MONK THURMAN RETURNS
THE next morning found Nick Savoli and Mike Borrango in close conference in the big shot’s officelike den. The enforcer had been busy making the first arrangements that would merge the gangs of Chicago; until now he had not had the opportunity to talk with his chief regarding The Shadow. But now, with a temporary lull at hand, the commander of mobsters opened the discussion with his aid.
There was only one course; that was to get The Shadow. The mysterious man in black had been the first person who had ever dared to defy Nick Savoli face to face. That in itself was sufficient cause for a death warrant.
At the same time, both Savoli and Borrango were practical minded. They realized that The Shadow was no common adversary.
“Put him on the spot,” was Savoli’s terse command.
Mike Borrango nodded his agreement; at the same time he raised an important objection.
“Who will do it?” he asked.
“You have the men,” replied Savoli.
“There are four,” said Borrango, “Who are the best of all. Steve Cronin, Machine-gun McGinnis, and the other two — Genara and Anelmo. You saw what happened last night. Three of them failed.
“We have one other man — McGinnis. Yet he was in the car with Cronin that night when The Shadow prevented both of them from putting Clarendon on the spot. So we cannot rely upon McGinnis.
“You are right when you say that I have men. But I do not have the one man we need.”
“Find him, then!”
“Who is he? He must be equal to any one of the four who have failed. He must be better than any of them. More than that, he must have the ability to discover this Shadow — whoever he may be.”
“Cronin has met The Shadow before.”
“Yes; but he has no knowledge of the man’s identity. He has never found The Shadow. It has always been The Shadow who has found him.”
“Cronin appears to be afraid of The Shadow.”
Borrango smiled sourly before he made his reply.
“I was afraid, last night,” he confessed. “You were not afraid, Nick. But I was afraid. Cronin was afraid, too.”
“How about Genara and Anelmo?”
“They do not fear The Shadow. They are ready to find him. But you know the limits of their ability. They kill those who are found for them. We cannot count upon them to find The Shadow.”
Nick Savoli was thoughtful; then he made a suggestion.
“This man Monk,” he said quietly. “He comes from New York. He is better than any of them. Where is he now?”
THE telephone rang before Borrango could offer a reply. The enforcer answered it, and engaged in a terse conversation. Savoli left the room for the time; when he returned, he found Borrango looking gloomily from the window.
“Who was it?” demanded Savoli.
“Larrigan,” replied Borrango. “He reminded me about Monk Thurman. I told him to wait a while. I said that we had not yet located Monk; that after we find him — “
“Larrigan can wait, then!” exclaimed Savoli angrily. “We must find this man Monk. Through him we must find The Shadow. He is valuable to us. Larrigan can wait.”
“Monk will be back,” prophesied Borrango. “He does not know of your promise to Larrigan. He is still on our pay roll — “
He paused to lift the receiver of a telephone that connected with the anteroom. A light had flashed, signifying that a visitor was outside. Borrango uttered an exclamation of surprise when he heard the voice of the attendant.
“Send him in!” he said. Then he turned to Savoli. “It is Monk Thurman now!”
The big shot arose and led the way into the library. There was Monk Thurman, calmly seated in the big chair, quietly awaiting an interview.
His face was as masklike and as expressionless as before. He surveyed Savoli and Borrango without uttering a word. The big shot sat opposite Thurman; the enforcer took his customary place before the bookcase.
“You have done well, Monk,” commended Borrango, in opening the conversation. “We had not expected action so soon. We have been wondering where you have been.”
The gangster seemed indifferent to the words of approval. In fact, he seemed to ignore them entirely. He looked coldly toward Borrango; then turned his attention to Nick Savoli.
“I hear there was a peace meeting last night,” he said.
“There was,” replied the big shot.
“Larrigan is now a friend of yours.”
“He is.”
“How does that affect me?”
“Listen, Monk.” Mike Borrango interjected himself into the discussion. “You can forget about Larrigan. He’s sore because Schultz and Spirak were bumped off; but we expected that. We wanted them out of the way so we could line up Larrigan.
