Gangdom's Doom

CHAPTER XXIII LARRIGAN IS SATISFIED

MONK THURMAN did not appear at Nick Savoli’s apartment the next morning. Instead, he telephoned, and spoke to Mike Borrango.

The enforcer demanded to know where the gangster was. Monk replied evasively, saying that he had a new clew that might enable him to trail The Shadow. He added that he would call at the apartment at four o’clock in the afternoon.

Nick Savoli was not pleased when he received the information. He had held a hectic conference with Genara and Anelmo the night before; the Homicide Twins had blamed Monk Thurman for everything that had happened.

Savoli was only partially convinced that the fault was Thurman’s; at the same time he felt that much of the responsibility belonged to Monk.

At one o’clock another visitor arrived, and the announcement of his presence caused questioning looks between the big shot and his enforcer.

Mike Larrigan was outside, anxious to see both Savoli and Borrango.

“You know what he wants?” asked Savoli.

“He wants to know where Monk Thurman is,” responded the enforcer. “What will we tell him?”

“Tell him we’ll get Thurman for him!” Savoli snapped out impatiently. “Monk slipped on the job. We’ll make him pay for it!”

Mike Larrigan was ushered into the library. The attendant opened the door for him.

At that moment, a strange thing happened. While the attendant was turned toward the door — the direction in which Larrigan also faced — a form appeared at the gate that blocked the way from the elevators. The attendant had not yet locked the gate.

Silently, the new arrival slipped into the anteroom.

This man was dressed in black. Those who had seen The Shadow would have recognized him immediately. Yet his actions were more amazing than ever before.

With catlike stealth, The Shadow glided across the room to the corner nearest the door. There he slipped behind a table which bore a large flower pot, and in an instant, his presence was indetectible.

His form seemed like some motionless shadow against the wall. Only a close observer would have noted that the mass of blackness was a solid object.

With Larrigan in the library, the attendant returned to lock the iron gate. While he was busy with that action, the mass of blackness moved from behind the table. It went to the door of the library. The Shadow opened the door and entered the large, gloomy room.

The attendant did not hear the click of the door. Perhaps the noise he made in locking the gate drowned out the slight sound; but it was more probable that the noise made by The Shadow was negligible. For Larrigan, seated in the chair that visitors usually took, heard nothing.

THE SHADOW moved across the room, behind the gang leader’s back. The mysterious man made no noise whatever. He reached the bookcase, still out of Larrigan’s vision. There he stood, still as a painting, until he was sure that the Irishman was not observing. Then, slowly and carefully, he opened the swinging bookcase.

The Shadow waited. The man in black knew that a sudden motion would attract Larrigan’s attention.

The door at the other side of the room opened. Larrigan arose expectantly; and The Shadow glided like a living phantom through the opening of the bookcase. The swinging portal closed behind him just as Savoli and Borrango entered the library.

Neither of the Italians saw it close.

Nick Savoli took his accustomed chair; Borrango covered the bookcase as was his habit. They exchanged greetings with Larrigan, and the Irishman talked business immediately.

“You know why I’m here, Nick,” he said to Savoli. “It’s about this fellow, Monk Thurman!”

“What about him?” Savoli’s voice was challenging.

“I want him,” answered Larrigan. “You’ve had time to find him. They say he’s been here.”

“Who says so?”

“Different people!”

“Different people?” sneered Savoli. “What do they know about it? Ask Borrango. Wait — I’ll ask him. Has Monk Thurman been here?”

“I believe he is coming here,” replied Borrango smoothly.

“When?” came Larrigan’s eager question.

“To-day, perhaps.”

“And when he comes — “

“When he comes here, you get him,” announced Savoli.

A gleam of satisfaction appeared on Larrigan’s freckled face. Then Nick Savoli spoke emphatically.

“No killings around here,” he said. “We’ll put Monk Thurman on the spot, where you can get him. But keep your hoodlums away.”

“Right,” responded Larrigan warmly. “There’s one man going to get Monk Thurman. I’m that man.”

“I’ll tell you how it will be done,” suggested Borrango, in a pleasant voice. “We have discussed this, Nick and I.

“Monk Thurman wants to work for us. So we will tell him that he has a job to do tonight, and that Machine-gun McGinnis will meet him. We will send him to some good spot, and tell him that McGinnis is to meet him there.”

