Fully clothed he tiling himself upon the filthy bed and thought of the morrow and the twenty-five thousand dollars that would be his. How long he lay there, he did not know. Suddenly the creak of a rusty hinge brought him to his feet like a released jack-in-the-box.
Frantically he dashed to the window. Three figures were idly trudging through the two rows of garages. They did not hesitate. They were soon lost in the shadows. With tremendous relief, and a deep sigh, Mike slumped into a chair. He could see the lock on his own garage shining in the moonlight. The men had evidently been in one of the other garages — perhaps that creaking hinge had been mere imagination.
In spite of his own repeatedly mouthed assurances that all was well, Mike found sleep an utter impossibility. All night he sat at that window telling himself that he had nothing to fear; but finding a denial in the very air.
At dawn he was haggard and drawn. By three o’clock he was on the verge of insanity from the rigid suspense. With a prayer of thanks that at last the hour had arrived, he made ready for his trip to Wang’s, made ready by cramming an automatic in each hip pocket and making dire predictions against the health of the yellow man, at the first false move. He went down the dark hall cautiously; down the rickety stairs two by two.
His eyes narrowed, his heart seemed to stop as he opened the vestibule door and looked across the street. A man bearing all the tell-tale marks of a detective was intently studying the front of the tenement house. Their eyes met.
Mike knew retreat would arouse suspicion. Boldly, with a nonchalant whistle and a weak mental reassurance, Mike stepped to the street. As he walked hurriedly, fearfully, he watched the other out of the corner of his eye as long as possible.
“Imagination.” Mike mumbled to himself as he walked another block and was not followed. He quickened his steps toward Wang’s, feeling more secure with each step.
His happiness died a sudden, violent death as he laid his hand on the doorknob of Wang’s and saw what appeared to be that same detective on the next corner. There was no choice. He had to go in!
“To Hell with your damned tea!” he growled at Wang’s proffered hospitality. “Dimes to apple pie I’m being trailed!”
He dashed to the window opening on the street, turned wild eyes toward the corner. He laughed uproariously as a second man approached the first and wrung his hand. Arm in arm the pair trudged off.
“My mistake, Wang!” Mike said apologetically. “He wasn’t a gumshoe artist after all — just waitin’ fer another bozo. I will take a cup of that tea — stronger than tea if you have it!”
Wang yanked a heavy silk cord hanging near the door. Within a minute he hoisted his glass, clinked it against Mike’s.
“To our mutual success and the damnation of the police!”
“To the police! Our jails would be full if they was smarter!”
Mike, Wang and two stolid Chinamen went out through the back door, down a rank smelling alley; hurriedly entered a waiting car. Mike’s hands were on the butts of his guns even while he directed the chauffeur. Not until the last minute did that solemn-faced individual know his ultimate destination.
“We’re here, Wang. And don’t forget what I told you about gats waiting fer the first crooked move,” Mike lied perfectly with a purposeful glance at the windows of the tenements.
Wang bowed regally. “It is said that only a fool tempts fate.”
Quickly Mike unlocked the garage door. The four entered: the door was then closed and latched on the inside. “Under the rear seat you’ll find the stuff. Let’s feel the cash!”
The servants dove for the seat while Wang surrendered a pile of greenbacks. Mike snatched them like a starved man snatches food. Then suddenly came an ominous pounding on the door.
A gun flew from Mike’s pocket: his face was twisted with rage. “You lousy yellow dog! You may gyp me after all — but by God you’ll pay for it with your life!”
Wang cowered before that wavering gun. Fear of death was in his eyes; his knees trembled. “May all my honorable ancestors be eternally damned if I have done anything wrong!”
The patter of many feet drifted through the door — the crunch of a heavy object smiting the flimsy wood. The shining edge of an ax came flashing through at the second stroke. Mike jerked the trigger of the automatic in his hand; jerked it as rapidly as nerves could be commanded. Gun emptied, he flung it aside; drew its mate from his pocket, emptied that.
A stifled scream from the outside. A harshly barked, “trade lead with ’em, if that’s what they want!”
The rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun, the splintering of wood, the whine of lead followed hard on each other. Bullets chewed a circle of wood from the door, then came streaming in without restraint. The two yellow servants were first to feel the bite of lead, Wang next.
Even before the agonized scream of Wang had died out, Mike felt three terrible hot stabs of pain about his neck and chest. The whole world seemed to tremble, to whirl, to turn black. He felt himself falling, felt the additional torture of his head heavily striking the stone floor.
Slowly, painfully, Mike opened his eyes. Sight of a blue uniform, brass buttons shining beneath the glare of electric lights, stabbed him worse than his bodily pain. Through the haze came the realization that he was in a hospital ward. He smiled inanely, tugged at the blue on the right side of his cot. “Hey — what happened?”
“You got in the way of lead and—”
“Cripes, you’re as thick as the rest of ’em. I know that! I mean what wised you guys up to me?”
“Nothing. You’d better lay back there and try to sleep now...”
“Hey! Don’t try ter pull the wool over my eyes — I... I know I’m going. I’d go laughin’ if I knew how—”
“Then I’ll tell you. You led us a great chase. You would have gotten away with this, all of it, if only that license plate hadn’t come off your car when you crashed into the trooper’s — who by the way told us before he died that his car was disabled and he signalled you merely to ask for a tow.”
“But — I found — it — we didn’t leave the license plate — behind—”
“No, you didn’t. But somebody stepped on it and the letter C and the first three numbers on it were imprinted into the clay of the road. Too bad it didn’t rain more and wash that trade mark away. It didn’t! Then all we had to do was check up on all cars with plates beginning with C 3-5-9.
“Last night we found Reddel’s name in the license bureau. What a fool he was to register his car in his correct name and address! We turned up his garage, found the car smashed, learned from nosey neighbors that you brought it in last! We got a duplicate key from the owner of that row of garages and found the drug under the rear seat.”
“Wise guys, hey? Decided — to — wipe out Fu Wang at the — same time, hey? And that stuff in the newspapers — that was bunk?”
“Yes. Bunk! It’s always our motto to get two birds with one stone.”
“Yeah — but you can’t convict me — you can’t convince a jury that I killed anybody — you can’t—”
“No, we can’t. Your case is in a judge’s hands who doesn’t have a jury in the court room.”
A spasm of agony gripped Mike. Through clenched teeth he laughed; groaned, “Twenty-five thousand bucks! Twenty-five-thousand—”
He sank back upon the white pillow. A shudder passed through him, shook him like a gale shakes a sapling. His wide eyes lost the sparkle of life. He was on the main highway to Hell.
Gangster Stories, February 1930