“KILLER” DURGAN
IT was the next evening when Ernie Shires entered the lobby of Larchmont Court, one of Manhattan’s newest hotel apartments. The tough-faced gangster was gaudily dressed for the occasion.
He looked about him with an approving grin as he mentally contrasted the elegant surroundings of this apartment with the decadent lobby of the Hotel Spartan. He whistled softly to himself as he entered a smooth-running elevator and called for the twenty-first floor.
“Whew!” murmured Ernie, as the elevator sped upward. “This is some joint! This guy Durgan must be a big shot. Tim Waldron couldn’t touch this!”
The elevator stopped, and Shires stepped into a thickly carpeted hallway. He looked in both directions; then, noting the numbers on the doors, he walked to the right and stopped at the entrance to a suite in the corner. He knocked, and was admitted.
Again, Ernie Shires was amazed by his surroundings. He stood in a lavishly furnished room. He seemed to feel the thickness of the rug that was beneath his feet.
The walls were hung with expensive tapestries. Chairs and tables, carved of heavy mahogany, bespoke luxury.
Ernie’s eyes wandered across the room, and he gazed with keen interest toward a divan upon which a beautiful girl reclined. She was attired in a varicolored dress that formed the one bright spot in the softly-lighted room. The girl had blond hair, and she gazed at Ernie with languishing eyes.
Then, as the gangster continued to stare toward her, the girl turned her eyes toward the ceiling, and raised a cigarette to her lips. She seemed indifferent to his presence as she blew a puff of smoke.
Ernie suddenly came to his senses. He knew the reason for the blond’s action. Men of the underworld are jealous of their women. Ernie was here on business. It was not wise for her to attract his attention.
Ernie Shires realized his mistake and immediately rectified it. He turned toward the other side of the room, where two men were seated, both looking steadily in his direction.
One of these men was quiet-looking and solemn-faced. He was obviously a visitor. It was the other man who commanded Ernie’s interest. He needed no introduction.
Ernie recognized him as “Killer” Durgan, racketeer de luxe!
No individual could have been more out of place in those surroundings than Killer Durgan. He was a man with a cruel, leering face, that betrayed a merciless, animal nature.
MANY a mobsman had quailed before the snarling face of Killer Durgan, but Ernie Shires did not follow their example. Instead, he returned the man’s evil leer with a grin.
Killer Durgan was a man to his liking. In him, Shires recognized his own traits. He had heard that Killer Durgan was a man who would stop at nothing. Now, he was sure of it.
Durgan nodded slowly as he surveyed Ernie Shires. Evidently, he, too, was well pleased. The hard-faced gangster who stood before him was meeting with his approval, and even as he nodded in satisfaction, Durgan curled his lips maliciously.
“You’re Shires?” he questioned, in a raspy voice.
“Yeah,” replied Ernie.
“Sit down.”
Durgan turned to the man beside him. “All right, Mike,” he said. “Run along. Call me to-morrow.”
The solemn-faced man nodded. He arose and left the room, walking past Ernie Shires without glancing at him.
Durgan turned toward the corner where the blond girl was staring upward at a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Beat it, Madge,” ordered Durgan.
The girl arose and walked across the room. She opened a door and went into another room of the suite.
She did not look at Ernie Shires as she left. Killer Durgan’s minions acted like human automatons when they received his orders.
Ernie Shires grinned again, in admiration of the man.
“What’s the lay?” Durgan demanded suddenly.
Shires shrugged his shoulders.
“I was working for Tim Waldron,” he said. “He was blotted out last night. That’s all.”
Killer Durgan half-closed his eyelids as he stared at Shires. He raised his lower lip in an ugly manner.
“What did you do for Waldron?” he questioned.
“Managed his gorillas,” returned Shires.
“Who knocked him off?”
“A guy named Cliff Marsland.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“Me?” Ernie Shires shrugged his shoulders. “What should I do about it? I wasn’t Waldron’s bodyguard.”
“You were in the money, weren’t you?”
