Gang Pulp

Gangland Stories, June-July 1930

The crook is a menace to society. He is running amuck. He has become an octopus, whose tentacles are reaching over the country, drawing within its slimy folds our people — our very families, smothering them within his death-clasp.

Day by day he grows bigger and bigger. His huge form is towering over us, shutting out even the light and warmth of the sun. The menace of his toils is surrounding us, cutting off our very lives.

He is a gigantic parasite, feeding on the life blood of our society.

Every day the newspapers are full of accounts of his doings. Every day some innocent citizen is deprived of his right to make an honest living or even of his right to live! For the criminal is ruthless in his desires. He kills — and kills without thought or pity for his victim, to gain his own ends. And the small shop keeper, the independent manufacturer, is wiped out so that an individual can add one more notch to his boot-leg gun.

Many of our stories are written about the criminal. But they are merely for your entertainment, and in no way attempt to depict the criminal as he really is. In escaping from the humdrum reality of everyday life, you read these stories written by men whose one idea is to entertain you, to excite your imagination.

They are but incidents in the life of the criminal. We do not show you his menace. We do not show you his inevitable end.

But death is leering over the shoulder of the crook. Every breath he draws may be his last.

And he knows it.