“When will this be?”

“Tonight,” said Savoli.

“Tonight,” repeated Borrango, “if Thurman comes here as we expect, this afternoon.”

“When will I know for sure?”

Borrango was thoughtful. He calculated the time element very carefully. He made allowance for a late arrival of Monk Thurman. Then he made his decision.

“Let me call you at six o’clock,” he said.

“All right,” agreed Larrigan.

“I’ll tell you then exactly where Thurman will be.”

“How about McGinnis?”

Borrango looked at Savoli. The big shot took the floor.

“You’d better take McGinnis on this job, Larrigan,” he said. “When Borrango calls you at six o’clock, he will tell you where to pick up McGinnis.

“You can ride there in your buggy, and switch to that old touring car McGinnis travels around in. Thurman will be expecting McGinnis, and when he sees the old boat, he won’t suspect any trouble.”

“Great,” said Larrigan. “You’re a good fellow, Nick. Then I can step out and plug Monk Thurman, and — “

“And McGinnis will be covering him from the car,” interposed Savoli. “It will be a set-up for you, Larrigan.”

THE Irishman departed in high spirits. He carried a final admonition from Savoli that no hoodlums should hang about the Escadrille Apartments during the afternoon.

Larrigan readily agreed to this course. He had no desire for a daylight shooting in the heart of Chicago. He had visions of Monk Thurman lying dead on a lonely spot far out of town.

Savoli and Borrango did not leave the library immediately after the gang leader’s departure. Instead, they discussed the subject of The Shadow.

“You’d better make sure that those torpedoes are on the job below here,” said Savoli. “If we lay back a while, this fellow they call The Shadow will either clear out or try to spring one on us.”

Borrango turned toward the bookcase, and reached up to open the secret portal that led to the hidden passage. Savoli stopped him with a quick gesture.

“Not through there!” he exclaimed. “Suppose they are on the job downstairs? They don’t know that we have the connecting passage!”

Borrango nodded. He went toward the anteroom, and Nick Savoli retired to his den.

When the room was deserted, the bookcase opened, and The Shadow glided forth. He stood like a black monster in the center of the room. He had heard everything that had been said. Now he laughed softly.

With quick stride, he reached the door to the anteroom, waited until all was clear, and then disappeared through the door of the fire escape.

IT was precisely four o’clock when Monk Thurman appeared at Nick Savoli’s apartment. The New York gangster had lost none of his bravado. When Savoli and Borrango met him in the library, they were amazed at the man’s self-confidence.

“What about last night?” questioned the big shot.

“Last night?” Monk’s voice was defiant. “I suppose those two gorillas of yours have been cooking up a phony story. They could have fixed everything if they had used any sense!”

“You didn’t make out well when you met The Shadow.”

“Perhaps not; but that was only the first time. I’m still out to get him, and I will get him.”

“Have you any idea where he has gone?” questioned Borrango.

“No,” returned the gunman, “but I’m going to find out.”

“Well,” said Borrango, in his smooth, persuasive voice, “we’ve got another job for you in the meantime, Monk. You did good work before; and you’ll get another crack at The Shadow.

“Tonight, we’re going to put a couple of double-crossers on the spot, and you’re the man we need to help out with the job.”

Monk Thurman appeared to be interested in Borrango’s statement. The enforcer followed up his words.

“We’ve been looking for a new man to work with McGinnis,” said Borrango. “You know McGinnis, don’t you? Machine-gun McGinnis?

“He’s taking out the typewriter tonight, and he’s going to bump off a bunch of hoodlums at a road house out past Cicero. He needs an old hand to help him. That’s your job for tonight, Monk.”

“Suits me,” said Thurman.

“It would not be wise for you to meet him in town.” Borrango was speaking earnestly. “So he will pick you up at Casey’s old saloon in Cicero. The place is closed now.

“You be there at exactly one o’clock. McGinnis will come along in an old touring car, with flaps on the sides. Go with him. He’ll give you the lay.”

“This means a lot to you, Monk,” said Savoli. “If we can ever get a crack at The Shadow with the machine gun, it will be curtains for him. This trip with McGinnis will do you good.”

“I’ll be there,” promised Thurman.

