Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER II. BACK TO LIFE

WITHIN the drawing-room of Car G 3, two men were engaged in conversation. These men had been muffled with overcoats when they had come aboard the limited. At present they were in shirtsleeves. One was perched upon the edge of the lower berth; the other was seated on the benchlike couch.

The man on the edge of the berth was a smiling, light-complexioned chap about thirty years of age. His face was friendly, but flexible. Behind the smile lay a touch of natural shrewdness. His eyes carried a convincing sparkle.

The man on the couch was older. Forty would have been a good estimate of his age. He was dark-complexioned and his eyes showed a brooding look. His countenance, moreover, was dour — at moments, almost sullen.

Circumstances had brought these two together; those same circumstances had maintained their companionship. The younger, smiling man was Jack Targon, erstwhile swindler de luxe. The older, dour chap was Steve Zurk, former bank robber.

Pardoned by the governor, the two were riding, unwatched and unattended, toward New York. For the first time since they had met within prison walls, they were unharried by the law. Two convicts had come back to life, with the prospect of a crimeless future straight ahead.

“Buck up, Steve,” Targon was chuckling. “Can’t you get it through your noodle? We’re in the clear. Out of the big house. The world is ours!”

“Yours, maybe,” growled Zurk. “But maybe it won’t be mine. That’s why I’m worrying.”

“Why worry, Steve? You always said that you’d go straight if you had the chance. You’ve got it now. Say — that governor is a prince, the way he treated us.”

“He’s a square-shooter, all right.”

“And this fellow Delhugh, that we’re going to in New York. He must be another regular. Going to stake us, fix us up with good connections. What more do you want, Steve?”

“It’s not the future that worries me, Jack. It’s the past. That’s what you can’t see.”

“Nobody’s going to toss it up at us.”

Steve shifted uneasily and grunted from his couch. Jack watched him with troubled eyes. At last the older man leaned back. Propping himself to suit the motion of the train, he began a troubled explanation.

“You played a lone hand, Jack,” he declared. “Con games, phony checks, all that smooth sort of stuff. It was in your line.”

“No longer, Steve.”

“I understand that, Jack. You’ll go straight. It’s in you. A man can chuck anything that he has a mind to.”

“Which makes it easy for you, like me.”

“Not quite as easy. I was a tough mug, Steve. There are a lot of my sort who traveled with me.”

“Like Beak Latzo?”

“Yeah.”

There was a dejected growl in Steve’s tone at the mention of Latzo’s name. Jack eyed his companion closely. He saw a sharp look in Steve’s gaze. Then Steve closed his eyes.

“FELLOWS like Beak Latzo,” he remarked, “can never get it through their domes that a man can decide to go straight. They’re always looking for word from pals who get out of stir.”

“So Beak will be looking for word from you?”

“Maybe. I hope not.”

Another pause. Steve opened his eyes and looked squarely at Jack. He spoke in a steady, mechanical tone.

“The bulls never knew about the team-up, Jack,” said Steve. “They knew I had pals; but they didn’t need to find out who they were. They never picked out Beak Latzo.”

“Well, if nobody knows anything about him—”

“You know about him, Jack. You know that Beak worked with me.”

“Sure I do.” Targon spoke as steadily as Zurk. “You told me a lot about Beak Latzo when we were dodging posses together. But I’m mum. I’ve forgotten it.”

“That’s good, Jack. Keep it forgotten. Because it’s going to be a tough trip for me. If Beak doesn’t hear from me, I’ll hear from him.”

“He won’t hear from you, will he?”

“Not by a long shot. But if I hear from him, it may look like he heard from me.”

“I’m beginning to get it, Steve. That is tough. But if the bulls never knew about you and Beak—”

“I told you why they didn’t know, Jack. Because they never troubled to find out. But if they started digging up the past, they would uncover it. Once they suspect a connection between me and Beak, things would be bad.”

A pause, broken only by the scratch of a match as Jack Targon lighted a cigarette. He offered a smoke to Steve Zurk, who shook his head. The older man was still solemn. A blast of the engine’s whistle stimulated his thoughts to words.

“The others don’t count, Jack,” Steve told his companion. “Beak Latzo is the only guy that’s really tough. It won’t be easy if he tries to needle me. But I’ll handle him — in my own way.

“That’s why I’m mentioning it to you. Because you know what I’m up against. If Beak Latzo begins to make things sour, I’ll count on you to help me out.”

“Which I will, Steve. Provided—”

“Provided what?”

“Provided that you keep on the level.”

An angry growl from Steve. Jack silenced it with a prompt remark, as he reached over and clapped his hand on his pal’s shoulder.

“You could say the same to me, Steve,” came Jack Targon’s statement. “I’m all for you if you play straight. I want you to feel the same about me. We’re going back into life; we’ve each got the chance we want. But it’s up to each of us to be on the level.”

“All right, Jack,” grunted Steve. “But you know I’ve always been a square-shooter. There was no reason to suggest that I might be going to pull something phony.”

“You’ve been square with me, Steve. But that was when both of us had to buck the world. Now we’ve got the world with us. It’s a different slant — that’s all.”

“I’ve figured that. I’m all for it. I told the governor so and I meant it. No more stick-ups and bank jobs for me. I’m out of that line, Jack.”

“And I’m through with my old business. I wouldn’t sell a guy a gold brick if he asked for it, Steve. Shakedowns, bum checks — all that stuff is forgotten. When I sign any name from now on, it will be my own.”

