covered right. Savvy?”

“Good idea. Do we snatch every thing after we bust the safe?”

“No. Only the swag. It’ll probably be bundled. It’s some kind of a fund. Cash and securities.”

“I get you. Suppose we have to blow the box, though?”

“That won’t make no difference. It’s just as easy to pick out what we want and carry a small load as it is to grab everything that’s in the safe.”

Lucky nodded. He agreed.

“We’re set,” decided Beak. “All except about the gang. Did you get that fixed up last night?”

“I got hold of some dock wallopers,” said Lucky, slowly. “Three of ‘em — and good ones — that Sherry picked for me. They’ll do for the roof.”

“What about the mugs that Pete was supposed to line up?”

“Well, he got a couple, Pete did. One of ‘em was Mike Rungel.”

“I know Mike. He’s a good bet. Any others?”

“Yeah. Mike was to get one or two himself. I figured that was a good idea.”

“Where’s Mike now?”

“Waiting to hear from Pete.”

“And Pete?”

“Waiting to hear from me.”

Beak chuckled.

“Say,” he approved. “you’ve got a system, Lucky. No wonder you get the breaks the way you do. Keep yourself covered up, don’t you?”

“Why not? It pays, don’t it?”

“Sure thing. Well, slide out and see those eggs of yours. Sherry and Pete. Tell Sherry to buzz the dock wallopers and have Pete talk to Mike. Then there’s the gorillas down in that other hideout.”

“I’ll see ‘em.”

Lucky strolled. Beak scratched his big nose and chuckled in admiration of his lieutenant’s methods. Alone in his hideout, Beak was congratulating himself on success that he could already see.

DOWN in the new dive near Sooky’s pawnshop, Cliff Marsland was seated at a table in the corner of the smoke-filled room. Cliff’s face, chiseled and expressionless, gave no indication of the impatience that he was feeling.

Four o’clock had passed; yet Mike Rungel had not arrived. Across the room at another isolated table sat a hunched-up little man who seemed concerned only with a bottle on the table before him.

It was Hawkeye. He, too, had a hopeful purpose here.

The outer door opened. A big, tough-looking rowdy entered and sauntered up to a dilapidated bar in the corner of the room. It was Mike Rungel.

Cliff glanced at the newcomer; then stared in another direction. This was in keeping with arrangements.

Mike had arrived at last.

Rungel went out a side door — one that formed another exit through a passageway. A few minutes passed; then Cliff got up, strolled over to the bar, handed the proprietor a dollar bill and received some change. Cliff took the same exit that Mike had chosen.

Midway down the passage, Cliff stopped by a battered and obscure door. He rapped softly. The door opened. Cliff joined Mike in a gloomy storeroom, where empty bottles lay about in disarray.

“How about it?” was Cliff’s question, as soon as he had closed the door.

“All set,” returned Mike. “Usin’ you tonight, Cliff.”

“What’s the dope?”

“You an’ me’s coverin’ a job up on Forty-eighth Street. Office buildin’ across from de Marcel T’eater. ‘Longside of a garage.”

Cliff grunted.

“What time?” he questioned.

“Nine bells,” returned Mike. “But we get dere just when de crowd’s goin’ into de show. See? An’ we ain’t stickin’ out of Forty-eighth Street, after it’s clear. We’re coverin’ a couple of alleys dat go t’rough dere.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Naw. I gotta get a couple more guys to help out. One to go along wid me— one to be wid you. I seen one bird I know. I gotta dig up annodder.”

Cliff considered.

“Maybe there’s somebody hanging around this joint,” he remarked. “It ought to be easy to pick a guy here.”

“Who’s out dere?”

“One fellow I’ve seen around. A little squirt they call Hawkeye.”

“Is Hawkeye out dere? Say — he’s a foxy mug, dat boy. Dey say he can handle a gat, too.”

“Know him, do you, Mike?”

“Sure. But you can go out an give him de high sign.”

Cliff went back to the main room of the dive. Standing by the bar, he caught what seemed a chance stare from Hawkeye. Cliff gestured toward the exit; then went back to join Mike Rungel.

Three minutes later, Hawkeye joined them.

MIKE RUNGEL did the talking. He sounded out Hawkeye, found the little man interested, then began to loosen with the proposition.

Hawkeye grinned.

“If Cliff’s in,” he volunteered, “it’s good enough for me. Who do I work with?”

“You stick wid Cliff,” returned Mike. “Up by de t’eater. De alley on de left.”

Hawkeye nodded. Mike dug in his pocket and produced a roll of bills. He peeled some off the wad and handed the cash to Cliff and Hawkeye.

“Dat’s de start,” mentioned Mike. “More comin’ after de job. Meet you here, in dis joint, to-morrow. Four bells.”

The group broke up. Cliff strolled out through the exit; Mike followed shortly.

Hawkeye went back into the dive. The little man had caught a secret signal from Cliff, meaning that Cliff, himself, would report the news.

Agents of The Shadow were ready for their later meeting. Details of coming crime were already on their way, to be passed, through Burbank, to The Shadow.