“You’d better be,” said Borrango, with a friendly laugh. “There’s one grand in the job, if you do it right. Do you want the cash now, or to-morrow?”

“To-morrow will be soon enough,” replied Monk. “You’d better have that five grand ready for me, too. I’m going to get The Shadow! Don’t forget it!”

“Listen, Monk,” said Savoli, suddenly. “What do you think that bird is after?”

“Who? The Shadow?”

“Yes.”

“Looks to me like he’s trying to chisel. Out to make trouble for you.”

“He’s not getting very far.”

“He can’t get very far.” Monk spoke contemptuously. “He can’t touch you, can he? You’re too well organized for him. The Shadow has brains, but he doesn’t use them.

“What if he managed to plug you? That wouldn’t change Chicago, would it? But he doesn’t work that way. That’s where he’s soft. He could have put me on the spot last night, but he didn’t do it. So he’s going on the spot when I get him.”

The New York gangster arose and started for the door. He turned to make a final statement.

“Forget about those hoodlums,” he said. “They’re as good as wiped out now. McGinnis and I will do a clean job.”

WHEN Monk had left, Nick Savoli went from the apartment. His huge, bullet-proof car was awaiting him. Mike Borrango remained in the apartment.

Despite Monk Thurman’s assurance that The Shadow was not a menace, the enforcer spared no precautions. There were two men in the apartment below. He stationed an additional gangster in the anteroom, to take the place of the regular attendant.

Shortly before six o’clock, Howard Blake, the advertising man, entered his apartment on the third floor of the Escadrille. He had apparently returned from a busy afternoon’s work. He turned on the radio, and sat reading the newspaper.

There was a buzz on the radio, as though static had interfered. Howard Blake listened intently. There was another buzz — shorter than the first. The sound was repeated.

Howard Blake had pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket. He marked down a series of numbers, one for each buzz that had occurred. Then he went to the telephone and looked at the dial.

The sounds that he had heard were disturbances created by the use of a dial telephone located in the same apartment house.

The advertising man had gauged the sounds accurately. From the dial of the telephone, he figured the name of the exchange and the number of the telephone which had been called.

Then he consulted a special directory; one which was listed by numbers instead of names. In a few minutes, he had located the address of the number which had been called.

Sitting in his own apartment, Howard Blake had learned the telephone number and the address of Mike Larrigan’s hideout! For the disturbance on the radio had been caused when Mike Borrango had put in his call to the gang leader.

Howard Blake smiled as he left his apartment. Reaching the street, he called a taxi and rode to Marmosa’s Cafe. There he obtained a table on the balcony.

After he gave the order, he went to a pay station in the corner of the balcony. He drew out the slip of paper which bore his notations, and called the number.

It was Mike Larrigan who answered. But the voice that spoke to him was not the voice of Howard Blake. It was the voice of Nick Savoli’s enforcer.

Howard Blake, speaking over the telephone, gave a perfect impersonation of Mike Borrango!

“That you Larrigan?” questioned the smooth, soft voice. “This is Mike Borrango. I have made a change in the plans for tonight.”

“What!” came Larrigan’s exclamation. “Won’t Thurman be there?”

“He will be there,” said the voice of Borrango, “but the time will be changed. You must leave an hour later, to meet McGinnis.”

“I get you. I’ll leave here at one instead of twelve, then.”

“That’s all right. You’re starting from where you are now?”

“Yes. I’ve got my car outside.”

“Very good,” concluded the man who spoke like Borrango. “It will work out fine. But do not leave until one o’clock. It would be bad for you to get there before McGinnis.”

HOWARD BLAKE left the telephone booth. He ate his dinner leisurely, and smoked a cigar after his dessert.

The advertising man had paid his bill, when two dark-faced individuals appeared upon the balcony. They were Genara and Anelmo. The Sicilians went down the stairs toward the street. Blake rose and followed them.

The men called a taxi. Blake heard the address that they gave. It was the Gray Mill.

Howard Blake stood by the front of Marmosa’s Cafe as the taxi rolled away. A short while later, he called another taxi, and ordered the driver to take him to the Gray Mill.

Thus two taxis were on their way to Joe le Blanc’s road house in the country. One contained Genara and Anelmo; the other held a man who evidently was much interested in the affairs of the Homicide Twins.