The Red Blot

CHAPTER V PLOTTED CRIME

EARLY the next evening, a man emerged from a subway kiosk on the East Side, and strolled along until he reached a cross street. He turned into that thoroughfare and continued his progress through a neighborhood that became more and more disreputable.

Underneath the massive structure of an elevated line, into an ill-kempt street that was scarcely more than an alley, down a narrow space between two crumpling buildings, and into a dirty doorway, he went. These maneuvers brought the man to a flight of tumble-down stairs. At the head of the steps he knocked twice upon a door that needed painting.

The portal opened. The visitor entered a room that was lighted by a single gas jet. Another man drew back and grinned as he recognized the arrival. The visitor sat down upon a battered chair; his host took a seat upon a flimsy cot that had an inverted bucket propped under one corner in lieu of a leg.

There was a marked contrast between the two men who were holding this meeting in the squalid room. The visitor revealed a square, determined face that possessed a decided ugliness. Puffy lips, mean eyes, and coarse, rough-shaven cheeks, betrayed the identity of a man well known in the underworld — “Socks” Mallory, murderer long wanted by the police.

The owner of the room was a little man, in comparison with powerful Socks Mallory. Seated on the cot, he made a bunched-up figure, his pitiful frame rendered more pathetic by the weakness of his face.

Pasty, ratlike in expression, with all the characteristics of a drug addict, this skulking creature was one who furtively roamed the underworld, too unimportant to gain more than contempt from the average mobsman. In the bad lands, he was known as “Spider” Carew.

There was a significance about this meeting. Both men were wanted. The police had long been searching for Socks Mallory, one-time racketeer, who was now known to be a murderer. But Socks Mallory had not been found in Manhattan.

Spider Carew, in turn, was wanted; but not by the police. He was wanted by The Shadow. For, within twenty-four hours of eliminating effort, the master of darkness had come to the firm conclusion that The Red Blot’s spy could be only Spider Carew himself, and none other.

BOTH Socks and Spider seemed quite at ease in the obscure hideout where they were now located. In fact, Socks Mallory was gloating in expression, and Spider seemed to reflect the big man’s satisfied air.

“How about last night?” questioned Socks, in a gruff voice. “It worked out O.K., didn’t it, Spider?”

“Sure thing,” grunted the pasty-faced individual. “I gave you the lay, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. But that wasn’t all of it. When Hembroke and the bulls made the raid; they fixed everything jake, though they didn’t know it.”

“What was the idea, Socks? You didn’t tell me—”

“About the raid? Why should I? I’m working for The Red Blot — not for Spider Carew.”

“I know that, Socks — ain’t I workin’ for The Red Blot, too? But what I mean is — this is different—”

“I get you, Spider,” nodded Socks, leaning back in his chair. “It don’t pay to be curious, but since you’re that way, I’ll let you in on the idea.”

“You know the set-up. You know that I’m working for The Red Blot. You know that I’ve got a gang of real guys that beat any crowd of gorillas. Every man in my outfit” — Socks swelled proudly — “is wanted by the bulls. Wanted bad, too. Like myself. They think we’ve all scrammed. But you know where we are — right here in New York — but in a place they’ll never find us.”

Spider Carew nodded.

“All right,” continued Socks. “When we pull a job, it’s soft. We pick a lay — bust in — clean up and make a getaway.”

“How?” queried Spider Carew eagerly. “Where? That’s somethin’ I ain’t been able to figure out!”

“You’ll learn tonight, Spider,” interposed Socks. “Just keep quiet while I’m talking.

“As I was saying, we pull the jobs perfect, and we know how to duck out after we’re through. Every time we work, we leave the sign of The Red Blot.”

“Why?”

“Because this stuff we’ve been doing is nothing compared with the big jobs ahead. Nothing! Savvy that? We want to make The Red Blot so important that we’ll have people scared right. We’ve done it. too!”

Socks delivered a smile which showed an ugly toothed mouth in a grotesque contortion.

“But last night,” suggested Spider, “you worked different. You ain’t told me why.”

“I’m getting there!” growled Socks. “Listen, and I’ll tell you! First of all, old Baruch’s hock shop wasn’t in the location we wanted. When you tipped us off that you heard Tweezers Darley talking to Hurley Brewster over the phone, we were all set to do something about it. But we figured a smooth, quiet job was the best. So we pulled it — long before Tweezers and Hurley were due to show up.

