But over it all rose Chimp’s voice. Bloody and horrible in his rage, he kept shouting over and over again his plea of:
“Gimme him, Mart. Lemme have him!”
Again Mart waved him back.
“Where did the Chi Kid go after he killed Dogs?” he demanded.
Fat groaned and slumped back to the floor again. Mart hooked his foot into the other’s armpit and thrust him over on his back.
Then calmly, unhurriedly, he stooped and smashed downward with his open palm, putting all of the strength of his powerful shoulders into the blow. Blood leaped from Fat’s nose and lips.
“Where did he go, I asked you?”
“Up-upstairs — to my room.”
“And he was on the extension line when you ’phoned to me?”
“Yuh — yes.”
“Where’s his hideout?”
Fat moved his head from side to side wearily. All of the life seemed ebbing from his gross body. He gulped, blew a bloody froth from his lips.
“I don’t—” he began miserably.
Mart’s foot crashed against his ribs.
“You do know,” he snarled through lips stiff with hate. “And you’ll tell me — now. Where is it?”
“Ep — Eppsley Arms on Broadway — name of his moll, Vi Taylor.”
“Tie him up,” Mart commanded, turning to Paddy. “Maybe he’s given us a bum steer. If it is, I’ll work on him again. Put him up in his room and stay there with him.”
Now he was the old Mart, the efficient, well poised leader. He continued to snap out his orders.
“You, Chimp,” he said, “help Paddy put Fat upstairs. Then we’ll go and make a call. I want the rest of you to stay here — and there’ll be no telephone calls going out over this line. Get me? Somebody else besides Fat was in on his play and now that I’ve started hunting, I’m going to get all the rats.” One by one he caught and held the eyes of the others. They were stony hard, but all stared back defiantly except Red Slater and Hymie Eltner. They fought with all of their willpower to face the racketeer chief down, but each in turn lowered his gaze guiltily.
There was a bleak half-smile on Mart’s lips as Chimp came down from upstairs. A moment later the door slammed behind them.
Mart and Chimp were “going calling.”
“Where to, Mart?” Chimp asked as they reached the street. “We gotta chanst to corner dis Chi Kid tonight. Huh?”
“Home first,” was the reply. “After that we’ll take a crack at this slippery gay-cat. Keep your eyes open for a taxi.”
A maroon Paramount solved that portion of their problem. Within a few minutes it had deposited them before Mart’s headquarters flat.
As he unlocked the inner door, Mart heard the telephone bell. He picked up the instrument and answered with his customary inquiring “Yes?”
“Mart Farrell?” a crisp voice asked.
“Yes. Who is this?” Mart replied.
“I just want to tell you how lucky you are, but that your luck’s gone sour now. You’re a big sap — a nitwit.”
“Yes? Then I presume this is the Chi Kid,” Mart hazarded the guess, but his voice was cold and hard.
“Himself,” the other said gloatingly. “I said you’re a sap, and you are. Now here’s some news for your thick head.
“Go back to Fat’s place and you’ll find him all tied up like you left him — but I slit his throat, the big stoolie. You’ll find your fuzztailed guard beside him. He ain’t so damn pretty neither. I moved the front of his face back an inch or two with a piece of pipe.”
Chimp, standing beside Mart and listening to the voice coming through the loosely held transmitter, saw his muscles bulge and knot as he fought for self-control. Mart’s voice was cold, and emotionless as he replied:
“Got your rod on you?”
“Surest thing you know. I’d feel half naked without it. Listen, saphead, don’t fret about my rod. You’ll see it plenty soon, and it’ll be right in front of your eyes.”
“Check!” Mart snapped. “I’ve passed out the word that there is five grand for whoever brings you in. That’s off. If you’ve got the guts, it’s you and me for it.”
The taunt struck home as he hoped it would. Chi Kid’s voice cracked as he yelled obscenities into the mouthpiece. Mart cut him short.
“Where are you talking from?” he demanded. There was a chance that surprise would make the answer truthfully.
“From Fat’s,” the other snarled — then cursed himself for the slip. But congenital killers are braggarts. Mart was not surprised when Chi Kid continued:
“I drove your car two blocks and beat it back so I could listen in on what was happening. I was back of the bed when your punks carried Fat in. After your ape left, I fixed the other two up — and now I’m pulling out.
“If you’d had anything in your head but mush you’d have searched the place for me before you left. I was waiting — wanted to show you that rod you’re yelping about.”
With the words “From Fat’s,” Mart heard a scuffle of feet behind him. Half turning he saw the door closing behind Chimp then a clatter of feet on the stairway and the bang of the outside door.
Chimp was on his way to trap the Chi Kid. Mart, tied to the telephone, had no choice but to remain and stall the other as long as possible.
“Yes, Kid,” he replied in an unhurried, conversational tone, “I must see that rod. But do you know, I’ve an idea mine is better. I use dumdums — and while they tell me you have a face like a gutter rat, I know it won’t be any prettier with one of my slugs in it.”
“You big, fat-headed rumdum gay-cat—” Chi Kid bellowed, but Mart continued. He was talking now against time, wildly anxious to hold the killer on the line. Any thing would do that would keep him from realizing the passage of time.
“I think you’re short on guts, like all the rest of the Chicago mob,” he taunted. “Here’s a chance to prove I’m wrong. Any taxi driver will take you to the zoo in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. It’s up a little hill, away from the road — a sweet place for a couple of men to show one another their rods. Do you get what I mean?”
“Hell, I ain’t dumb,” Chi Kid expostulated.
“No? Well, it’s guts I’m talking about. Here’s the lay. At the top of the hill there’s a flat place about 200 yards long. You name the hour and come in at the north end, I’ll come alone from the south. Each holds his rod in his right hand pocket; that’s how we’ll know each other.
“We’ll walk toward the center and start shooting when we feel lucky. We can get our affair over with and the winner can make a lam before the cops get there. Are you game?”
“Fine simp you think I am!” Chi Kid growled. “You’d have the dump planted with cannons; you wouldn’t even be taking a chance. All I’d get out of it would be a barrel of lead. Not me, Mister, I’m hep.”
“Hep — also gutless!” Mart rejoined tauntingly. “There’d be no other guns there; they wouldn’t be needed. Get this, Chi Kid — I want you, man to man. You croaked the best pal a man ever had and it’s up to me now to get you. I wouldn’t take a hundred grand for the pleasure of seeing you through the sights on my gun.”
“Leave it at that then,” Chi Kid snarled. “Just keep your eyes open and be ready to start smoking — I’ll be in front of you, turning you down, before you know it.”
“Did you say ‘in front’?” Mart sneered. “Why, you filthy little ambusher, you wouldn’t face even a rookie harness bull, let alone a good rod-man.”
His eyes sought the clock on his desk. Mow long had he been talking? He must hold Chi Kid a few moments longer. He was hoping — almost praying — that Chimp would get there before Chi Kid could get away.