“Sure. I was getting mine out of Waldron’s racket. One grand a week to keep the gorillas working. But why should I worry? I ain’t eating snowballs. I’m a long way from being broke!”
Killer Durgan pondered. He continued to study his visitor.
He knew well why Shires had come to see him. If he had not understood the purpose of the gangster’s visit, he would not have granted him admittance. Shires was after a job with Durgan; and Durgan wanted to find out a few things about the gangster’s previous connection with the defunct Tim Waldron. He had learned one fact already; that Shires had been working for Waldron on a strictly business arrangement. That pleased Durgan.
There were reasons why he did not want a man who was nursing a vengeance. He was not anxious to embroil himself in a feud on account of Tim Waldron’s death. Still, he wanted to know more.
“Why did Marsland knock off Waldron?” he questioned.
“Don’t ask me,” responded Shires.
“Was he trying to muscle in on Waldron’s racket?”
“Nope. Waldron had that racket by the ears. He was the big noise, and he was making a go of it.”
“Maybe this guy Marsland thinks he can take it over?”
“Marsland?” Shires was contemptuous. “Him? He just came out of the Big House. All he did last night was queer the racket for good. You’ve seen the newspapers, ain’t you?”
Killer Durgan shook his head. His action was a silent lie. He had read all about the death of Tim Waldron, but he wanted to hear the version Shires had to offer.
Ernie Shires leaned forward as he spoke: “Waldron was running a storage-warehouse racket. The suckers began to squawk. Told the coppers and all that, but Waldron had things fixed well enough so they didn’t try to hang anything on him.
“But last night, Cliff Marsland comes along and bumps him off. That would’ve been all right, maybe, but Waldron had a bunch of gorillas checking up on Marsland. They was in the hallway outside of Waldron’s rooms, when the shots was fired.
“They tried to give Marsland the works. Instead, he cleans ‘em and makes a get-away. There was just one guy in that gang that was a real pal of Waldron’s. That was Hymie Bergerman.
“He comes in just as one of his own gang pulls a gat and tries to plug Marsland. Hymie gets the lead by accident. His own guy knocks him off. That made a mess of things.
“There was so much shooting going on around the Spartan Hotel that the coppers had to come in. Everything was haywire, with Tim and Hymie out of the picture.
“The coppers find everything up in Tim’s room — papers, accounts and all that — showing that he was the big guy in the storage racket.
“Some smart dick gets a lot of dope on the situation. He spills the whole lay, and all the tabs have been mooching around. Now it’s all over the front pages, and the whole racket has gone blooey!”
“Blooey, eh?” Killer Durgan laughed. “That guy Waldron had a lot to learn! Thought he was a big shot!
“The way he was running that racket, he must have thought Santa Claus was in with him! Go on!”
“That’s all there is to it!”
“That’s all, eh? Where did you come in? I thought you said something about handling jobs for Waldron!”
Ernie Shires licked his lips thoughtfully. He suspected that Killer Durgan knew more than he had pretended.
Durgan was a big racketeer. It was probable that his ignorance was feigned. Shires wondered if Durgan had heard of the fiasco in which he had figured. He decided to sound him out.
“I pulled a lot of jobs for Waldron,” he said. “I was doing one last night — about the time when Waldron was bumped off.”
“Yeah?” Durgan seemed inquisitive. “Tell me about it!”
“There was six of us,” explained Shires. “Held up a van belonging to a storage guy named Brooks. We was there to slug the driver and smash up the stuff.”
“Did you do it?” There was a sharpness in Durgan’s question.
“Well — no,” admitted Shires. “There was a car dogging the van. A guy pumped us with a rod that had a silencer on it. We plugged back at him; then we had to beat it.”
“You had to beat it!” retorted Durgan contemptuously. “You — not the gorillas you had with you! I read part of the newspapers, anyway.
“Those guys were nabbed by the coppers. That helped to put the skids under Waldron’s racket. That was the beginning.” Durgan laughed.
“That was the beginning,” he repeated, “and you have the nerve to come around here and want me to take you on! One grand a week, you were getting? No wonder Tim Waldron went blooey!”
