Gangdom's Doom

CHAPTER XXI MONK THURMAN SUGGESTS

MIKE BORRANGO had a purpose in telling John Genara to wait for a few minutes. The enforcer wanted to repeat the Sicilian’s story to Nick Savoli.

Borrango knew well where Genara and Anelmo had taken Harry Vincent, and he was sure that they would be free from disturbance. He had ordered Genara and Anelmo to bolt the door.

Should any one attempt to effect an entry, they could kill their victim before a rescue could be accomplished.

Nevertheless, Borrango was terse in his statements to the big shot. When he had summarized what had taken place, the enforcer waited Savoli’s comment. It was quickly forthcoming.

“They have not learned where The Shadow is?” quizzed Savoli.

“They have not.”

“Tell them to torture him some more.”

“They have already ended his endurance.”

“Then kill him. No — wait.” Savoli’s final order came just as Borrango was about to order the murder. “There may be some way of making him talk. Let me think.”

A light showed on the apartment telephone. Nick Savoli observed it. He lifted the receiver and spoke to the attendant.

“What!” he exclaimed. “Bring him in at once. Here — in my den.”

Nick Savoli gazed shrewdly at Mike Borrango, and a smile flickered upon the lips of the man who ruled Chicago’s gangland.

“It is Monk,” he said quietly. “He is the very man we should see.”

Borrango spoke in Italian to Genara. He told the Sicilian to be patient. He had hardly finished his words before Monk Thurman was ushered into the den.

The New York gangster gazed about him in surprise. He had never before been admitted to this inner sanctuary. He noted the thoughtful expression of Nick Savoli; he observed the telephone receiver in the hand of Mike Borrango; yet he did not seem to understand the situation.

“What’s happened?” he questioned.

“We have captured a man who works for The Shadow,” explained Borrango. “We are trying to make him confess.”

“Where is he?” Monk looked about the room.

“Not here,” interposed Savoli impatiently. “Genara and Anelmo have taken him for a ride. They are holding him for instructions.”

“Who is he?” questioned Monk.

“His name is Harry Vincent,” said Borrango.

Monk Thurman shrugged his shoulders. Evidently the name meant nothing to him.

“What has he told you?” he questioned.

“Nothing,” said Savoli. “That is the trouble. The torture will not work. The man has reached his limit.”

THE gangster sat in a chair. He seemed indifferent to the situation. Nick Savoli appeared impatient.

“What shall we do with him?” he questioned. “What do you suggest?”

“That’s hard to say,” replied Monk. “I haven’t seen the man. I should think that Anelmo and Genara could make him talk.”

“They can’t do it,” replied Savoli.

“I shall tell them to try again,” replied Borrango smoothly. “Then, if they fail, they can dispose of him. We will accomplish that much, at least.”

“All right,” agreed Savoli.

Borrango turned to the telephone. He was about to give the order for the Homicide Twins to settle their score with Harry Vincent. But a sudden word stopped him.

“Wait!” The exclamation came from Monk Thurman.

Both Savoli and Borrango looked at the New York gangster. Monk Thurman was leaning forward in his chair, staring straight ahead, as though visualizing the entire situation.

“You must not kill this man,” he declared. “Do not kill him — until he tells all he knows. It would be a great mistake.”

“The man will not talk,” objected Borrango impatiently.

“He must be made to talk,” insisted Monk. “Genara and Anelmo do not know how to make him talk. I could make him talk.”

“How?” asked Borrango.

“I have my methods,” replied the New York gangster. “More than that, I know something of The Shadow. I can ask this man questions that will lead him on. Tell me where he is. I will go there — “

“No.” The objection came from Nick Savoli. It was emphatic. He stared at Monk Thurman as one would consider an upstart. Under that powerful glance, many an intrepid gangster had quailed — but not Monk Thurman!

“This is not your job,” declared Savoli emphatically. “This man has been taken by Genara and Anelmo. They will see it through. If he will not confess, they will put him on the spot.”

“It’s not my job?” Monk Thurman’s voice was cold.

“It is not your job.” There was finality in Savoli’s tone.

“What is my job?” demanded Monk.

“Your job is to get The Shadow.” There was no reply from the New Yorker. Savoli turned quietly to Borrango. “Order them to go ahead,” he said.

AS Borrango turned to obey, Monk Thurman reached forward and plucked the telephone from the enforcer’s hand. Borrango leaped at him with a cry of rage; then stopped short, as he saw the expression of determination that appeared in Thurman’s eyes.

