Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER XXII. SQUADS SET FORTH

A SINGLE light was burning in a stone-walled room. One dozen hard-boiled ruffians were seated about on battered chairs and benches. Facing them was an ugly-visaged rogue whose big, flattened nose marked his identity.

Beak Latzo was talking to his mob of gorillas.

“At last you mugs know who you’re working for,” announced Beak, in a growled tone. “Some of you thought you were in with Lucky Ortz. The rest of you didn’t know who was paying you. You hadn’t even met Lucky.

“Well, Lucky was handling things for me. While I kept under cover. Except when the jobs were on; then I was there. Two guys helped me and Lucky on the first job while some of you were guarding my old hideout. The whole bunch was in on the second. All except those of you who are new guys with the outfit.”

Beak paused. He was bringing up ominous recollections. Only two of this mob were survivors of the original battle with The Shadow. Only three others— Rungel, Cliff and Hawkeye — were leftovers from the second fray.

“We ran into some tough breaks,” stated Beak, “but tonight’s a cinch. The job we’re doing could be handled by me and a couple of torpedoes. But we’re all going along, so’s to take no chances.

“A house out on Long Island. Belongs to a guy named Joseph Daykin. An importer. He’s got a storeroom loaded with a lot of fancy swag. Savvy?

“Well, this room of his is easy gotten into from outside. Down through the cellar. Daykin thinks nobody knows about it. That’s why it’s soft. A few of us are going in to bring out the swag.

“The rest of you will be around. Covering. Whoever we hand the swag to brings it here. Savvy? Because I’m going in with the torpedoes to see what else we can grab. Daykin’s got a safe upstairs that we can hit after the big swag’s gone.

“We’ll have all the buggies we need for a get-away; but we want the heavy stuff riding clear before we start after the box upstairs. Lucky’s coming here to join us—”

Beak broke off as five taps came from the only door of the room. Striding over, Beak opened the door and admitted Lucky. He started to speak to the lieutenant.

Lucky stopped him and motioned outside. They left together; while Beak closed the door, Lucky produced an open envelope.

“Lamp this!” he exclaimed, in an eager whisper. “I got it from Dangler, just now. From Steve. It was left in Dangler’s office. I opened it riding in a cab. Steve’s got The Shadow!”

BEAK grabbed the letter. He read the scrawl. He chuckled as he tore the paper to pieces and lighted the fragments with a match.

“Bagged The Shadow up at Delhugh’s, eh?” chortled Beak. “Well, Steve’s smart, however he managed to do it. Guess he must’ve nabbed him without anybody around there getting wise. Should have bumped him, though.”

“Probably he couldn’t,” put in Lucky.

“Well, it fixes things the way we want ‘em,” decided Beak. “I’ll only need three gorillas for that Daykin job. You take the rest and pull it the way Steve says. Get The Shadow and that other guy. Make it look like you were pulling a big job at Delhugh’s.”

“Leave that to me,” grinned Lucky.

Mobleader and lieutenant went into the room where the gang was waiting. Beak looked about.

Roughened faces were quizzical. Beak laughed.

“We’re changing things,” he stated. “Two jobs instead of one. Both easy. I’m taking three guys with me. Stolly, Fresco and Marsland. No, not Marsland. I’ll take you, Rungel, for the third. Lucky may need you, Marsland.”

Beak did not specify why he made the change. The reason was that he remembered something he had heard about Cliff in the past. Once it had been noised about that Cliff Marsland was gunning for The Shadow. Cliff had not succeeded in that quest, for it had been a bluff, part of The Shadow’s strategy to build up Cliff’s reputation in the underworld.

But the fact that Cliff was still alive had always impressed Beak Latzo. Mugs who talked about getting The Shadow usually disappeared mysteriously from the bad lands. Apparently, Cliff was too tough for The Shadow to get. Beak decided that it would be best to have him present at the kill.

“The rest of you go with Lucky,” ordered Beak. “Split up now; then we’ll start.”

MOBSTERS arose and followed their respective leaders. The gangs went from the stone-walled room, followed a darkened flight of steps and came into the gloom of an abandoned East Side garage.

Here they entered touring cars and sedans, black vehicles that stood hazy in the darkness. Motors chugged. The cars rolled in procession from a curving outlet. Lights did not come on until they were clear upon a dismal, secluded street.

