THE BLOWOFF
CLIFF MARSLAND entered the Club Drury, just as he had done twenty-four hours before. Last night’s affray had not hurt business. If anything, it had added to the peculiar reputation of the night club. The dance floor was thronged.
A smile came over Cliff’s lips. It seemed strange that he should be here again, so soon; that despite his important role in the fracas that had rocked the Club Drury, he should be totally unsuspected and quite free to come and go.
He made his way along the wall until he reached the entrance with the hanging curtains. There he encountered a waiter.
“Private room No. 6,” said Cliff.
“Reserved?” asked the waiter.
“Yes.”
He was ushered to one of the empty rooms.
“You are expecting others, sir?” questioned the waiter.
“Yes,” replied Cliff.
As soon as the waiter had gone, Cliff reached beneath the table. His fingers found an envelope. Cliff opened it.
Inside were three slips of cardboard, each a storage receipt from a garage. Cliff smiled and slipped the objects into his pocket. He did not know who had left the envelope there, but he imagined it was The Shadow.
The envelope had come off easily; it could not have been fastened in place very long before. That did not matter, however. The important fact was that the presence of the envelope fitted in exactly with instructions that Cliff had received not long ago through the medium of the sign that flashed outside his apartment window.
Cliff lighted a cigarette and waited. Five minutes passed. Nipper appeared at the door. He entered and closed the door behind him. The pasty-faced gunman grinned as he gripped Cliff’s hand.
“Everything’s fixed,” he said. “Got ‘em on the phone ten minutes after you called me. They remembered you all right, up in the Big House. Patsy thinks you’re an ace. Both him an’ Dave are right guys.”
There was a rap at the door. Nipper, resuming his waiter’s pose, opened the door. Two men entered; the waiter who had accompanied them went away. Nipper closed the door and turned to see Cliff shaking hands with the newcomers.
CLIFF remembered Dave Talbot and Patsy Birch well. The men were very much alike — both hardened figures of the underworld. Like Nipper, they had been doing time since the days when mobsters worked their individual crimes.
Both were waiting for an opportunity to join up with a safe and prosperous racket. They had wisely decided to fit themselves in with the new regime of gangland.
“Give us the lay, Cliff,” said Nipper eagerly. “I’ve fixed it so I can get away tonight. I’m throwin’ this job here any time you say. What’s the dope?”
“Just this,” said Cliff quietly. “Last night, Nipper told me he could get you fellows — Dave and Patsy — when I needed you.
“I didn’t frame it last night, because Nipper and I ran into something we hadn’t expected. But I’ve been doing some figuring to-day, and I’ve talked — well” — he changed his words — “I’ve made arrangements with a fellow that’s in on this with me. Who he is — that’s my business!”
Cliff was pleased to see his listeners nod. He knew that any mention of The Shadow would be a fatal error. “All you fellows have to know is that you’re working for me. Get the idea?”
“O.K.,” said Dave. “We’re with you, Cliff!”
“All Nipper knows,” resumed Cliff, “is that I’m muscling in on a racket.
“Look at it this way. I’m out of the Big House. While I’ve been doing time, a bunch of punks have been working. I’m out now — and every time I look for an opening, they want me to do some baby work. No dough in it.”
“That’s right,” agreed Nipper. “We’ve all been up against it — Dave an’ me. You’ve got the goods.”
“I figured,” said Cliff, “that if I wanted to work a racket, the best way was to break in on some of these fellows that think they know all about it. So I’m muscling in; and I’m doing it my own way.
“I’ve got cash! I’m going to keep on getting it! You fellows are in the same boat that I was in; that’s why I’m giving you the chance to step in on the ground floor of this game.”
“Righto, Cliff,” agreed Patsy Birch. “I’m puttin’ you straight. The three of us is ready — an’ we ain’t tied up with nobody right now. We ain’t goin’ to be, neither, just so long as you’ve got a lay for us!”
Cliff drew a roll of bills from his pocket. The men watched him eagerly as he counted out fifteen hundred dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills and divided the money into three equal piles. He brought the garage checks from his pocket and laid one on each pile of money.
“One stack for each of you,” he said. “I’m paying you in advance! That’s what I think of you fellows!”
“Half a grand!” exclaimed Nipper. “Say, Cliff, we’ll bump off a whole mob for this.”
