THE SHADOW HEARS
A NEW tenant moved into the Escadrille Apartments the morning after Schultz and Spirak had been killed. He was an advertising man from Boston, named Howard Blake.
Like all new tenants, he paid a large rental for his small furnished apartment. There were no cut prices at the Escadrille. Nick Savoli believed that the place should be kept exclusive.
The name of every new tenant was turned over to Mike Borrango, who checked up on the applicant. Borrango learned that Howard Blake was a wealthy man who intended to expand his business by opening an office in the Middle West.
Blake had chosen an apartment on the third floor. He was immediately listed by the men on duty downstairs.
None of those who lived in the apartment house realized the surveillance that existed. In fact, none of them knew that Nick Savoli lived there regularly.
It was understood that he owned the apartment house, and that he had the entire fourth floor; but he never appeared openly. He was generally supposed to be somewhere else.
Late in the afternoon of the second day following the killing of Schultz and Spirak, an unexpected visitor arrived at the Escadrille. This man was recognized immediately by the elevator operator, and the fellow whistled to himself, when he realized the consequences that might result from this visit.
For the man who entered the lobby was none other than Mike Larrigan, himself. There was no mistaking him. A huge, tall Irishman, whose freckled face bore a hardened, determined expression, and whose reddish hair showed beneath the slouch hat that he wore. That was Mike Larrigan.
Where he appeared, trouble brewed. Yet it was the first time that Larrigan had ever called upon Nick Savoli in the Escadrille Apartments. Intrepid though he was, the big Irishman had never dared to invade the camp of his avowed enemy.
But to-day it was different. Larrigan had been approached several times by Mike Borrango, who had met him as an emissary of peace. He had received telephone calls from Borrango. He had been assured that Savoli desired friendship.
Even after the raid that Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak had made upon Marmosa’s gambling place, Borrango had called Larrigan and had repeated promises of good things for all if peace should be arranged.
In fact, the enforcer had gone so far as to offer his services in Larrigan’s behalf if the Irishman should desire it.
“If there’s anything that isn’t just right,” Borrango had said, “let me know about it. Come and see me. I’m your friend. Nick is your friend.”
MIKE LARRIGAN was not subtle. Yet he could recognize those who were. There was something about Borrango’s invitation that had placed him on the defensive.
He had an idea that a man could go into Savoli’s apartment and not come out. He likened the entrance of the Escadrille to a one-way street that had no ending.
He had expected some sudden attack from the Savoli gangsters. Now it had come. Mike Larrigan visualized purpose behind the murders of his two lieutenants, Schultz and Spirak.
At the same time he had decided to play a hunch.
Until now, Nick Savoli had had cause to want Mike Larrigan eliminated from the field of Chicago’s gangland. But now conditions were reversed.
Larrigan had a grievance against the big shot, assuming of course that Savoli had ordered the deaths of Schultz and Spirak. The big Irishman had become suddenly shrewd. He was positive that Nick Savoli would not reveal his hidden hand by another outrage. It was the psychological time for Larrigan to pay a visit.
Not that Mike Larrigan understood psychology. He believed in hunches, that was all; and this time he was sure he had a hunch.
He had come to the Escadrille accompanied by several henchmen, who were even now scattered about the avenue outside. They were watching him go in; they were to wait for him to come out. So when Mike Larrigan entered the elevator, he calmly told the operator that his destination was the fourth floor.
The operator excused himself for a moment and went to a telephone in the lobby. He talked in an undertone. He waited for a reply. Larrigan glowered at him from the elevator. At last the operator hung up the receiver, and returned.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You can go up.”
Larrigan became immediately suspicious; but now it was too late. The door of the elevator had closed, and they were speeding upward.
MIKE BORRANGO was a diplomat. He had the happy faculty of meeting other gangsters in the way they liked. He knew the fellowship that existed among the members of Larrigan’s clan, and he adopted that method of greeting.
He hurried across the room in advance of Savoli, and shook hands warmly with the visitor. Perhaps there was a hidden method in his actions; if so, Larrigan did not suspect it.