“Who do you think worked the main spring? Who do you think we’ve got in our outfit who would crack that safe in Baruch’s joint?”

“Moocher Gleetz,” returned Spider.

“Good guess,” rejoined Socks, with a broad grin. “Well, where is Moocher supposed to be right now?”

“Out in the sticks somewhere.”

“Sure. Well, if the safe had been found cracked, with The Red Blot to blame, the cops would have figured one of two guys — Moocher Gleetz or Tweezers Darley. We wanted them to figure Tweezers — and nobody else.

“So, after we pulled the job — when we knew that Tweezers would still be working on the safe, with Hurley alongside of him — we phoned a neat tip-off to Merton Hembroke. Told him what was up.

“He traveled there with a squad — down to Baruch’s. He found the front door open, like we’d left it for him. You know the rest. The bulls got Tweezer and Hurley. The Red Blot got the swag!”

SPIDER CAREW nodded; but his wan face expressed anxiety. Socks Mallory noted it and grunted.

“Getting cold feet, Spider?” he queried. “Turning yellow?”

“Don’t say that, Socks!” protested the stoop-shouldered gangster. “I ain’t yellow. But I got a right to be worried, ain’t I?”

“Well — what’s the worry?”

“These lays I’ve been givin’ you. Look at last night. Say — there’s plenty of gorillas who’d croak me if they knew I was in on the frame-up that wound up by Tweezers and Hurley takin’ the bump!”

“Nobody’s going to know. Those mugs are dead. They can’t talk.”

“They can’t,” greed Spider, “but there’s other guys that may. If I keep spyin’ for you—”

“That’s all over,” assured Socks. “We’re ready for the big works now. I’m using you tonight, Spider, and when the job is finished, you travel along with us. Say — we’ve been coming out of cover and getting back again, haven’t we? Well, after tonight, we’re going to stay under cover all the time, and do the jobs, too. What do you think of that?”

“It can’t be done!”

“It can’t, eh? Well, you’ll see it done — and you’ll be helping us. You’ll know plenty, Spider. You’ll know everything!”

Socks Mallory sat back and laughed. He seemed to enjoy his companion’s bewilderment.

“The Red Blot is some smart guy,” commented Spider, in a wondering tone. “Some mighty smart guy. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Here’s the lay for tonight,” declared Socks, in a businesslike tone. “You know where the old East Side Bank is. Well, there’s a sort of alley runs alongside of it. Straight across from the alley is an old building that’s not worth a nickel. You can get in there and watch from one of the windows — but be close to the door while you watch.

“We’re coming up the alley from the opposite direction. We’re going to smash into the bank. You’ll see us do it. Then we’ll come out again — the same way we went in — and that’s where you join up. Cut across the street and run with us. Stick with the mob — you’ll be O.K.”

“Say” — Spider’s tone was apprehensive — “you ain’t chancin’ that, are you, Socks? There’ll be an alarm when you bust in — there’ll be all kinds of cops down there—”

“Sure,” interposed Socks. “We’ll be making the getaway when they show up. They’ll be all around us — like a net — and that’s where we’ll fool them like we did before.”

“But there won’t be enough dough to make it worth while!”

“Listen, Spider,” interrupted Socks gruffly; “I know what I’m doing. First of all, the East Side Bank is an old crib. Easy to bust into, though we can’t dodge the alarms. All right. We’ve got the system for the getaway.

“Maybe somebody would have tried it before — except that the East Side Bank is a dump that don’t do big business. But right now, there’s a lot of dough piled in that joint — cash that nobody knows about except The Red Blot. It’s a set-up. Savvy?”

SPIDER nodded to show that he had a glimmer of understanding. As the secret spy of The Red Blot, he knew that the master crook must be a man of great resourcefulness.

“So you be there,” repeated Socks, “just like I told you. Scram when we scram. Then you’re one of us. Maybe” — a malicious smile came upon Mallory’s sullen lips — “maybe I’ll take you along with me tomorrow night when I pull the under-cover job. It’s going to be sweet.”

Rising from his chair, Socks leaned close to Spider’s ear and whispered harshly.

“Tomorrow night,” he said, “I’m going to bump off Tony Loretti!”

