“‘Get rid of it!’ he tells me.
“I go around an’ climb in at the wheel. Off I starts. Thought he was with me in the back seat. But he wasn’t! Whatta guy!”
“You got rid of the body O.K., didn’t you?” Sneaks asked.
“Sure enough. I know where to bury my dead. But listen, Sneaks,” Jake went on. “There I was, workin’ with the guy, without seein’ him. Cartin’ off a body of some bird I’d never run into before. No wonder I’ve got the creeps.”
“He works smart,” declared Sneaks admiringly.
“There’s only one other guy works like him,” replied Jake in a low voice.
“Who?”
“The Shadow!”
Sneaks was silent. Then he leaned across the table and whispered to his companion.
“Say, Jake. Sometimes I wonder about this guy. Maybe he is The Shadow!”
“The Shadow don’t work with crooks,” said Jake.
“You’re right there,” acknowledged Sneaks. “But he may have changed. No one knows what that guy sets out to do. But I hope Double Z is The Shadow.”
“Why?” Jake was interested.
SNEAKS flipped a cigarette into his gashlike mouth and scratched a match on his thumb nail. He inhaled deeply before answering.
“Because I’d rather be with The Shadow than against him. You know, I met this Double Z once. That’s when I began workin’ for him. At Loy Rook’s hop joint. In the dark. Pitch dark. That’s why I said I’d never seen him.”
“Well, he’s smart,” declared Jake. “But he ain’t goin’ to tip off the cops on this Bodine job, is he?”
“He always does,” returned Sneaks.
“How’ll he get away with it, then?”
“Simple enough, when I give you the dope you paid Dave Markan’s grand for.”
Jake Dermott laughed. He shook his head in perplexity.
“It beats me!” he said. “This guy must know what he’s up to. Where does he get all his ideas?”
Sneaks Rubin grinned and waved his hand as he dropped back in his chair.
“That’s my end of the racket, Jake. I get paid to hear what’s goin’ on.”
“But this guy does things one way — then the other—”
“Yeah? That’s because you ain’t got his brains. Lookit, Jake. Arnold Bodine is supposed to be a big shot, ain’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s layin’ low now. Tryin’ to live soft. Payin’ big money to a couple of bodyguards. Gettin’ his rake-off from the two guys under him — Dave Markan an’ Mike Lombrosi — each with a mob.”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Why does Markan want to bump off Bodine? I’ll tell you why. You know it already. Markan’s tired of seein’ Bodine take the gravy.”
“Sure.”
“So Markan’s out to get Bodine. Lombrosi has got the same idea. Each guy wants to handle his own mob independent. They don’t like the idea of a big shot that’s sittin’ pretty.”
“I know that.”
“Well, suppose there was a big shot that they couldn’t get at? They’d play ball, wouldn’t they?”
“They’d have to.”
“Well, that’s Double Z’s game. He’s goin’ to be the real big shot!”
“Not with Markan an’ Lombrosi. They’re out for their own—”
“But when Markan an’ Lombrosi are gone, it’s goin’ to be Jake Dermott an’ Tony Marano.”
“An’ Double Z—”
“Will be the big shot. You’re Markan’s chief guy. Markan is next to Lombrosi in that mob. They picked you guys because you’re tough but don’t know enough to get along without a boss over you. Well, you’re goin’ to have your chance. First Bodine goes the voyage; then Markan an’ Lombrosi.”
“Who’s goin’ to bump ‘em?” quizzed Jake.
“You’ll see,” grinned Sneaks Rubin. “When Bodine’s laid out, there’ll be somebody to square things with Markan. As for Lombrosi— well, he’s slippin’ now. Double Z queered his game when he let the Feds in on those bomb jobs. Then he made Lombrosi look like a sucker when he knocked off Farmington, who was too big a guy for Lombrosi to tackle.
“Don’t forget, Lombrosi has got a side line besides the rackets. He’s in on this Italian Red business. His flops don’t go so well there!”
A glimmer of reason was dawning on Jake Dermott. He studied Sneaks Rubin’s ugly countenance with hungry eyes.
“You’re sure about Wednesday night?”
“Get that three grand,” declared Sneaks. “I’d rather handle this than let Markan try it. He’ll get the credit for it — an’ a funeral will go with it.”
“But if Double Z tips off the dicks, with all this mess still stewing, they’ll be watchin’ the hotel—”
“Let them watch — Bodine won’t be there!”
“Where’ll he be?”
“In his hideout. The hotel is a blind. That’s the dope you’re to give Markan for his grand. I know where the hideout is. No bodyguards. Bodine ain’t trustin’ them right now.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Jake Dermott.
“That’s the lay,” Sneaks talked on. “I’ve got the guts to do the job. I picked him for Double Z. He’s a one-man mob in himself, but I ain’t trustin’ him alone on this trip. He’d go through with it, but it’s too risky.
He’s been lookin’ for a pal, an’ he’s got one.”
“Who?”
“Leave that to me. Spill the news to Markan. Back here to-morrow night with the three grand. Get me?”
“I got you.”
Sneaks reached up and turned out the light in the center of the little room. The door opened softly, and Jake Dermott stepped out. The sound of breathing was audible for several minutes after he had gone.
Then the door closed and a key turned in the lock.
Jake Dermott was no longer in Black Pete’s cabaret when Sneaks Rubin strolled through a side doorway and glanced around the floor in search of a likely-looking moll.
CHAPTER X. CARDONA PREPARES
WEDNESDAY morning. Detective Joe Cardona strolled into headquarters, whistling. Acting Inspector Fennimann had not yet arrived.
“Letter there, Joe,” said a man in the office. “May be another one of those Double Z gags. Left it lay for you or the inspector—”
Cardona was ripping open the envelope before the man had finished speaking. Out came a folded sheet of paper. The detective scanned the lines that had been atrociously typed. A gasp followed.
“What’s the matter, Joe?”
“Matter? When will the inspector be here? I want him to see this. It looks real, too—”
Before Cardona could explain further, Fennimann walked in the door. He stopped short when he observed the expression on the face of the star detective.
“What’s up?” he inquired.
“Double Z again!” declared Cardona.
“No! Let me see it.”
“Wait,” replied Cardona. “I’ll read it.”
Holding the paper with both hands, he repeated the message aloud:
“To-day is the last for Arnold Bodine. He will be killed before midnight, unless you prevent. Warn him!”
“Signed by Double Z?” questioned Fennimann.
“Signed,” replied Cardona, handing the inspector the message.
Fennimann scanned the typed words. He became thoughtful as he turned to the detective.
“Looks like he’s gone back to his owl stunt,” he said. “Tipping us off like he did before. I can’t understand it, Joe.”
“It’s kind of puzzling,” admitted Cardona, “but it just shows how the man’s mind turns. He’s gotten wind of something, like he did before. Once in a while he’s wrong. But this time he seems sure of himself.”
“What’s the best way to handle it?”
“Put a bunch of plain-clothes men on the job,” declared Cardona. “Bodine hangs out in the Goliath Hotel. Along with a bunch of friends — so-called friends. Actually his bodyguards. Remember that Bernstein murder? Well, this will duplicate it if it goes through. But it won’t!”