Had the Irishman been carrying concealed deadly weapons, with thoughts of ending the checkered career of Nick Savoli, he would have had no opportunity to do so while engaged in shaking hands with Borrango.
Savoli approached while Borrango was still beside Larrigan. He, too, acted with a friendliness that impressed the independent gang leader. The big shot motioned his visitor to a chair, and before Larrigan realized it, he and Savoli were engaged in conversation, with Borrango, his back to the bookcase, beaming upon both of them.
“They kept you waiting downstairs?” questioned Savoli, as though concerned. “That is not right. I shall change that. I have told them to send up my friends, always. I am sorry, very sorry.”
“That’s all right, Nick,” replied Larrigan gruffly. “You can’t take chances, any more than I can. There’s been times when things weren’t right between us — “
“That’s all talk, Mike,” interposed Borrango. “You haven’t met Nick often enough — that’s all. He’s a good friend of yours — always has been.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say — “
Borrango again interrupted Larrigan’s doubtful statement.
“You know how I feel, Mike,” said the enforcer. “There’s a lot of Italians who don’t like Irishmen, and a lot of Irishmen who don’t like Italians. But that doesn’t go for us. You and Nick are big shots! Don’t forget that!”
Larrigan looked at Savoli, and Nick nodded his agreement with the enforcer’s words.
LARRIGAN was now at ease. Relieved from all tension, his mind suddenly reverted to the purpose of his visit. He had business to discuss, and now was the time to do it.
“Listen, Borrango,” he said. “You say you’re a friend of mine, don’t you?”
The enforcer nodded.
“You’re in with Nick, here,” continued Larrigan. “He’s a friend of mine, too. Is that right?”
Borrango’s second nod was more emphatic, than the first.
“All right,” declared Larrigan. He turned to Savoli. “I’m going to talk plain to you, Nick. Why were Schultz and Spirak bumped off? What do you know about it?”
The big shot shrugged his shoulders.
“I was very sorry to hear of that,” he said. He looked to Borrango for corroboration, and the enforcer nodded. “Very sorry,” added Savoli. “I have sent flowers — many flowers. It is too bad. It is just the kind of thing I do not like to see.”
“Flowers don’t mean nothing, Nick,” blurted Larrigan. “You sent flowers and a big wreath. They all do that. Sometimes the biggest wreath comes from the guy that did the bumping off.
“Now, I know who bumped off those two boys. It was Monk Thurman. But who was Monk working for?”
“Maybe he was working for himself,” suggested Borrango.
“Maybe,” replied Mike Larrigan doubtfully, “and maybe not. It don’t look right to me, Borrango. That’s why I came here.
“You said that if I had anything to squawk about, come to see you. I’m here, and I’m squawking!”
“There was trouble between Monk and those two boys,” said Borrango smoothly. “Maybe they were after him — and he got them instead.”
“They were after him, all right,” admitted Larrigan. “But he was laying for them, and he got them where he wanted them. All right.
“If he knew they were after him, why didn’t he clear out — back to New York, maybe? Why was he staying around here in Chicago, with guys trying to put him on the spot?”
“There’s a lot of good torpedoes who are dumb, Mike,” said Borrango, by way of explanation.
“Listen” — Larrigan was getting to the point of his argument — “after that trouble down in Marmosa’s, there was a lot of talk that you fellows were trying to get Monk Thurman to work for you.
“There was more than that. They say that Monk Thurman came here. They say he was working for you. That’s what I want to find out. Was he working for you, or wasn’t he?”
The question was put to Savoli. The big shot was indirect in his reply.
“I shall tell you, Larrigan,” he said. “You want to know if I was after Schultz and Spirak. I answer you — No! Why should I want them on the spot?”
“They tried to stick up Marmosa’s,” replied Larrigan.
“I know that,” returned Savoli. “But that was not the first trouble they made for me. I have let many things pass. Why should one more trouble me? They did not stick up Marmosa’s after all. Marmosa is not my man.”
“He gives you a cut.”