A LESS hardened mobster than Ernie Shires would have quailed beneath Killer Durgan’s contempt. But Shires was no ordinary gangster.
“One grand a week!” said Shires slowly. “That’s what I was getting from Waldron — and I’m worth that to you, Durgan! Get me? You want to know why? I’ll tell you!”
He waited a few moments for Durgan to wonder at his words; then:
“You think I fell down on the job last night,” he said. “That’s what they all think — although they don’t know who I was. The coppers don’t know that one guy — that’s me — got away.
“There’s been no squeals from the gorillas. There ain’t nobody that knows who was there — that is, nobody that’s going to talk. I just told you, because I’ve got something else to say.
“I know who queered that job. And it wasn’t the cops or anybody connected with the cops! It was some one else and I know who!”
Killer Durgan looked sharply at him, the cold sneer lurking at his mouth corners. But his eyes gleamed with interest.
“All right, wise guy. Who was it? Some bird that had it in for Waldron?”
Shires flipped a cigarette from a pack and lighted it before answering. “Sure, a guy that had it in for Waldron! And maybe the guy put it up to Marsland to get Waldron. A guy who has it in for you, too! And maybe he’ll get you, the same way.
“He’s got it in for you and every bird running a racket in this town! And I’m the baby that knows the lay! Get me?”
Shires let the smoke dribble from his nostrils. “A grand a week, Durgan,” he suggested softly. “Is it worth it to you — to keep on living?”
Killer Durgan became thoughtful. He had a crafty, cunning brain. His contempt was feigned; his sneers only pretense. He had a sense of perception that Tim Waldron had lacked.
He was sizing up Ernie Shires, reading him as one reads a book. He knew that Shires was quick-witted and as observant as himself. And he wanted to know what Shires knew.
“One grand a week,” Durgan repeated slowly. “Well, you might be worth it at that, working for me. If you spill what you know!”
Ernie Shires grinned. He had a revelation to make, and he was sure he had built up Durgan’s interest.
“You want the name of the guy who busted up Waldron’s racket?” he asked. “You want to be sure that he’s big enough to give you trouble, too? That he’s one hell of a sight more dangerous than the cops? Is that it?”
Durgan nodded slowly. “And your job is to fix him so he won’t make trouble — unless it’s trouble to the morgue keeper. I’ll back you with plenty dough, with anything from pea-shooters to pineapples. If you need real gorillas — not cripples like Waldron had — I’ve got them, too!”
“I’ll need ‘em all right,” retorted Shires. “I’ll need ‘em because I know who we’re up against! But even he can be handled, and I’m the guy who can do it. Probably the only guy in this burg who has the brains and the guts to run the scheme through.
“Say, Durgan, it’ll be worth more than a grand a week when I bring this guy to you — harmless as a dead toad!” Shires laughed. “Why, from now on his life isn’t worth a Mex nickel — if I’m helping you!”
Durgan nodded, then jerked erect, startled at Shires’s next words.
“Because the guy that’s making all the trouble is” — Ernie Shires paused impressively before he added the name — “The Shadow!”
SHIRES stared at Durgan closely. For a moment he anticipated that his statement would be received with the same contempt that Tim Waldron had exhibited.
But when Shires had figured Durgan as a man of cunning, he had not missed his mark. The evil-faced racketeer was sober.
“The Shadow!” he repeated.
Ernie Shires nodded.
“You’re sure of it?” questioned Durgan seriously.
“Positive!”
Killer Durgan arose and walked back and forth across the room. He seemed indifferent to Ernie’s presence. His hand brushed against a dainty liquor glass that was on a table.
The fragile goblet broke when it struck the floor, despite the thickness of the rug. Durgan stepped upon the pieces and ground them savagely beneath his foot. Then he glared toward Shires.
“You know why they call me Killer?” he demanded.
“I’ve heard,” replied Shires.
“All right! I get them when I go after them! But I quit using the rod when I got into this racket. The pickings are too soft.
“Look at this joint.” He swept his hand about the room. “Does this look like Tim Waldron’s place?”
