The Mobsmen On The Spot

CHAPTER XII KILLER DURGAN LEARNS THE NEWS

Two grim-faced men entered Killer Durgan’s apartment. They were Ernie Shires and Big Ben Hargins. Their clothes were soiled and torn; their faces bore grimy stains.

Both showed signs of having made a hasty effort to make themselves somewhat presentable before their visit to Larchmont Court.

“What’s the lay?” demanded Killer Durgan. His face was clouded with anger.

“We’ve been double-crossed!” replied Ernie. “Somebody’s busted the works! Your garages have gone up in smoke, instead of those dumps up in the Bronx!”

“My garages!” Killer Durgan was on his feet, his fists clenched as he glowered at Ernie Shires. “You gummed the works, eh? Fine guy, you are!”

“Lay off me,” retorted Ernie. “I figure I know the guy that’s done it! I told you he’d be making trouble! Let me tell you what’s happened.”

Durgan sat down and listened impatiently while Ernie recited the events that had occurred in the New Era Garage on Eighth Avenue. It was the account of what happened after the explosion that brought oaths from his puffed lips.

“Big Ben and I got out,” explained Ernie, “but we had a tough time doing it. Everything broke loose after that truck blew up. Gas tanks exploded — walls came down — it was lucky we managed to get away.

“The back door was blocked by stuff that had fallen. By the time we got out, the cops were on the job, and fire trucks were coming up. We were in a mess for sure!”

“What about the mob?”

“Some of ‘em got out right after us; but the coppers nabbed them. Ben and I got away because we came first. We ducked the cops when they saw us, and they came running over just in time to nab the rest of the crowd.”

“The whole mob?”

“All that got out” — Ernie laughed hoarsely — “but that ain’t all of ‘em. Some of ‘em got trapped, and ain’t ever going to get out!”

“That means some of my mob, too,” interposed Hargins. “It’s going to be a job squaring this with Bart Hennesy, I’ll tell you that! He didn’t like the idea in the first place; he’ll like it less, now.

“Say — how about that dough that I’ve got coming to me?” He looked at Ernie; then at Durgan. “How about it?”

“How about it?” answered Ernie jeeringly. “Fat chance you have of getting it! It was to be paid after the job” — he looked toward Durgan for approval — “and the job ain’t been done!”

“No?” Big Ben thrust out his jaw. “Well, it ain’t my fault the job went sour, and if you guys don’t want a run-in with Bart Hennesy, you’d better come clean.”

“Pay him the money!” ordered Durgan. “Not here! Somewheres else. And get going now, you guys! I’ve got plenty to worry about without you being here!”

THERE was a knock at the door. Mike Wharton came in as Ernie and Ben were leaving. The garage manager’s face was solemn. He was anxious to talk with Durgan, but he kept his patience until the others were gone.

“Well?” demanded Durgan.

“I guess you’ve heard all about it,” said Wharton.

“You mean the garages?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I know the Eighth Avenue place has gone up.”

“So have the others. Terrible damage, Mr. Durgan. It wasn’t so bad with the other two. A lot of cars smashed, and it’s going to cost plenty.

“But the Eighth Avenue garage is all shot to pieces. That’s where the cops nabbed the fellows coming out. Patrols — ambulances — fire trucks — they’re all up there!”

“A fine guy you are!” growled Durgan savagely.

“How was I to know?” protested Wharton. “We were the last ones to expect this. It’s going to cost a lot of money—”

“What! Those joints? They don’t mean that” — Durgan snapped his fingers. “I could see a dozen garages go up in smoke, and I wouldn’t mind it if I owned all of them! This has put the skids under me in a big way — that’s all!

“You know the Public Garage Owners Association?”

Mike Wharton nodded. Technically, a garage manager, he was, nevertheless, familiar with the racket run by Killer Durgan.

“Well” — Durgan was fuming — “who has been paying in to it regular — leading the way for the others — talking protection — all that?”

“The New Era Garages.”

“Right! My garages! The last ones where anything ought to happen! Now they’ve been hit hard!

“You say they’ve gone up — well, the Public Garage Owners Association has gone up with them! Don’t you see?”

“Yes,” agreed Wharton thoughtfully. “I see it now. I didn’t before. Somebody’s after the association — that’s sure. So all the garages that subscribe to it are going to get scared.”

“You’re right they are! They’ll figure that this means a war. They’ve been forking over dough to the association because they figured they’d get smashed if they didn’t. Now they’ll figure they’re due for a lacing anyway!

“They all know that the New Era Garages were in right with the association. That’s why they stayed in. But now they figure they’ll find trouble, whether they’re in the association or out of it. So they’ll stay out and save their dough!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do? Nothing — right now! It looks like some guy’s trying to muscle in. If he is, he’s got to show his hand when he tries to start his own collection business. Then I’ll be able to nail him!

“But” — Durgan looked dubious — “if all he’s trying to do is queer my game, he’s done his dirt now, and I’m going to have a tough time nailing him!”

“But why can’t the association—”

“The association can’t do a thing, Mike! It’s supposed to be protective. I’m in the garage business, paying to the association.

“The garage owners are wise to the racket, but there’s never been any way to connect me with it. If the association starts any rough stuff, right now, they’ll pin it on me.

“What about those gunmen that were in the garage. How many of them did the cops grab?”