“Of course. But he must find his own protection.”
Larrigan was on the point of being convinced by Savoli’s argument. Borrango was ready to add persuasion. But before the Irishman could formulate a further reply, Savoli became suddenly direct in his statements.
“It is good for you,” he said quietly, “that Schultz and Spirak were bumped off.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Larrigan.
“Were you master of your own mob?” questioned Savoli, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “No, Larrigan, you were not. You had your gang; Schultz and Spirak had theirs. You often went by what they said. Their men were yours — while you did what they wanted. Am I right?”
LARRIGAN’S freckled face became red. He was too angry to speak, but his wrath left him as suddenly as it had come. He stared at Savoli, and was met with a look that was firm, yet not unfriendly. Borrango broke the strain.
“Nick is a friend of yours, Mike,” he insisted. “He is not trying to make you feel bad. You told him what you thought; he is telling you what he thinks. It is all between friends.”
“Well,” said Larrigan slowly, “you may be right, Nick. I never looked at it that way, but you may be right. Those two fellows were pals of mine, though. Don’t forget that!”
“I have not forgotten it,” said Savoli quietly. “Like you, I am sorry that they are dead. But friends of mine have died, too. We have ourselves to think about.”
“You mean — “
Savoli looked significantly at Borrango. The enforcer took his cue. Now was the time for him to make a proposal that would interest Mike Larrigan.
“Nick means this,” said Borrango. “Before now, it would have been difficult for you to work with us, because Schultz and Spirak might not have liked it. But now we can work together.”
“Pete Varona might like to move away from the South Side,” said Nick Savoli, in a thoughtful tone.
Larrigan caught the suggestion.
The South Side saloons and booze joints were divided in allegiance. Varona, as Savoli’s underling, controlled more territory than did Larrigan. In fact, all of Larrigan’s increase of business had been at the expense of Pete Varona.
It had been a battle between Larrigan’s gunmen, who frequently shot up places that bought booze from Varona. In return, Pete’s bombers had a habit of flinging pineapples into places that were supplied by Larrigan.
Until now, the Irishman had been making progress. One by one, booze peddlers had been showing preference for the liquor that came from Larrigan. But with Schultz and Spirak gone, the tide was sure to turn.
Larrigan was an Irishman who liked fights; yet he could yield to the lure of easy money. Savoli had spoken well. Already, visions of controlling the entire South Side were forming in Larrigan’s mind. He would pay tribute to Savoli, to be sure, yet his own profits would be tremendous.”
“That sounds good to me, Mike,” commented Borrango. “What do you think about it?”
Larrigan’s indecision suddenly left him. He thrust his hand toward Savoli.
“Shake on it,” he said.
Nick grasped Mike’s hand.
Larrigan rose; then stopped.
“There’s just one thing, though,” he said. “We’ve made a bargain, and I’ll stick to it. But I want the man that got Schultz and Spirak. I don’t care now whether he was working for you or not. I want him, and if I get him, I’ll call it quits.”
“Listen, Mike,” said Savoli quietly. “This fellow they call Monk was not working for me. He came here, and I gave him credit for helping out in Marmosa’s. He wanted to work for me, but I didn’t need him.”
“Can you get him to work for you?” questioned Larrigan eagerly.
“Perhaps,” said Savoli thoughtfully.
“All right,” replied Larrigan. “Get him, and let me have him.”
“That might be done,” said Savoli, turning to Borrango.
“I think it could,” returned the enforcer, speaking to Larrigan. “But we will have to be careful. He might suspect something, now that you are with us. Give me time, Mike, and I can do it.”
“All right,” agreed Larrigan.
“One moment,” Savoli spoke seriously. “We must not hurry this, Larrigan. It must not disturb our plans to work together.
“I tell you what we will do. There are other men in Chicago who should be working for me. I can give them all territory — not as good as yours, but territory that will please them. Suppose we call a meeting, two nights from now. Could you arrange it, Borrango?”