“No!”
“You’re right it don’t! A dozen Tim Waldrons couldn’t raise the dough to keep up a joint like this! But it’s small change for me.
“The moll wants it this way — that’s why I’ve got it — and it only costs me my pickle money!
“Do you think I’m a sap like Tim Waldron? Do you think a bunch of dicks could mooch around here and find anything? There ain’t no leaks in my racket!
“You’ve heard of the Public Garage Owners’ Association. Well, I’m it! They all pay in the dough. You know it — but try to prove it. Why? Because I’m a garage owner myself!
“Garages? I’ve got three of them! I pay big dough to my own collector! I’m in the garage business! What do you think of that?”
Ernie Shires grinned admiringly.
“But I’m not taking chances!” continued Durgan. “No chances! I’m not Killer Durgan, right now. I’m Francis J. Durgan, head of the New Era Garage Corporation. My dough comes from a legitimate business — so they think.
“Remember that guy that was in here? Mike Wharton? He manages a garage for me! He’s no racketeer!”
Durgan sat down and stared at Shires. The racketeer’s face had lost its leer. It was grimly serious.
“Coppers — politicians” — Durgan was speaking slowly — “they’re all mine! I’m not afraid of any guy that packs a rod! If any one tries to muscle in on my racket, he’ll find out why they called me Killer Durgan!
“But there’s one guy — only one — that’s different from the rest. I know, because I’ve seen what he can do. That’s The Shadow!
“There’s a lot of guys in stir, because of his doings. They know who he is up at the Big House — but they don’t talk about him. There’s a lot of smart guys that are six feet under, right now, because they crossed The Shadow.
“Maybe I was lucky because I never mixed it with him. Maybe he was lucky. But I was playing a lone game then. Now it’s different. Let him try his stuff with me! I’ll be ready for him!
“You’re right, Shires. If The Shadow put the skids under one racket, he’ll try it with another! But it’s a new game for him!”
THE seriousness of Killer Durgan’s tone startled Ernie Shires. The gangster sat motionless in his chair as he listened to Durgan’s words.
He began to realize that The Shadow would prove to be a formidable foe. The recollections of the previous night — the sighing of the silenced gun — the black fighter in the dark — the mocking laugh that echoed from the sidewalks — all came back in vivid reality.
Despite the calm demeanor of his hardened face, Ernie Shires was uneasy!
“There’s one place where trouble will begin” — Durgan was speaking thoughtfully — “and that’s in the Bronx, where we’re lining them up right now! That’s where The Shadow will hit — if he tries to crack my racket!
“That’s where you’re going to be, Ernie! Get up there tonight and lay low. Call me to-morrow at noon. I’ll tell you what to do!”
He looked at Shires, still seriously. Then his wolfish leer reappeared.
Killer Durgan was again the evil-faced racketeer, whose countenance suited his bloody reputation.
“You’re working for me, Ernie Shires!” he snarled. “That means you do what you’re told! Understand? One grand a week — it’s yours! That means my work — all the time!
“Stay away from here when I don’t want you around — and come here when I want you” — he rose and stood in front of his visitor, a threatening look upon his face — “here, and remember this: lay off my moll! I saw you looking at her tonight. That’s all right. She’s good to look at. But no more! Get me? If any guy gets funny with that moll of mine, it’s curtains for that guy! Understand?”
Ernie Shires nodded knowingly. He knew the ways of the underworld. Still, Durgan’s warning did not worry him. With a thousand dollars a week, he could find plenty of women without concerning himself over Killer Durgan’s blonde. Durgan would find that out in due time. Shires kept his thoughts to himself.
“That’s all,” concluded Durgan. “Get going!”
Ernie Shires left the apartment. After he had gone, Killer Durgan stood in the center of his luxurious abode, thinking.
At length he laughed, and his face appeared monstrous in the soft light of the beautiful room which harbored its bestial master.
“The Shadow!” muttered Killer Durgan. “The Shadow! After the rackets, eh? Let him come! He’ll find out why they call me Killer Durgan!”