“Pretty near all of them,” replied Wharton. “They were trying to rescue the rest when I was there.”

“My mob!” groaned Durgan. “A fine mess! If that gets out — well, there’s only one thing I can do. Act like a poor garage owner who has had a tough break handed to him! Lay low and keep clear. If I don’t—”

THE door opened, and Madge Benton entered. She started to walk across the room as though hesitating to disturb the conversation. Killer Durgan saw her and arose angrily.

“Where’ve you been?” he demanded. “What’s the idea of coming in as late as this! Where’ve you been?”

“Taking in a show,” she answered.

“Yeah? What else!” Durgan, giving way to pent-up rage, leaped across the room and seized Madge by the shoulders. She looked frightened for a moment, and threw an appealing glance toward Mike Wharton. Then she met Durgan’s fierce gaze.

“You’ve been playing me phony, huh?” he growled. “Running out with some other guy? If I thought you were—”

His huge, coarse hands crept toward the girl’s throat. Madge uttered a startled cry as she tried to shrink away.

“You’d better not try anything like that!” threatened Durgan. “Remember what they call me — Killer! It’ll be too bad for any guy that gets fresh with my moll! It’ll be too bad for you, too!” He relaxed his grip and added: “I’m just warning you! That’s all!”

“You won’t catch me with any other guy,” replied the girl. “I’m sour on all them — since I took up with you.”

“Yeah?” Durgan’s eyes flashed maliciously. “Fine time for you to be talking this way. You know what happened tonight? All three of my garages got blown up — that’s what!”

“I’m supposed to cry about it, I guess.”

With an oath, Killer Durgan seized Madge and flung her across the room. The girl fell against a chair, knocking it over on the floor.

Durgan followed, mouthing oaths, and kicked the girl ferociously. Madge screamed. Durgan struck her face with his open palm, and she fell, moaning, on the floor.

“Beat it!” ordered Durgan. “Keep your mouth shut after this!”

The girl arose unsteadily and walked into another room, holding her hands to her face. As the door closed behind her, Durgan returned to Wharton, who had been quietly watching the scene.

“I’d better watch that moll of mine,” said Durgan, in a low voice. “Do you think she’s mixed up in this, Mike?”

“Where was she tonight?” questioned Wharton noncommittally.

“Says she was at a show.”

“Maybe she was!”

“Listen, Mike.” Durgan became confidential. “You’re the guy I need. Get me? This garage business has gone flooey — and that means a lot more than just the garages. The best racket in New York is on the fritz, right now!

“It looks like I’ll be getting rid of these punks that have been working for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m licked. There’s other ways to be in the money. I need a guy like you. Listen, while I give you the low-down.

“There’s some wise guy in back of this — and I’m going to get him. I want you to be on the lookout. Get me?”

Wharton nodded.

“And there’s an idea I’ve got!” continued Durgan. “One thing right in the back of my noodle! That bird’s been working through my moll!

“She’s spilled some dope on the racket. So it’s up to you to tag her, Mike. I’ve got dough. You know that. You get the same as you’ve been getting. I’m going to let her run — and you’re going to follow. Get me?”

“I get you.”

Durgan waved toward the door. Mike Wharton departed, satisfied with his new mission. Durgan remained alone.

An expression of ferocity came over his evil face. He looked cautiously around the room. Then he went to a corner and unlocked a small door in the wall. He brought out a telephone.

It was a private line which had been installed long before. No one — not even Madge — knew of its existence.

The racketeer called a number. Then he talked in a low voice, explaining the situation which had arisen.

“I’ve got to lay low,” he concluded. “It means the whole racket is jammed. The moll may have something to do with it. Mike Wharton is going to trail her.

“But there’s one guy in back of it. You know who he is. The Sha—”

DURGAN stopped suddenly, responding to a warning voice over the wire. He listened while the man spoke from the other end. Then he replied.

“Not a chance,” he said. “I don’t care how wise he thinks he is. Nobody figures this racket as anything but independent. It ends with me — and I’m safe enough so long as I let it slide.”

He listened again, and a leering grin appeared upon his face. Evidently he was receiving good news.

“I’m in on it?” he said. “Everything the same as before, only I just got to lay low? Great! Yeah! I’ll keep Ernie ready. He’s the guy that tipped me off to what was coming. He’s wise!

“But listen. This bird Hargins, with the dock wallopers — Big Ben, they call him. He’s sore because he lost six guys out of his mob — What’s that — it’s good?”

For a moment, Killer Durgan seemed amazed; then, as more words came over the wire, his grin reappeared.

“I get you!” he said. “All ready for the big job, eh? Then we’ll have another racket on the list! O.K. Mum’s the word!”

He hung up the receiver and put the telephone away. He sat down in a big chair and pulled a cigar from his pocket.

Killer Durgan was pleased.

“A good racket gone blooey,” he said in a low voice. “A smart guy thinks he’s queered it. He’ll be watching, expecting me to try to pull it out of the fire.

“But I’m too wise! I’ve got to lay low — and I can do it nice, now. The lower I lay, the better it’ll be.

“He’s going to start to wonder — and that’s when I’m going to land him!

“The Shadow, they call him. Well, they call me Killer. Killer Durgan. That’s me!”

The big racketeer swung his hand and knocked over a table beside him. A delicate vase was shattered to atoms as it was crushed beneath the falling table.

Killer Durgan laughed. He had heard good news!