“We’ll fix it so you won’t have to worry about Larrigan. What we want to know about now is where you have been — “
“Where I have been?” Monk Thurman laughed in a rasping tone. “I’ve been worrying about Larrigan, that’s what. I heard that Larrigan squawked to you. So I laid low. Here I am now, and I want to know just where I stand.”
“You stand high, Monk,” said Borrango earnestly. “In fact, we were just talking about you, Nick and I. There’s another job for you to do.”
Borrango reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He counted off a thousand dollars, and handed it to the New York gunman.
Thurman accepted the money without an expression of thanks. As on the previous occasion, he added the bills to his own fat roll.
“What’s my next job?” he asked abruptly.
Borrango looked quizzically at Savoli. The big shot nodded, and the enforcer spoke.
“Did you ever hear of The Shadow?” he questioned.
A look of startled amazement flickered over Monk Thurman’s face. It was the first time that either Savoli or Borrango had seen an emotion registered upon those chiseled features.
In an instant the expression was gone. Monk Thurman did not speak. Instead, he simply nodded.
“What is he?” asked Savoli, in a hard voice.
“The Shadow?” Monk laughed in his rasping, mirthless manner. “He is one who makes trouble.”
“How does he make trouble?”
“He finds out the plans of the big shots. He spoils them. They say that those who meet The Shadow never forget it.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No. But if I do — ” The gangster made a motion of drawing an automatic.
“I would like to meet The Shadow,” he added, with an ugly sneer.
“You will have a chance to meet him,” said Savoli quietly.
“Me?” Monk snorted disgustedly. “Not me. I’m not going back to New York. That isn’t in our bargain. I work here in Chicago.”
“The Shadow is here in Chicago.”
Monk Thurman stared steadily at Nick Savoli, as though he doubted the statement that the big shot had made. He slowly seemed to realize that Savoli was serious. He looked at Borrango, and noted the soberness of the enforcer’s face.
“What’s up?” he demanded.
“The Shadow is here in Chicago,” said Borrango. “He tried to act smart last night. We should have nabbed him, but he got away. We are going to put him on the spot. It is up to you!”
MONK THURMAN did not respond to this decisive statement. He seemed to ponder on Borrango’s words. A full minute went by; then Savoli ended the silence.
“Tell us about The Shadow,” he said.
“Nobody knows much about him,” replied Monk Thurman. “They don’t know what he is, nor why he works the way he does. But when anybody tries to battle with him, they get the worst of it. Sometimes they get bumped off. Sometimes the cops get them.”
“He works for the police?”
“No. He’s not a dick. He’s more like a crook. Works at night, and plays a lone hand. He has men who tip him off to what’s going on. Sometimes they get into trouble, but The Shadow always pulls them out of it.
“They say The Shadow is the fellow who got Bert Farley. There was a smart guy in New York called Isaac Coffran. Smart as they made them; but that old duck cleared out all of a sudden, and they claim The Shadow was in back of it.
“Then there was Birdie Crull. He was bumped off by a secret-service man, and they say The Shadow was mixed up in that.”
“Yet you say he is not with the police?”
“Not a bit of it. He dodges the cops himself, sometimes. He may be a crook for all I know, because he seems to have all the money he wants. Yet they’ve never hung anything on him.
“All they’ve got is one fact — that he likes to make trouble for any one that’s pulling something on the cops. Nobody knows The Shadow’s game. Whenever they see him, he’s wearing a black cloak and a black hat.”
“The way he was last night!” blurted Borrango. The enforcer became silent when Nick Savoli made a gesture. The big shot was intensely interested in Monk’s description.
“He shows up at a radio station, every Thursday night,” continued the gangster. “They’re all set there to keep anybody from finding out who he is.
