“I ain’t, ain’t I?” flared out Gold. “Well, God damn you, I’ll show you.”
He raised his automatic, drew bead and would have fired point blank if Lefty hadn’t knocked his gun down.
“Cut it out, you sap!” he growled. “We don’t want to croak ’em yet. They all got nice little bank balances we can collect in the morning. No use lettin’ it go to the state.”
“So,” continued Little Hymie tauntingly, “you’re the yellow, crawling vermin that’s been doing all the double crossing around these parts. Faugh!” With the words, he spat viciously at the three men standing over him.
Solly Gold suddenly flicked his wrist and brought the barrel of his gun in a tearing slash across Little Hymie’s face. The gangster took it without moving, without a mutter. His silence above the tap-tap of his blood dropping to the floor, was more deadly than a thousand words.
A long pause. Then:
“I’m telling you now, Solly Gold, you better plug me! If you don’t, I’ll tear out your heart!”
“Horse collar!” snarled Gold.
Then Little Hymie turned to the other captives.
“Fellas, I’m sorry for gettin’ you wrong. I apologize.”
Lefty had heard enough. He swaggered across the floor to the prostrate Jew and spat into his face.
“Well, Hymie,” he began after this insult, “now that you’ve made your little speech, I’m going to give you the low down. Seeing what we intend to do with all of you, it’s only fair. We’re going out and start your three gangs off on the war path. When they’ve about cleaned each other out, then, we’ll step in, take over the works and consolidate. See? The Chink, Solly and me are going to be the big works. Get me? We’re going to run the underworld. We’re going to run the rackets. We’re going to get the gravy.”
“And what about us, you double crossing, yellow livered pimps?” sneered Little Hymie. “You think we’ll lay down and take it?”
“You’ll have to, Hymie. You’ll lay down and take it in a coffin. You’ll be dead, see? Come on boys, let’s go!”
With evil, triumphant smiles on their lips, the three rats inspected once again the bonds on their prisoners and then left the room. A moment later the outer door was heard to close behind them.
No sooner were they alone in the house than there was a concerted move on the part of the four prisoners to free themselves from their bonds. But they were well and cunningly tied. They squirmed and twisted and turned but their bonds held. In vain one tried to free another. The air was livid with profanity as they struggled with the ropes that bound them but what they needed then, rather than sharp tongues, were sharp knives.
But at all costs they must succeed in freeing themselves. If not, it was very possible that the three rats would succeed in carrying out their threat of annihilation. They feared, not alone for themselves, but for their men, who even at that moment were being led into useless slaughter.
When the three rats left the house and their prisoners on Mulberry Street, they immediately separated, each going off in a different direction. Lefty made tracks for Shanty’s headquarters on Tenth Street; Solly Gold made for Little Hymie’s warehouse on the west side; and the Chink soon lost himself in the tangled streets of Chinatown.
A half hour later the three traitors had the three mobs worked up to the murder point. Men saw red and at the same time their chance of vengeance; a vengeance they had been seeking for months now. Brisk sharp orders were given and executed even before the words died out.
To the usual assortment of sawed off shot guns, revolvers and automatics, blunt, savage sub-machine guns were added and China Cholly’s tong pulled off the racks their heaviest hatchets. This was to be a war of extermination. Within minutes of each other the three mobs left their respective headquarters and piled eagerly into their waiting cars. The advance was begun. All speed laws were broken that night, as the machines loaded with death and destruction, hurtled through the night streets of the city toward one another.
A half hour later, the prisoners on Mulberry Street were desperate. Despite their most strenuous efforts to free themselves, they were in exactly the same position as when their captors left them.
It was then, when all else had failed them, that Shanty Hogan had inspiration; inspiration of a very desperate sort, it is true.
“Listen you guys,” he said, “I got an idea if you want to gamble on it.”
“Shoot,” said Little Hymie, “we can’t be any worse off than we are now.”
“Those wise guys left the lamp here.” continued Shanty. “There’s oil in it. We can set the damn joint on fire and let the fire department yank us out — if they get here in time.”
For a moment they considered the proposition. Sadie was the first to break the silence.
“My vote goes in yes,” she said.
“Me, too,” assented China Cholly.
“We’ll gamble the roll,” put in Little Hymie.
“Good!” grunted Shanty. “Now you guys and Sadie back into the other room. That’ll give us a few minutes leeway, anyway.”
They rolled, hobbled and lurched across the uneven floor and passed into the next room. Shanty was left alone. The oil lamp, burning brightly, was perched on a box in the center of the room. He scanned the dark corners of the place for a last time, judged the distance back of him to the door and then fell heavily into the box.
The lamp went down with a crash and a trail of flaming oil darted across the dusty floor. The old and moldy wood took fire at once. In a moment the spongy walls took flame. Shanty waited to see no more. He rolled himself across the floor, away from the fire, towards the door, squeezed through and slammed it shut behind him.
Breathlessly the captives waited behind the slender barrier. Had they made a mistake? Had they been foolhardy? Was their end to be the fearful one of dread by fire? A thin wisp of smoke curled under the door jamb: then a flickering light lapped through.
A moment later they heard the ominous roar and crackle of flames in the next room. The air became uncomfortably warm, then stilling hot as the acrid smoke still continued to seep in to them. Sweat poured off them in streams. They gasped for air. They choked and their lungs were a living hell.
The roar of the consuming flames sounded like an orchestra of hell. The heat became terrific and the door that sheltered them from the raging inferno inside warped and bent. Well, anyway, they were going out in a blaze of glory.
Then above the seething hiss of the flames a shout sounded in the street outside. The alarm was given!
The four prisoners suffered all the agonies of hell for what seemed an eternity before the air was pierced by the screaming wail of a siren and the clang of engines. They willed to live through that bath of flame.
The clang and roar of heavy trucks and the swelling throaty cry of the gathering crowd in the street filled the room. A moment later dark forms appeared at the window. The panes of glass were shattered and three helmeted firemen clambered over the sill. At first they thought the prisoners there quite dead but a string of hurried orders and instructions from Shanty convinced them otherwise. In a thrice their bonds were cut and they were carried to the waiting ladders.
The fresh clean air revived them. Greedily they sucked it in hungry mouthfuls and by the time they had reached the ground they were ready to carry on.
Four streams of water were now playing on the blazing structure. The street was a bedlam of noise, cries and pounding engines. Under cover of the confusion, Shanty herded his three companions together and streaked them outside the police ring.
The red painted body of a police car caught his eye.
“This way, this way!” he urged and elbowed his way to the curb. “Jump in, you guys. This is our best bet!”