Nick looked significantly at the enforcer as he finished his short talk. Borrango was secretly elated. Savoli had cleverly turned the course of events into a great plan which he and the big shot had arranged.
“You mean, can I get them all to be there? Morgan, Salvis, Pietro — “
Savoli interrupted the listing.
“I mean all of them that count,” he said. “Every man that has a mob. So we can work together from now on.”
“I can do it,” said Borrango, “if they know Larrigan is coming with us. He’s bigger than any of them.”
“I’ll be with you,” announced Larrigan. “But remember, I get Monk Thurman when you find him.”
“That’s right,” said Savoli, again shaking hands with the Irishman. “We’ll get Monk Thurman for you, after this goes through. Two nights from now, at the Goliath Hotel. Borrango will arrange it all.”
WHEN Larrigan was gone, Borrango grinned at his chief. They had turned the Irishman’s visit completely to their advantage.
To Nick Savoli, the one goal of gangdom was supreme rule. Through careful alliances and purposeful efforts, he had risen to control the most important factions of Chicago’s underworld. The Larrigan outfit had been the one obstacle that had prevented him from completing his mighty empire.
Other gang leaders still opposed his rule, but they did so only because Larrigan was still independent. Now Larrigan had swung into line, and the others would follow.
If any still held out, Larrigan could fight them. The big Irishman loved to wipe out lesser gangsters. He would be useful to Savoli.
Both the big shot and his enforcer had discussed all this. The only change in their program related to Monk Thurman. He must be sacrificed to appease Larrigan. This was the only term of agreement that Savoli seemed to regret.
“This Monk is a good man. It is too bad for him to go.”
“That sounds like Larrigan talking, Nick,” returned Borrango. “That’s why he never got where he should. Too much sentiment.”
“It’s not sentiment,” replied the big shot. “I am thinking of Monk in terms of usefulness. Don’t forget that he wiped out Schultz and Spirak. We could not have made this deal without that.”
“That is true,” said Borrango. “But we have to eliminate Monk to complete the deal. So let him serve you again — by putting him on the spot.”
“We will have to do it,” agreed Savoli, “but we must wait a while, if possible. I have one more job for Monk Thurman — “
“What is that?”
“This man they call The Shadow. We must find him. Monk may know who he is. Monk is the man to fix him.”
“The Shadow?” Mike Borrango’s voice was contemptuous. “Who is The Shadow? Steve Cronin spoke of him. But Steve is yellow.”
“Machine-gun McGinnis is not yellow. Neither is Brodie. The Shadow made trouble for them, as well — “
“Because he surprised them. That is all. What has become of him since then? He has done nothing. He is gone. He is one man, without a mob. What can he do?”
Savoli rose from his chair, and walked slowly from the room, with Borrango close beside him. At the door, the big shot spoke to his enforcer.
“You may be right,” he said. “The Shadow — whoever he may be — has no power against us. Now that we know of him, he is afraid.
“Yet we will play the game safe. We will give this Monk a chance to kill The Shadow. If he succeeds, we may save him from Larrigan. If he fails — let Larrigan have him.”
“Let Larrigan have him anyway,” said Borrango. “As for The Shadow — he is probably miles away from Chicago by now.”
The men left the library. The door slammed behind them. Then the bookcase moved. A tall, thin figure, clad in black, stepped into the vacant room.
Silent, sinister, and motionless, The Shadow seemed to be pondering over the words that he had heard.
After Larrigan’s departure, the other men had talked in Italian; but it was apparent that the man who had been hidden behind the bookcase had understood their words. For now he spoke in a low, uncanny whisper that seemed to fill the room with sibilant echoes.
“Larrigan is lined up,” were his words. “The others will follow. Monk Thurman will die. Nick Savoli will be supreme.”
Scarcely had the man in black finished these sentences before a soft, whispered laugh escaped his lips. Like the words, the laugh reached every corner of the room.
It was creepy, and unreal, that laugh. Its taunting tones seemed to ridicule everything that Nick Savoli and Mike Borrango had accepted as certainty.
For The Shadow had heard. The Shadow knew.