“Some crook got in there once, disguised like an electrician, but he didn’t learn a thing. Some guys say that The Shadow don’t always go to the broadcasting station. They claim there’s a telephone hook-up over long distance, so he can broadcast from anywhere. But nobody has ever got the whole dope on it.
“He’s a tough guy — The Shadow.”
“Would you know him if you saw him?” Savoli asked.
“Me know The Shadow? Of course I would. Say — let any gazebo come around me wearing a black cloak and a pulled-down hat. He’ll get his, quick, I tell you! If The Shadow is here in Chicago, I’m out to find him!”
“He is here. But say nothing.”
Monk Thurman nodded his acquiescence. Then he suddenly looked about the room.
The action was most expressive. It showed, more graphically than words, what Monk Thurman thought of The Shadow’s reputation. Here, in Nick Savoli’s headquarters, he seemed to suspect the presence of the man in black.
“You say he has made trouble in New York,” observed Nick Savoli. “But Chicago is not New York. We do not fear The Shadow here.
“I have two men who do not fear him — Anelmo and Genara. They are on the watch for him. You will be the third. It will mean ten grand if you get him.”
The offer of ten thousand dollars seemed to arouse Monk Thurman’s interest. For once, the New Yorker appeared eager. But he quickly regained his accustomed calmness.
“Why is The Shadow here?” questioned Savoli.
Monk Thurman looked puzzled.
“How should I know?” he asked.
“You know something about The Shadow,” replied Nick Savoli. “I shall tell you what he said last night. He told me that I was responsible for the death of a man against whom I had no grievance. -“
“That is the way The Shadow works,” responded Monk. “He acts that way.”
“So I now understand. Yet” — Savoli laughed slightly — “there are many whose deaths I have caused.”
“The Shadow knows,” said Monk impressively. “Some time — not long ago — you must have caused the death of some friend of his — “
Mike Borrango stepped forward.
“I have it, Nick!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember that fellow that McGinnis put on the spot? Prescott? Society bootlegger?”
“He lived here in Chicago,” objected Savoli.
“Yes,” said Borrango, “but there was a man with him — some man from New York — an insurance broker — “
Savoli looked quizzically at Monk Thurman.
“That is right,” he said. “Do you think the man could have been a friend of The Shadow?”
The New York gangster shrugged his shoulders.
“That may be it,” he said. “I’ll tell you something about The Shadow. He has his men, and he sticks by them. There’s not many of them, but he keeps them working.
“Perhaps this insurance man was one of his agents. If he was — well, it’s no wonder The Shadow is here in Chicago.”
NICK SAVOLI arose from his chair. He waved his hand toward Borrango, who was about to say something. Evidently the big shot decided that this matter had been discussed enough.
He stepped close to Monk Thurman, and gave his final instructions.
“You are a good man, Monk,” he said. “You will get this fellow they call The Shadow. You will get him quick. Understand?”
The gangster nodded.
“All right. Go. Let me know what happens.”
When Monk Thurman had departed, Nick Savoli turned to his enforcer.
“Make sure that no wires are tapped. Have Genara and Anelmo stay at Marmosa’s headquarters, and tell them to keep looking for The Shadow.
“Monk has told us that The Shadow has his men. Perhaps we can find one of them. If so — “
Mike Borrango nodded soberly. He realized that this was an additional task for him to perform. The formation of the new districts was great in itself; yet he knew that Nick Savoli would not be satisfied until The Shadow had been put on the spot.
“I shall have Cronin watch,” said Borrango cunningly. “He has met The Shadow before. Perhaps he can see some one that may give him a clew.
“I shall keep him at Marmosa’s, also. He will not do as your bodyguard, but he will be valuable in this new work.”
The enforcer grinned. He still had an unpleasant memory of the man in black. But to-day, in the security of Nick Savoli’s apartment, The Shadow seemed weak and powerless.
Borrango was thinking of the dangerous gangsters who had fallen through their opposition to the big shot. They had been men who shot to kill; not masqueraders who wore black cloaks and kept their faces hidden.