JACK TARGON reached up, grabbed the edge of the upper berth and hoisted himself to the shelflike bed. Propped on one elbow, he grinned down at Steve Zurk.

“Better than the night we rode this line behind baggage,” he commented. “Eh, Steve? Remember the storm that night? And the shack we found to sleep in after we dropped off the limited?”

Steve nodded.

“We’re in prime luck right now, Steve,” went on Jack. He was propped up against the pillows, finishing his cigarette. “We both have brains enough to make the most of it. This is a great situation. The two of us clear for the first time since we met.

“I couldn’t chin with you, Steve, while those deputies were bringing us over to Dupaw. I was looking forward to this chat. You’ve spoiled it a bit, though, acting glum the way you are. You didn’t worry about Beak Latzo when we were palling around after those jail breaks.”

“No need to worry about him then,” snorted Steve. “I could have used him if he’d been around. But now I don’t want him on my neck. Nor any of the others.”

“Forget Beak Latzo. Forget all of them. Look here, Steve: I was worrying— so were you — when we left the big house to-day. Worrying for fear people would be looking at us. Following us, watching us.

“But it was all fixed in our favor. The car was there ready for a thirty-mile drive to Dupaw. The governor had this swell drawing-room all reserved so we could step out of sight. Not a person on this train knows who we are.

“We’ll step off in New York just like the rest of the passengers. We’ll report to this chap Perry Delhugh just as we would go into a business office. The warden told us to forget the past. We’re going to do it.”

“I hope I can,” commented Steve, dryly. “What’s more I will. Unless Beak Latzo tries to block me. He’ll be expecting word from me, that rat will.”

“May be Beak isn’t in New York, Steve.”

“If he isn’t there, he can be reached at the same old place. He knows I know that.”

“Forget it.”

Jack Targon reached from the upper berth and tossed his cigarette into an ash stand. Steve Zurk arose from the couch and entered the lower berth.

“Well,” he growled, “there’s something in what you say, Jack. The governor gave us a break; this fellow Delhugh is going to do the same. Even the warden helped us out by letting us come into New York on this train.”

“Traveling incognito,” chuckled Jack. “Unannoyed by gentlemen of the press.”

“That’s right, Jack.” Steve spoke as though he had made a discovery. “None of the news hounds got on our trail. What did the warden do? Bluff them?”

“HE talked to them,” returned Jack. “So one of the deputies said. After the reporters interviewed us last night, the warden told them how and where we were going and made them agree to lay off.”

“Like as not they’ll be at the station when we hit New York.”

“I don’t think so. That fellow Burke was the only New York reporter there. We gave him all the interview he wanted. He won’t be likely to hound us.”

“That’s a help. If we can dive out of sight, Jack, it a going to make it easier.”

“No need to dive, Steve. We’ll be real men again. With a chance ahead of us. Lost in the shuffle of New York, like all the other citizens.”

A pause. Then Steve remarked from the lower berth:

“This guy Delhugh must have a lot of coin.”

“I guess he does, Steve. He’s a philanthropist.”

“Hands out a pile of dough to charities?”

“Yes. Runs welfare committees. Gets contributions to worthy causes.”

“An old bloke, I guess.”

“Sounds that way. But he’s only going to place us. All that newspaper talk interested him, and he made an arrangement with the governor. Going to give us a lift.”

“Well, I’d rather be in New York than out in this state. New scenery — big city — well, it makes me feel better.”

“Forgetting about Beak Latzo?”

“You can’t forget that egg, Jack. But I’m not worrying about him. Just remember what I said. Keep mum about him. I’ll be on the level.”

“Good boy, Steve. That’s the way to talk.”

Lights went out. The drawing-room was in darkness as the limited roared eastward. No sound came from the upper berth. Jack Targon had gone to sleep. Steve Zurk, still awake, kept mumbling for a while; then became silent.

In the adjoining compartment, a slight click sounded as The Shadow removed his earphones. Fingers, invisible in the darkness, detached the connection of the dictograph wire.

Through Clyde Burke, one of his secret agents, The Shadow had learned that the ex-convicts would be aboard this train. Clyde, a reporter for the New York Classic, had forwarded his chief the number of the car in which Zurk and Targon were to be located.

Knowing that the train trip would give the former outlaws their first opportunity to discuss their new life, The Shadow had boarded the Eastern Limited for the purpose of hearing them talk. He wanted to gain first-hand knowledge of their opinions.

The Shadow had gained an impression of sincerity from the discourse of both the pardoned men. Though his usual task was to harry men of crime, The Shadow had more than once aided ex-crooks to go straight.

He was ready to do that for Steve Zurk and Jack Targon. That was another reason why he had listened in on their gabfest. A soft laugh told that The Shadow was pleased with his findings. For he had learned of a menace to society with whom he well might deal.

“Beak” Latzo. The Shadow knew of the man. A dangerous mobleader, at present absent from New York. One who was apt to return to Manhattan, now that Steve Zurk was free.

Steve Zurk saw trouble ahead from Beak Latzo. At least, Steve Zurk had expressed that idea to his pal, Jack Targon. The Shadow could see a way to eliminate such trouble.

That way would be to uncover Beak Latzo.

Again a soft laugh whispered in the blackness of the compartment. The Shadow had gained a quest. To find and deal with the menacing mobleader, Beak Latzo.