CHAPTER IX. GANGSTERS TALK BUSINESS
BLACK PETE’S PLACE was a notorious hangout for denizens of the underworld. Ostensibly a night club, it was in reality the spot where sinister plots were hatched and blood money was paid. Enough coin to equal an emperor’s ransom passed from hand to hand every month in the back room at Black Pete’s.
The place was tolerated by the police for various reasons. First, “Black Pete” paid tribute to the politicians. That in itself was ample excuse for the existence of his dive.
But he played the game safe in addition. No “wanted” men were allowed within Black Pete’s portals.
Only those gangsters who were temporarily free from surveillance were permitted to enter.
Strangers were allowed in the place, but they were carefully watched. Black Pete and his associates had keen eyes when it came to detecting plain-clothes men or Federal agents.
Gangdom, in turn, respected Black Pete’s laws. No killings were ever perpetrated in his domain. Guns might be carried in, but they were never unholstered.
The premises consisted chiefly of a cabaret. It was located on the second floor of the building. There was apparently but one entrance to the second floor, and that led directly to the cabaret. However, it was said that there were other means of entry, known to Black Pete’s chosen friends.
The most interesting portion of the place was the labyrinth of passages that ran back from the cabaret floor. The main room had two side doors. These led to darkened corridors that divided and turned in all directions. Along these passages were rooms where gangsters met. Perhaps their purpose was to drink bootleg liquor in privacy; more likely their intention was to scheme new killings and to make cash settlement for old ones.
However, when any one walked through a door to the passages, no one could tell either his destination or his intention. The room to which he was bound was known only to himself and to Black Pete, from whom he obtained a key. Black Pete treated all customers alike; and whatever he knew of their business he kept to himself.
It was several days since the murder of Philip Farmington. The affair had created much excitement in the bad lands as well as in the social world. For killing was the province of gangsters and criminals. The name of Double Z was already tangled with previous murders.
The death of Joel Caulkins had also caused a stir. The reporter had known many gangsters. His death, by gunfire, savored more of the gorilla killing than did the demise of Philip Farmington.
Double Z was a constant subject of whispered speculation in the underworld, and his strange soubriquet had been mentioned often at Black Pete’s.
NIGHT had fallen, and the cabaret was doing its usual business. Little attention was paid to those who sat at obscure tables in the background. Occasionally a hard-faced individual arose and strolled through the portal to the nearest passage. Others, more indifferent, made directly for the side doors upon entering the place.
Among the latter type was a short, stocky man who wore a dark sweater beneath his coat. His cap, tilted over his eyes, obscured his features. He cast a brief glance at the cabaret floor as he entered; then stalked through the doorway and was lost in darkness.
He felt his way along the passage and stopped before a door. He stooped down an instant to knock at the bottom of the barrier.
From the other side came the sound of a key turning in the lock, then the door opened. The man entered.
A moment later the stocky man was seated at a small table, staring stolidly at a man facing him. The newcomer, Jake, had a cold, hard face, with an ugly, pudgy nose; but the man who had awaited him possessed a still harsher appearance.
Seated at the table, he appeared tall. Actually, he was of medium height. His thinness gave him the semblance of stature. His face, like his body, was thin. His cheeks were hollow and pasty. From either side of his hooked nose peered two beady eyes.
His lips were parted to reveal pointed, fanglike teeth. His entire physiognomy betokened an inborn cruelty and ugliness. The man was hatless. His head was covered with a crop of short-clipped black hair.
“Well, Jake,” quizzed the fang-toothed mobster, “is it fixed?”
“All set,” growled the newcomer. “Here’s the grand for the info that I’m supposed to get from you, Sneaks.”
“Keep it,” grinned “Sneaks.” “That makes it even. Let’s hear the story.”
“Well,” said Jake, “Dave Markan’s made up his mind. He wants Arnold Bodine bumped off on Wednesday night. He’s payin’ you one grand for wisin’ him up to the lay. There’s two grand more if you can fix the bump-off.”
“Tell him three grand, the cheap skate,” responded Sneaks. “This has got to look like it was on the level. It’ll cost two grand for the rods. I oughta get a cut.”
“He’ll fork over the other grand, all right,” commented Jake. “But you’re sure this’ll go through O.K.? I’m gettin’ leery, Sneaks.”
The pasty-faced gangster laughed contemptuously.
“Everything went right before this, didn’t it, Jake?”
“Yeah. But this bird Double Z is gettin’ kinda chesty. It gives me the bumps, the way he works.”
“That’s his game, Jake. He was right when he picked you. The guy’s always right. He don’t take no chances on a double cross. The first thing to keep a guy from double-crossin’ is to make him scared of you.”
“You ain’t scared of him!”
“Yeah?” Sneaks showed his ugly teeth in a sour grin. “Lookit: You think I’m on the inside. Well, I’ll put you wise. Double Z ain’t told nothin’ to Sneaks Rubin that Jake Dermott doesn’t know. Whatta you think of that?”
Jake stared at the pasty-faced speaker. He knew that the man was telling the truth.
SNEAKS RUBIN was an odd figure in the underworld. He was one of those strange characters that knew every one and sided with no one. It was not until several months before that he had appeared in a definite guise; then, his new condition was revealed to very few, Jake Dermott among them. Sneaks was a man who played it safe.
“You know the lay,” said Jake in an objecting tone. “I don’t. So you know more than I know.”
“I don’t know more than you, Jake,” retorted Sneaks. “I figure more, that’s all.”
“Tell me what you figure about Double Z, then.”
“All right,” agreed Sneaks. “First of all, he’s a smart guy. He’s got ‘em all talkin’ ain’t he? He knows plenty that’s goin’ on. When some of these guys that call themselves big shots get ready to pull a job, they find out the dicks have been tipped off — by Double Z.
“That makes ‘em wonder about him. Then he comes along himself and knocks off a couple of gazebos. That makes ‘em wonder more, don’t it?”
“He knocked off three,” said Jake.
“That’s right,” agreed Sneaks. “You and I are the only guys that know it. What’s more, you’re the only one that ever worked with Double Z when you helped him lug that corpse outa the old house. You’ve seen him. What does he look like?”
“Blamed if I know!” exclaimed Jake. “I showed up that night like I was told. Left that old stolen car around the corner. I walks in the vestibule. Like a shot I hears a voice tellin’ me to stay where I was.”
“Then what?” Sneaks leaned forward eagerly.
“The guy goes upstairs an’ I wait. Pretty soon he’s back again. ‘Hear anything?’ he says in the dark.
“‘No,’ says I. He tells me to come along.
“We go in the dark all the way. Up on the third floor he grabs me by the arm an’ pushes me down toward the floor.
“‘Take hold!’ he tells me. Next thing I knows we’ve lugged a dead body down to the vestibule.
“‘Get the car,’ he says.
“I get it an’ come in. Between us we walk that corpse across the sidewalk and prop it in the front seat.