Nick Savoli half rose from his chair. He was ready to crush this reckless gangster who had so daringly prevented his order. But he, too, met Thurman’s gaze, and the big shot held himself momentarily while he listened to the gangster’s next words.

“Before you give the order,” announced Monk Thurman in his even, steady voice, “I must tell you one thing. You say that my job is to get The Shadow. The moment that Genara and Anelmo kill this man they have captured, I give up my job!”

He bowed slightly as he returned the telephone to Mike Borrango.

“You will excuse my hastiness,” he said. “I thought that you would like to know my decision before it was too late.”

“Shall I tell them to go ahead?” questioned Borrango, with both anger and impatience in his voice. His query was addressed to Nick Savoli.

“No,” The big shot was looking at Monk Thurman. “Wait until I understand what this is all about.”

Borrango spoke into the telephone. He urged Genara to be patient. Meanwhile Nick Savoli glared at the gangster who sat before him.

“If I tell them to go ahead,” said Savoli, “what will you do?”

“I shall leave Chicago.”

“Why?”

“Because I understand The Shadow and his methods. This man that you have captured is our only link with The Shadow. Once the man is dead, there will be no second opportunity.”

Savoli nodded thoughtfully.

“You are right,” he said. “We must find out what the man knows. Can you find it out?”

“Yes.” There was calm assurance in Monk Thurman’s reply.

“Tell Genara and Anelmo to wait,” commanded Savoli, addressing his enforcer. “Tell them that Monk will be there. Tell them to admit him when he gives the secret signal. He is to take charge.”

Borrango quickly repeated the new instructions. Monk Thurman leaned back placidly in his chair. He had delivered his ultimatum, and the big shot had heeded it.

Savoli showed no antagonism because of the gangster’s action. Instead, he seemed convinced that Monk’s plan had merit. Nevertheless, he became critical the moment that Borrango hung up the telephone.

“Suppose the man will not talk?” he questioned, again.

“He will talk,” said Thurman.

“You think so. But if you fail to make him talk — “

“If I fail, there is another course to take. We must not kill this prisoner.”

“Why?” There was surprise in Savoli’s voice.

“Living,” said Monk, “the man will serve us well. The Shadow may learn that we have him. The Shadow will try to rescue him. Then The Shadow will be revealed — “

The gangster did not complete the sentence. Nick Savoli rose with a triumphant expression on his face.

“You have it, Monk!” he exclaimed. “What did I say, Mike? This man Monk is a good man! He is wise! He is right! Why did you not say that before, Monk?”

Savoli broke into a flow of Italian, as he volubly pointed out the merits of the plan to Mike Borrango. The enforcer smiled and nodded. All ill feeling was forgotten.

“I was about to say it,” declared Monk Thurman, “but I didn’t have a chance. I had to stop you from bumping off the guy, didn’t I?

“Well, you’re holding him. I’m due there. If I can make him talk, you’ll hear from me right away. If I can’t — well, we can take that up later. Where do I go, Mike?”

BORRANGO scrawled a series of directions on an envelope, and gave the paper to Monk. The New Yorker read the notations carefully, and nodded.

“I’ve got a car outside,” he said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. What is the signal?”

“One quick rap,” said Borrango, “then two slow ones. When you hear two quick raps, give two slow ones. They will let you in when they hear that.”

“Correct.” Monk Thurman repeated the directions, as though to make sure of them. He rose from his chair, and left the den.

“He is a smart man, this Monk,” declared Savoli.

“He has the right idea,” said Borrango enthusiastically. “Maybe he will not be able to make this fellow Vincent talk; but his plan to hold him is a good one. He is very smart. Very smart.”

“Yes — but” — there was a hidden thought in the big shot’s voice — “let us hope that he succeeds — for his own good.”

“It means five grand for him.”

“Five grand. But if he fails — “

“If he fails?” echoed Borrango.

“If he fails,” repeated Nick Savoli, “Larrigan will be happy.”

The meaning of Nick Savoli’s final statement was clear to Mike Borrango.

Monk Thurman had gained his point. Should he succeed in making Harry Vincent talk, he would be too valuable a man to sacrifice. Monk Thurman, successful, would be the one man to combat the menace of The Shadow.

But Monk Thurman, unsuccessful, would be just another gangster — a man whose death would cement the new alliance between Nick Savoli and his former antagonist, Mike Larrigan.

Monk Thurman and The Shadow. Somehow, Borrango felt that a fierce conflict was impending between those two men of Manhattan, who had made new history in Chicago’s underworld.

Death to The Shadow would mean safety for Monk Thurman!