“Put the cash away,” said Cliff. “Look at those tickets” — the men obeyed — “and listen to me. There’ll be no guns tonight. Leave your rods at home if you want. This job wants to be done quietly, understand?”
The listeners nodded.
“I want each of you to take your claim check,” explained Cliff, “and go to the garage marked on it. Pay for storage on the truck, but before you drive it out, look for a little switch under the front seat.
“You’ll find some kind of a hook-up under there. Take it off. Get me?
“Now here’s where you take those trucks. Each one of you goes to a New Era Garage. Tenth Avenue is yours, Patsy. Yours is Fifty-fourth Street, Dave. Nipper goes to Eighth Avenue. Check the trucks in there.
“Be particular about it. Say, that you’re leaving your truck for a couple of days, and make sure that it goes in a good corner spot. Just work on one man, in an offhand manner.
“Look over your truck when you put it away, and fix that connection under the front seat when nobody is looking. You understand all that?”
“Well, just one word more. Drive those trucks slowly and carefully when you come down from the Bronx. Don’t run any risk. Keep out of trouble. That’s all!”
“Half a grand?” questioned Nipper incredulously. “Half a grand for just bringin’ a truck down from the Bronx?”
“Just for that,” said Cliff. “Nothing else. Then lay low until you hear from me again. That’s all!”
THE meeting broke up. Patsy and Dave left the room; Nipper followed. Cliff remained for a few minutes; then made his way to the main room of the Club Drury.
On the other side was a row of curtained booths. They were in front of small tables, quite as secure from observation as the private dining rooms. Cliff smiled.
The Club Drury was an ideal place tonight. It would be the last spot where any one connected with Ernie Shires or Killer Durgan would come. That was exactly why it had been set as the meeting point. The instructions had surprised Cliff when he had received them; but after understanding had dawned, he had put The Shadow’s idea into further practice.
He walked along the row of booths, looking at the floor until he saw a menu card projecting from beneath a curtain. Cliff entered the booth. Madge Benton was awaiting him.
“Gee, Cliff!” the girl whispered. “This is great! I’ve been waiting for you pretty near half an hour. You can stay a while, can’t you?”
Cliff nodded.
“Durgan told me to beat it,” explained Madge. “Told me to take in a picture show or whatever else I wanted, just so I got out of there.
“He’s got something on his mind. I guess he doesn’t want to be bothered. Something big is doing tonight—”
“Never mind that,” said Cliff lightly. “Let’s forget Durgan. I’ll call the waiter and we’ll order; then we’ll have the rest of the evening all to ourselves.”
Cliff’s work was through for that night. He knew that he could rely upon the three men whom he had known in Sing Sing. In that he was correct. While Cliff was dining with Madge, his henchmen were following his instructions.
IT was approaching midnight when Nipper Brady drove a dilapidated old truck into the New Era Garage on Eighth Avenue. Without leaving the driver’s seat, he spoke to the attendant who approached.
“Say, boy,” said Nipper, “I gotta leave this old wagon overnight. Maybe a couple days. Where can I stick it?”
“Take it on the elevator,” was the reply. “Third floor.”
“Nix on that,” replied Nipper. “I may want it in a hurry when I come back for it. If you can’t give me space down here, I’ll pull out.” He began to reverse the truck.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” argued the garage man. “I’ll fix you up on this floor. Go back there — over by the far wall, near the corner.” He indicated the place. “Back your truck in there. Here, wait until I fix you up with a claim check.”
Nipper waited after he had put the truck in its place. The attendant was gone. The little gangster reached beneath the front seat and found a wire. He pushed it into a plug in a box at the side of the truck under the seat.
“I got an idea what this is for,” he chuckled. “I oughta known all about it when Cliff said to drive easy comin’ down. Guess I’ll buzz Dave an’ see how he an’ Patsy made out.”
Nipper made his telephone call from a near-by drug store, after he had left the garage. Dave answered. He said that Patsy was with him.
They had had experiences similar to Nipper’s. The other trucks — both old, much-used vehicles — had been stored in the garages designated.
IT was more than an hour after Nipper had gone from the New Era Garage before men began to put in an appearance at the old building on Eighth Avenue.