A few blocks on, cars separated. Cliff and Hawkeye, seated together in the rear of Lucky’s sedan, kept silent. But both were thinking; and each was puzzled.

Cliff and Hawkeye had been tipped to the fact that a job was due tonight. Cliff had phoned that word to Burbank. Then Mike Rungel had met them and taken them directly to the rendezvous beneath the old garage. There had been no chance to get new word to The Shadow.

Cliff had been counting on some opportunity to call Burbank again. He had been working toward that end from the moment when Beak Latzo had announced that their objective would be the home of Joseph Daykin.

Then, out of a clear sky had come the changed plans. Cliff and Hawkeye were being whisked away to an unknown destination. There was nothing to do but play along and hope for luck. The fact that tonight’s rendezvous would also be storeroom for the boodle was a piece of knowledge that could be used later.

Cars swung left from beneath an elevated structure. They rolled through secluded streets. At last they came to an isolated spot where they could park unnoticed.

Lucky stopped the sedan. The other cars pulled up. Climbing from behind the wheel, Lucky signaled. He started across the street. The others followed.

One block through another quiet street. Then Lucky picked a space between two buildings. Mobsters filed through. They came to the rear of a large house.

While mobsmen clustered, Lucky worked on a back door. It yielded.

With nine men at his heels, Lucky motioned forward through a darkened kitchen. They came to a huge, silent hallway. There, Lucky opened a door and revealed a flight of cellar stairs. He started men moving down — among them, Cliff and Hawkeye. Lucky stopped two gorillas at the rear of the mob.

“Listen,” he whispered. “You birds slide upstairs. First door on the right is a filing room. A guy’s in there we want to get. Plug him; then head down here.”

The gorillas nodded. Lucky watched them steal toward the carpeted stairway. He followed down the cellar steps and joined the others. Using a flashlight, Lucky picked his way to the center of the cellar.

There he found a light switch. He pressed it and pointed into a coal bin that was now illuminated by a single bulb.

Lucky noted two boxes stacked in the corner of the bin. He chuckled as he pointed them out to the mob.

He saw ready revolvers in the hands of his underlings. The crew would do for a firing squad.

“See that lower box?” quizzed Lucky, in a snarled tone. “We’re going to drill it — all together — because there’s a mug inside it. We’ll load it with lead before we drag it out of here.

“I’ll tell you why. Because the guy that’s in that box is tough, even if he is tied up and wired so he can’t get out. The guy in that bottom box is The Shadow!”

GORILLAS stood astounded. Hawkeye shot a wild glance at Cliff. He caught a grim nod from his companion.

Cliff turned his automatic close against his hip, covering Lucky. Hawkeye was ready to open on the rest of the mob. Then came sounds from above that made Lucky hold up a restraining hand.

Shots from the second floor. Quick shots that came in muffled succession. Lucky chuckled at this message from the two torpedoes whom he had sent to the second floor.

“They’ve finished the mug upstairs,” he announced. “That’s all we’ve been waiting for. Open up. On the lower box. Drill it, everybody—”

Mobsters wheeled about. As they did, one gorilla leaped suddenly upon Cliff and sent The Shadow’s agent sprawling to the floor. The mobsman had spotted Cliff covering Lucky.

Hawkeye wheeled at the attack. Another gorilla piled upon him as he aimed for Lucky.

Shots roared through the coal bin. Lucky, not noting Cliff or Hawkeye, had opened fire on the lower box. Other mobsters joined with him. Their bullets riddled the wooden-walled target.

Then, with the resounding echoes came a burst of terrific laughter. A wild, outlandish peal of mirth that challenged those who had dispatched the volley of their revolvers.

Wild-eyed mobsters looked up. The lid of the top box had swung open. Down toward the would-be killers were peering eyes that burned like fire.

Gloved hands were aiming mammoth automatics. A collared cloak, a shrouding hat brim covered the face of the mighty foe, save for the eyes that gleamed upon the startled mobsters.

The Shadow had given snarling killers a chance to loose their fire. Safe in the upper box, he had waited to deal death to those who had tried to murder him.

Unbound, no longer a prisoner, The Shadow had chosen an unexpected spot from which to answer the first barrage.