CHAPTER XIV. DOUBLE Z PLOTS
CLYDE BURKE’S story in the next day’s Classic was read by New Yorkers with avid interest. Arnold Bodine, the big shot who had cloaked himself with respectability, had been murdered in his own apartment!
Even the security of a secret hideout had not protected him. That, in itself, was sensational. The fact that the police had received a tip-off from Double Z was amazing. Once again, the name of the archmurderer was on every tongue.
Joe Cardona, calm in the face of criticism, reiterated the fact that Double Z was not responsible for the killing. The police had evidence that pointed to the real slayer. Clyde Burke, as the Wise Owl, suggested the name of Dave Markan.
It was the underworld’s general opinion that Markan had engineered the slaying; and the underworld had a peculiar habit of being right.
Popular opinion produced strange results. Cardona’s truthful statement that Double Z had merely furnished information, and had not been the actual murderer, was ridiculed.
A few months ago, it would have been accepted. But with Double Z classed as the slayer of Joel Caulkins and Philip Farmington, anything which carried his name indicated his action.
Editorials condemned Joe Cardona for his honest opinion. Even Inspector Timothy Klein, now back on the job, came in for criticism, although he had been absent when Double Z had killed.
The exciting events at the apartment of Arnold Bodine had made it hot for Dave Markan. He had ordered the death of the big shot. He had an alibi. Ordinarily it would have held. But now it was subject to fire.
It was obvious that the police would have to round up any one who might be connected with the affair, purely because the trail might lead to Double Z. That, in itself, was trouble enough for Markan.
But he was in wrong elsewhere. The underworld was seeing red. Markan’s mob was growling at their chief’s slip. It was rumored that Arnold Bodine’s bodyguards would not let the death go unavenged.
There was talk of a fund established secretly by Bodine.
In the event that the big shot was murdered, so the tale went, a certain lawyer would pay a large sum to the man who killed the murderer.
When the underworld said that gunners were out to get Markan, the underworld meant that very thing.
Under all this pressure, Dave Markan showed a yellow streak.
He fled from the city. He had planned too boldly. He feared his own mob, Bodine’s killers, and the police.
Jake Dermott assumed control of the leaderless mob. His apprehension had been changed to realization.
Jake was on top of the world. He prided himself upon his secret allegiance to Double Z.
Before the print had dried on the final editions of the evening newspapers, another killing took place. Gun shots flashed in a gloomy room where Mike Lombrosi made his headquarters, and Tony Marano became the new leader of that mob.
Lombrosi had long been tottering on his throne. He had paid tribute to the dead Arnold Bodine, and rumor had it that he might have supported Dave Markan in the enterprise. So Tony stepped in with a big gat and ended the discussion.
The killing took place when several of the mob were present, so Tony did not have to wait long for congratulations.
Like Jake Dermott, Tony Marano was pleased with his new connection. Double Z, through Sneaks Rubin, was to be the recipient of the tribute that had once been paid to Arnold Bodine. But that was a matter that Tony intended to keep to himself.
Thus, in less than twenty-four hours, two of the most proficient criminal groups in New York had come beneath the sway of the great unknown — Double Z — and not a word of the change had reached the ever-ready ears of gangland!
Bodine’s death was something of a mystery. The first indication had been the note from Double Z.
Detective Joe Cardona had put men on guard at the Goliath Hotel. Cardona, himself, had camped in Bodine’s rooms.
He had answered a telephone call. It had been Bodine’s cry for help. A slayer was in the big shot’s hideout!
The shooting had commenced before Cardona had arrived. The detectives found the door barred. They were sure some one was in the apartment.
In the alley outside, men sent to guard the flank had discovered the body of Clipper Tobin — a lone wolf in gangdom. Crashing into Bodine’s room, the detective found the body of the big shot, but the slayer was gone.
What part had Clipper Tobin played? Cardona doubted that he was one of the murderers. It was more likely that Bodine had hired him as a special bodyguard.
If so, two men had doubtless entered for the killing. They must have escaped by the window, swinging to the roof of the garage, for it had been some time before the police had blocked that exit.
Logically, these men would be considered as hirelings of Dave Markan. That was Cardona’s claim, and it gathered force when Markan made his sudden departure. But the newspapers could not forget Double Z. His name was undeniably linked with the killing. Perhaps he was the actual murderer!
JOE CARDONA was glum when he conferred with Inspector Timothy Klein. The detective was a man who had his ups and downs. Klein was always the same — gruff and doubtful. He was not pleased with what had happened. He lost no time in saying so.
“Rather bungled,” was his comment, and the words were no salve to Joe Cardona.
“It’s this Double Z business,” protested the detective. “If they’d lay off and give us a chance! Burke, with the Classic, is shooting straight. But the others—”
“Can you blame them?” questioned Klein. “You admitted you got the tipoff; but the killing went through just the same. Who is the guy? Have you any idea?”
“Never hit anybody like him. He’s a mystery.”
“How about The Shadow?”
Klein’s question was startling, but it brought a growl of disapproval from Cardona.
“The Shadow isn’t a killer,” he declared.
“He’s given tipoffs,” retorted Klein.
“Yes,” said Cardona, “but they’ve been clean ones. I’ll tell you what, Inspector. I wish The Shadow was in this!”
“Why?”
“Because we’d be getting some results.”
“You think he’d help out?”
“He did in the past.”
“Well,” drawled Klein, “maybe The Shadow is in it. Maybe he’s changed tactics. Maybe he’s Double Z.”
Cardona shook his head. He had met The Shadow in the past. He had never gained an inkling of the mysterious man’s identity, but he felt that he understood The Shadow’s methods.
“Where is The Shadow?” questioned Klein. “This is the kind of mess he would get into. We haven’t heard a word of him. Doesn’t that make it look like he might be Double Z?”
“You don’t know The Shadow, Inspector. If he happened to be in back of this — playing the part of Double Z — he’d be in the game as himself, just to make it more bewildering. No, The Shadow isn’t Double Z. I’ll stake my reputation on that!”
“You won’t be staking much,” asserted Klein grimly. “Not if this keeps on, you won’t!”
“Listen,” replied the detective. “I’ll make a prediction: We’ll hear from Double Z again. Soon. And his next job will be a flop!”
“I hope so.”
HAD Joe Cardona paid a visit to Room 909 in the Badger Building, he would have been surprised to observe the actions of an investment specialist named Rutledge Mann. For that quiet-faced individual was dealing in other papers than stocks and bonds.
He was clipping accounts of the Bodine killing and the rumors which had followed it. He was missing nothing. Among his tabulated statistics were the facts that Mike Lombrosi and Dave Markan were no longer important figures in the realms of gangdom.