MIKE LARRIGAN grinned grimly as he read the reports. This was good news to him.
Varona and Vacchi had been able lieutenants of the big shot; Genara and Anelmo had been Savoli’s most formidable killers. There could be only one immediate result: a weakening of the Savoli forces.
This was opportunity.
That night, three of Larrigan’s hoodlums acting under orders, entered a road house and shot down two of Savoli’s gunmen. The news was phoned immediately to the big shot and his enforcer.
Borrango called up Larrigan. He heard nothing but curses in reply.
Then Machine-gun McGinnis brought in the news that Larrigan had not kept the rendezvous that would have led to the death of Monk Thurman.
McGinnis had gone on alone, but to no avail.
What had become of Monk? That was a question that perplexed both Savoli and Borrango.
They had but one cause for rejoicing; that was the fact that Larrigan had struck crudely, and had made no attempt at subtle effort. They knew now that he was their enemy, even though they did not know why.
Before the reports of the road-house shooting had been printed in the morning newspapers, the Savoli organization was in motion.
Its many industries — gambling, bootlegging, and other activities — must go on. But with it all, gunmen were set to work, to meet the onslaughts of Larrigan’s mob.
There were other dangers, too. The murders of Varona and Vacchi were traced to Nails Pietro and his gang. They, like Larrigan and his crew, were to be the objects of Savoli’s vengeance.
Even without the four men who had been so important to him, Nick Savoli was confident. Yet he was anxious to trace Monk Thurman.
The New York gangster would be most useful now. That was not all; even in this mad whirl of approaching warfare, the big shot had not forgotten a sinister figure in black — a man whose hand had entered into the grim game.
Nick Savoli was on guard against — The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXVI
GANG WAR
THE next week proved to be the most tumultuous period that had ever rocked Chicago’s underworld. Mobsters were at work.
Larrigan’s hoodlums were shooting down all the stray Savoli gangsters that they could find. At first, the tide was turned against the big shot. His forces seemed to waver before the open attacks of Larrigan’s mob.
Then Nails Pietro gained courage, and his killers did their work.
The police theory seemed to be turning into fact. Let the gangsters kill each other. It might prove true, at last. Yet the killing seemed one-sided. Savoli’s men were falling like the leaves of autumn.
The police were forced to action. This open warfare was too desperate. Squads of policemen entered the struggle, and unwittingly served Nick Savoli a good turn. For they killed a few of Larrigan’s mobsters.
Then came the turn of the tide. The big shot had been waiting. His gorillas fought back, but more efficiently than Larrigan’s men, and the mobs of independent leaders who thought that Savoli’s end was near.
The master of the old regime planned his executions, and they had a terrifying effect upon the enemy.
The prime job was the killing of Mike Larrigan. The wild gang leader had adopted every precaution within his power; yet he was following the old plan that the best defense was a powerful offense. He was wary, was Mike Larrigan. Yet his end came when he least expected it.
As he was riding along a busy street, his car was riddled with machine-gun bullets. The barrage came from the ground floor of a partly completed building. The roar of the gun was drowned by a multitude of riveters, who worked on, unconscious that they were a party to the killing.
Before Larrigan’s mobsmen or the police who were near by had grasped the situation, Machine-gun McGinnis quietly packed up his typewriter, and left the premises.
Thus came the end of a fierce six-day fight.
Without their chief, Larrigan’s hoodlums scattered. The lesser mobs slipped into retirement. There was no one else to carry on.
Nick Savoli grinned when Machine-gun McGinnis came to report, with Brodie, the chauffeur.
The big shot had had a hectic week. His bullet-proof car had been plastered with gunfire. It had rolled away just in time to escape the explosion of a pineapple. A squad of automobiles had peppered the front of the Escadrille Apartments, but to no avail.
Now, at last, there was to be relief.
EXCEPT for the one futile attack by the passing automobiles, life had been comparatively quiet at the Escadrille. There were more gangsters than usual, and they were constantly on watch. But they had proven a protection rather than an attraction to lure rival mobs.
Everything had swung to Nick Savoli’s advantage, even though his ranks were depleted, and his organization had suffered. It was true that his peace plans had gone to naught. But his supremacy was on the verge of greater establishment.
From the smoking ruins of the underworld, he could gain the opportunity to set up a new and more powerful kingdom.
Yet events were in a critical stage. Any unexpected incident might cause a complete crash. Nick Savoli realized this, and so did Mike Borrango. They knew the insecurity of their position. Between combats with rival mobs and conflicts with the police, the big shot’s system had been taxed to the breaking point. But for the death of Larrigan, the emperor would have lost his throne.
Now he had the opportunity to regain it. All rivals had been driven to cover — all the enemies had been forced away, except one — The Shadow. But that formidable opponent had not even appeared during the conflict.
Borrango had mentioned The Shadow to Nick Savoli. The enforcer was sure that the man of mystery had left Chicago when the guns had begun to bark. But Savoli was not so sure.
He, himself, was subtle. He had waited until the others had shot their bolt. Perhaps The Shadow was waiting, too; waiting until the opposing forces had gone their limit.
If so, that time had come now!
Still came the other question. Where was Monk Thurman?
Had he been killed by Larrigan’s men, during the first part of the fight? What was his attitude now, toward Savoli?
He had not kept the appointment which would have meant his death. Did he know the truth?
Neither Savoli nor Borrango had heard the story of Mike Larrigan’s ride, and the walk which had followed it. Larrigan had kept that secret to himself.
Perhaps Thurman had left town. If he was still in Chicago, he might be an enemy, rather than a friend.
It was possible that he had aligned himself with one of the rival mobs; yet that seemed unlikely. For none of Savoli’s men had encountered Monk Thurman during the week of strife.
THERE was too much going on to watch minor events around the Escadrille Apartments. Some of the tenants had been having decorating work done. One apartment on the third floor — occupied by a man named Howard Blake — was undergoing a complete renovation.
On this particular afternoon when Nick Savoli and Mike Borrango were planning their great campaign of reconstruction, several workmen had gone into Blake’s apartment, carrying their tools, and painting equipment.
The stalwarts of the Savoli mob were due to assemble. Machine-gun McGinnis and Brodie were already there. Two lieutenants — Spiker Condi and Texas Carey — were announced.
Steve Cronin, who had been acting as Savoli’s bodyguard, and who had done heavy work during the fighting days, was the last to put in an appearance.
The group gathered in the library. Mike Borrango left for a few minutes. He visited the third floor, to make sure that two gunmen were in the apartment below, that served as the secret means of exit from Savoli’s place.
The enforcer noticed a man in the hallway operating a vacuum cleaner that was attached to a plug in the wall. He was glad to see such evidence of peaceful activity, here in the Escadrille.