They came through a side door, where they were admitted by a hard-faced watchman. They passed behind rows of parked cars. They entered the office at the rear, where they found Ernie Shires awaiting them.
Killer Durgan’s mob was assembling for action. The room was not a small one. Three benches had been brought in, and there was ample room for the dozen men who had arrived.
They represented various types of the underworld. Every one of them bore the appearance of a hardened mobster. Some carried scars of conflict. All wore expressions that were pleasing to Ernie Shires.
This was a picked crowd! There would be effective work tonight!
“Let the coppers try to bother us,” muttered Ernie, as he surveyed the group. “Coppers. Bah! If any one else shows up — well—”
His soliloquy was interrupted by the arrival of a group of men. Big Ben Hargins was here with his dock wallopers.
Ernie’s crew of mobsmen looked like pygmies beside this gang of huskies. They were the most notorious terrorists of all New York — these huskies who kept the racket going where the ships unloaded. First-class sluggers, all of them!
“Hello, Ben!” exclaimed Ernie, rising from his chair. “This fixes us. We’re all here, now. Waiting for the blowoff!”
“How soon?” questioned Ben.
Ernie looked at his watch.
“About fifteen minutes,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got the three jobs timed. There’s a guy waiting to hear the first one. He’s going to call me here.
“Then we start. We’ll be doing our work while things are hopping up in the Bronx.”
“How far apart have you set them?”
“About five minutes. Good timing mechanism, too. Tested. Ought to click pretty close to the dot.”
He continued to talk in an undertone to the leader of the dock wallopers. The gunmen were conversing among themselves.
Big Ben’s huskies were in one end of the room, waiting silently for their leader’s instructions. No one other than Ernie and Ben knew exactly what was due to happen — even Ben was in ignorance of some of the details.
“Listen, Ernie,” the big dock walloper said, “how about the dough, now? I’ve got the gang here.”
“Wait until the job is finished,” replied Ernie shrewdly.
“Nix. Something may happen.”
“Not a chance of it, Ben. You know the agreement. When your gang has done the work, you get the dough.”
“We’re going to do the work!”
Ernie nodded. He glanced at his watch. He showed the timepiece to the dock walloper.
“Lookit, Ben,” he said. “The blowoff is due in two minutes. We ain’t got time now. I don’t want to flash a roll in front of this mob. Afterward I’ll—”
“O.K.,” agreed Big Ben.
The two men kept their eyes on the watch. Two minutes went by; then two minutes more. Ernie became restless.
“That phone ought to be ringing,” he said.
Three more minutes passed. Still no sound from the telephone.
Then, while Ernie still studied the watch, there came a sound that brought half the mobsmen to their feet in sudden excitement. The dull noise of an explosion had reached their ears.
It must have occurred somewhere within a dozen blocks!
“What was that?” demanded Big Ben.
“Don’t know,” replied Ernie, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. Somebody’s pulling something down this way! We’d better lay low until we find out what it is!”
One of the gangsters was starting toward the door to investigate. Ernie stopped him.
“Wait,” he warned. “We can look around later.” He turned to Big Ben. “I can’t figure what’s wrong up in the Bronx,” he said.
One of the gangsters was speaking.
“Sounded like it came from over on Tenth Avenue,” he said to a companion. “A couple of warehouses up there — another garage—”
A sudden thought came to Ernie Shires. One of the New Era Garages was on Tenth Avenue! One of Durgan’s garages! Another garage like this one!
He looked at his watch. Almost five minutes had elapsed since the explosion. It had occurred at the time set for the second blowoff in the Bronx garages!
There was no time for hesitation, Ernie realized, as an amazing suspicion flashed through his brain! He strode across the room and opened the door that led out through the back of the garage.
“Come on, gang,” he ordered. “Get going, quick! No talk. Out!”
The mobsmen rose to follow him. Big Ben Hargins was the first. But even as they responded to Ernie’s command, without realizing its purpose, the catastrophe occurred!
There was a terrific roar! The whole side of the partition collapsed. The moving gangsters were thrown flat. Some of them were buried amidst a pile of falling debris.
The truck that Nipper had brought to the garage had carried a time-set bomb. It had been intended to wreak ruin in Fogarty’s Garage in the Bronx. Instead, it had brought destruction to Killer Durgan’s stronghold.