“10 bucks,” said Buttons cautiously.
“Blah! Whatcha take me for? I want 500!”
Buttons’s gun hand made a move for his pocket.
Then he reconsidered. After all, it was best to avoid violence here in the strange city. And it was not his own money he was spending. He could put it down on the expense account that he would turn in to his sinister employer.
“All right,” he grumbled and produced a well-stuffed wallet.
The taxi driver counted the money over carefully.
Then he drew Bandy’s belt out of his shirt. He had seen his passenger conceal it and had examined it hoping to find money. There had been no currency, much to his disgust.
Buttons Zortell climbed into the cab to inspect the belt contents. 2 envelopes came to light. One large and brown; the other small and white. He rifled through the larger.
“This one is just maps and plans and stuff,” he grunted.
The little white envelope held a letter. The scar-cheeked man read this through. Several times, he grimaced in a manner which showed great satisfaction.
“It’s lucky we got this!” he told his fellows as they clustered about.
“I was to get a hundred berries for deliverin’ dat to de little guy in an hour,” whined the taximan. “Ain’t dere some way for me to collect dat jack?”
Buttons began to grin. He crashed a palm upon his knee in delight.
“You’ve given me an idea, hombre,” he chortled. “Not only can you collect but I’ll also pay you another hundred simoleons on top of that! All you gotta do is follow my orders.”
“OK.” The driver’s sour face was avid with greed.
“We don’t wanta take any chances on Bandy gettin’ to Doc Savage,” muttered a man.
“Don’t worry,” Buttons chuckled. “I’ve got a system for takin’ care of Bandy. There won’t be any more slips.”
The taxi driver stared at Buttons. Uneasiness had replaced greed on his dour features.
“Did I hear yer say somethin’ about Doc Savage?” he questioned.
“Yeah.”
“Den count me out of dis!”
“Hell!” snarled Buttons. “What’s eatin’ you?”
The hackey shivered. “I ain’t gettin’ near dat bronze guy!”
“Bronze guy?”
“Ain’t yer ever seen Doc Savage?” The driver was incredulous. “He looks like a livin’ statue made outa bronze metal. I woutdn’t go up against dat guy fer no man’s money! A pal of mine tried to croak ‘im once. Then he just dropped outa sight! I didn’t see de pal for months. Then a couple of weeks ago, I ran onto him.
“It was awful! Doc Savage had done somethin’ strange to de poor feller. He didn’t even recognize me — his old pal! He didn’t know his own father who is a big-shot on de East Side. I tell yer, it gimme de jitters to watch ‘im!
“An’ when I told ‘im where he could get a job peddlin’ dope, he hauled off an’ knocked me down, den walked away. I’m tellin’ yer, Doc Savage ain’t human! He worked some kind of black magic on my buddy. I don’t want no part of ‘im!”
Buttons Zortell snarled angrily. He could see this weird tale had had a distressing effect upon his men. He did not want their courage undermined by such talk.
“We’re not scared of this Doc Savage!” he snapped.
“Dat’s what my pal said, too,” retorted the driver.
“Hell an’ damnation!” Buttons roared. “We’re not goin’ near Savage! We’re just tryin’ to keep Bandy Stevens from gettin’ to ‘im.”
“Count me out,” mumbled the taximan. “I ain’t even botherin’ no friends of dat Doc Savage.”
“Bandy is no friend of the man,” Buttons said patiently. “He don’t even know Doc Savage. Nor does Savage know Bandy. Think of the 200 bucks you’re lettin’ slip by not helpin’ us!”
The driver licked his lips while greed and fear alternated on his wrinkled, evil face.
“Yer sure I won’t get messed up wit’ dis bronze man?”
“Absolutely!”
“Den I’ll help yer,” the hackey agreed.
Buttons nodded. Then he wheeled upon his aides.
“Now listen, you rannies! We’ve got to work fast. I’ve thought of a scheme which will not only get rid of that blasted Bandy but also fix it so we won’t have to worry about Doc Savage.”
The others nodded uneasily.
A moment later, the men were traveling rapidly uptown in their car with the taxicab trailing behind.
IV — The Touch That Slew
42nd Street and Broadway had proved to be a more difficult meeting place than Bandy Stevens expected. The streets were very wide and — despite the lateness of the hour — a good deal of noisy traffic flowed. Most of it was taxicabs.
The hour had passed together with an extra 15 minutes. Bandy was worried.
“Why didn’t I keep that belt on me!” he groaned. “I won’t be able to give Doc Savage the low-down without them papers and maps and plans. And the letter! Blast it, anyhow!”
He peered at each taxicab which cruised past. This invariably had an embarrassing result for the hacks always stopped, thinking he wanted to hire them. Bandy had never thought a great deal of cities. And they were dropping rapidly in his estimation.
Suddenly he discovered the vehicle for which he was waiting. He hurried to it.
“Daggone it, pard! I thought you was never comin’!” he grinned.
“I drove past a couple of times without seein’ youse,” lied the thin-necked driver. “Where’s dat coin?”
Bandy passed over a hundred dollars in crisp currency. Then he dived a hand behind the rear seat cushions.
He brought out his money-belt. Opening it swiftly, he saw a bulky brown envelope and a smaller white one, both apparently intact.
“Say! What’s dat?” demanded the driver, pretending to be astonished at the appearance of the money-belt in Bandy’s hand.
“Never mind,” grinned Bandy. “You can drag it, hombre. I’m through with you.”
The driver let out his clutch and rolled away. He went directly to a dark, shabby street 2 blocks distant. Buttons Zortell waited there.
“The bow-legged runt never suspected a thing,” smirked the hackey. “He looked at de envelope in de belt an’ thought dey was just like he left ‘em. Now I’ll take de other hundred frogskins you was gonna pay me.”
Buttons extended his left hand, holding currency. The driver reached for it.
Bringing his other hand into view and gripping a gun, Buttons bludgeoned the driver on the head! The man slumped. A crimson stream dribbled from his nostrils.
Buttons Zortell had been doing some thinking and reached a conclusion. There was $700 here — money easy for the taking. That was the kind of money Buttons liked.
$600 of it would go on the expense account and no one would be the wiser. Buttons’s men were not in the vicinity. He had seen to that.
With swift fingers, Buttons robbed the driver.
As an afterthought, he felt of the limp man’s wrist. There was no pulse.
The blow had crushed the skull!
“Dead!” Buttons gulped, somewhat surprised.
He squinted up-and-down the murky street and was indeed glad to perceive no one in view.
“Oh well, what-the-heck! He ain’t the first gent I’ve salivated.”
Buttons Zortell left the vicinity, walking swiftly but not so rapidly as to arouse suspicion. He turned southward.
The skyscraper which housed Doc Savage’s sanctum spiked up only a few blocks distant. It was for this structure that the killer headed.
Near the towering building, Buttons Zortell met one of his own men.
“Whatcha so sweaty about?” the man queried, eyeing his chief curiously. “You look kinda spooked.”