Gang Pulp

Racketeer Stories, May 1930

The Army of the Underworld Is Legionate

They march through the pages of the biggest and the smallest newspapers, their frayed banners waving in a wind of words. Their pitiful faces, warped with disease, would strike pity in our hearts were it not for the terror they arouse in the innocent by-stander.

Editorial writers, throughout the United States, fulminate against this army of the underworld. The police of a thousand cities work day and night to capture them and to guard our homes and property.

Many of the secret service lay down their lives. Reporters risk everything to get to the end of the trouble, so that we may know of the disease that is eating civilization and, through true knowledge, hope to eliminate them. For knowledge is power. It is only by knowing the truth that we can face the truth. Ignorance is weakness.

That is why a great good comes from the screaming headlines and detailed reports of the underworld that come to us daily in newspapers.

But these swarming masses of evil that twist and warp the crust of society are destined to an end so terrible that their very souls are shriveled by the death they know will overtake and snatch them suddenly.

Asleep, awake, walking the streets or conducting their so-called business — sooner or later it will reach out its bony hand and snatch them. In every breath, in every word, the gangster utters a moan of terror that must needs wring an involuntary cry of pity from our hearts.

For the gangster cannot win.