“The big guy that runs all the night clubs?” gasped Spider. “Say, Socks, he’s a big shot! If you go after him, there’ll be a mess!”

“Don’t I know it?” queried Socks. “Wasn’t Loretti’s racket my idea? Didn’t I run the Club Janeiro until he muscled in and chased me out?”

“That was my joint, and I’m going to get it back! The Red Blot wants me to do it — there’s a reason why. So Tony Loretti gets his tomorrow night.”

With this thrust, Socks laughed hoarsely and arose from his chair. He nudged Spider Carew with a short, friendly punch; then turned toward the door.

“I’m going back,” informed Socks. “I’ll be getting the mob ready. We’ll be at the East Side Bank inside of two hours. You know where to be. That’s all.”

The door closed upon Socks Mallory’s departing form. Spider Carew remained seated upon the cot. The pasty-faced ruffian’s countenance went through a series of curious contortions. Through Spider’s mind was passing all that Socks had said.

For weeks, Spider had been Socks Mallory’s listening post. All that happened in the bad lands; comments which concerned the activities of The Red Blot; other forms of useful news — these had been given to Socks by Spider whenever Socks paid his scheduled visits to Spider’s hideout.

Secure because of his unimportance, Spider had prowled through the underworld, peering into every hangout, overhearing what was going on. His duties had been amplified; he had been deputed to watch for opportunities that The Red Blot could use.

Thus, Spider Carew had been responsible for The Red Blot gaining the spoils from Timothy Baruch’s pawnshop safe. But now, Spider realized that he was no more than a trifling member in The Red Blot’s array of criminal talent.

A tip-off to Merton Hembroke! That had been nervy. A raid upon the East Side Bank! That would add to the prestige as well as the gain which The Red Blot had acquired.

Who was The Red Blot? Spider Carew did not know. He realized only that anyone who could govern such powerful mobsters as Socks Mallory and Moocher Gleetz must, indeed, be a supercrook.

Immunity! That was The Red Blot’s gift. Capable men of crime, handicapped by the fact that they were wanted, had managed, somehow, to dwell in Manhattan, and to operate in security as long as they followed The Red Blot’s bidding.

Spider could feel the lure. He was fearful, now that he had betrayed Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley. The deaths of those two men weighed heavily on Spider’s mind.

Not that Spider Carew had a conscience. He merely knew the law of gangdom and realized that he had disobeyed it. He, too, wanted immunity. Socks Mallory had promised it, beginning with tonight.

SOME time after Socks had gone, Spider Carew stirred. He arose from the cot, donned a shabby coat and cap, then extinguished the gaslight. With skulking progress, the hunched mobster descended the rickety stairway. He reached the alley and shuffled along toward the street where the elevated ran.

Tonight, Spider thought, would be his last in this sector of the underworld. So believing, the shifty gangster headed toward the Black Ship, to look in on whatever might be doing.

Furtively, with eyes frequently looking back over his shoulder, Spider pursued his timorous route. His shadow made a peculiar, huddled blot, as it passed beneath the glare of a street lamp.

Spider Carew still looked back over his shoulder after he had left the illuminated area. If anyone was on his trail — Spider always suspected such — the follower would be apparent now.

No human form appeared within the range of light. Spider grinned sheepishly.

Strangely, with all his caution, Spider was deceived. He had seen no sign of life beneath the street lamp, yet the indication was there. While Spider stared, a long streak of darkness glided across that zone of illumination. It was the elongated silhouette of a living person, yet Spider, looking for a solid body, did not see it.

Spider Carew went along his way. He did not look backward again. His hunched form threw its huddled blotch at every light; shortly afterward, that same long silhouette put in its inevitable appearance.

That patch of moving darkness had a sinister meaning. Silent and unseen, it was the sure indication of the presence which every skulking rat like Spider Carew feared above all others. The Red Blot’s spy would have been filled with trepidation had he known who was following him.

The Shadow, master of darkness, had picked up the trail of Spider Carew!

Where Spider went tonight, there would The Shadow be! Plotted crime was due to strike again. This time it was not from Spider’s suggestion, but the secret spy would be there to watch it.

Trouble loomed for The Red Blot’s minions. Unwittingly, Spider was acting as a guide to the scene of crime!