Maxwell Grant
The Chinese Disks
CHAPTER I. COMING EVENTS
“I DON’T know nothin’, Joe. I ain’t no stoolie—”
The speaker was a pale, rat-faced fellow. His voice, half snarl, half whine, ended with a twitch of ugly lips. Beady eyes blinked nervously as they stared at the swarthy, firm-set visage on the opposite side of the battered desk.
“You’re a stoolie right now, Duff,” rasped the swarthy man. “What’s more, you’re going to like it. I brought you here so you could talk. No stall works with me. Get that?”
There was a pause as the two men faced each other beneath the light of a lamp that hung above the desk.
Silence followed while the beady eyes tried to outblink the hard-boiled gaze that met them. Twisted lips were holding back.
The room in which these two had met was an unused office of detective headquarters. The rat-faced man was “Duff” Corley, a small-fry mobster from the underworld of Manhattan. The swarthy-faced inquisitor was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the New York force.
Duff Corley was not the first of his ilk to meet Cardona in this little office. Detailed to special investigation in the badlands, the star sleuth forced these appointments whenever he saw fit. Few crooks had the nerve to refuse an interview when Joe Cardona demanded it. They preferred to answer the detective’s summons; then try to bluff it out.
Exactly what Duff Corley was attempting. But it didn’t go with Joe Cardona. His ultimatum delivered, the detective watched the twitch of the gangster’s lips and waited. Duff’s nervousness increased.
“Honest, Joe” — it was all whine, no snarl — “I don’t know nothin’ about what you’re askin’. You say there’s been guys duckin’ out an’ not showin’ up again. Well — I ain’t one of ‘em, or I wouldn’t be here. That’s sensible, ain’t it? There ain’t nothin’ I can tell you about guys that I don’t know.”
“Spider Mertz was one of them,” put in Cardona, with a growl. “You saw him a few nights ago.”
The statement jolted Duff; but the rat-faced fellow recovered quickly. Once again, he tried a whine to cover up his bluff.
“Spider Mertz? I ain’t seen him.” Duff’s tone became pleading. “Honest, Joe. I ain’t seen Spider for a couple of weeks. Not since—”
“Not since he ducked out of sight, eh?” demanded Joe as Duff caught himself in the midst of a damaging statement. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it, Duff? Well — that just proves one thing. You did see Spider Mertz.”
“Honest, Joe—”
“I’ll tell you where you saw him. Down at Red Mike’s. That’s why I brought you here. Spider talked to you, Duff. You’re going to tell me what he said.”
SILENCE. Joe Cardona smiled coldly. He had scored a point; he had the opportunity to follow it with another stroke. The detective edged one elbow to the desk. Leaning forward, he gazed squarely at Duff Corley.
“The dragnet’s been working,” informed Cardona. “Sometimes it brings in good results. This time we hooked a couple of squealers who tried to put themselves in right. They talked. About those silk warehouse robberies. Jobs that were pulled last month. I learned a bit about you, Duff.”
The mobster began a snarl. He stopped short, realizing that talk might mean new trouble. Joe Cardona resumed, in cold tone.
“Maybe I’m not going to use what I found out,” stated the detective. “You weren’t in those jobs as heavy as you might have been. Six months over on the Island wouldn’t do you much harm, Duff; but it wouldn’t do me any good. Might be a lot of trouble, pinning it on you. Sometimes squealers get closemouthed, when the pinch hits. I figured you might be more useful where you are.”
Duff winced. Cardona’s tone had become mild as well as speculative; but the mobster saw the threat beneath. Duff knew that Joe could pin the goods on him. He knew that the detective would do it, in spite of the details involved, unless he found a reason to let the matter ride. Joe was leaving it to Duff to provide the reason.
“You mean you’ll lay off them warehouse jobs?” asked the crook, leaning forward. “You’ll let the other mugs take the rap without draggin’ me into it? If I—”
“If you give me the lowdown on Spider Mertz,” inserted Cardona, as Duff hesitated. “That will make you useful enough to remain at large.”
Duff looked about him in furtive fashion, almost as though suspecting the presence of spies from the underworld. To the crook, headquarters was a place to be shunned. Even this secluded nook of an office made him uneasy. At last, Duff glanced toward Cardona and put a final whine.
“I ain’t no stoolie, Joe,” was his plea. “Maybe I’d better take the rap. When a guy turns stoolie, the dicks run him ragged. I ain’t goin’ to be no stoolie for—”
“Cut it, Duff,” snapped Cardona. “This is a straight deal, if you deliver the goods. You’ll be playing stool pigeon, right enough, but on this one job. That’s all. I won’t need you after you’ve gone through with it.”
“You mean that, Joe?”
“I said it, didn’t I? Come on. Spill what you know. Tell me about Spider Mertz. What’s his game?”
“I don’t know, Joe,” began Duff. “Wait” — he raised a scrawny hand when he saw the detective scowl — “I can find it out for you. Honest, Joe. I saw Spider, down at Red Mike’s, like you said. He’d been hidin’ out — an’ he’s got some mugs workin’ for him.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know their names. A crew of gorillas, that’s all I know. He ain’t lookin’ for more, neither. Layin’ low with the bunch he’s got.”
“Then why did he talk to you?”
“Because he knowed that I was good at spottin’ the lay for a job. That’s what Spider said, anyway. Told me he knew a guy that could use me.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t say. I’m to meet the guy and—”
“Where?”
“I don’t know yet.”
CARDONA shifted. These statements seemed like an evasion. Duff saw that Cardona was suspecting another stall. The scrawny crook made haste to correct the impression.
“There’s somethin’ big in back of it, Joe,” whispered Duff, hoarsely. “There’s a big shot hid somewhere. Spider’s workin’ for him, I’m to work for him. I told Spider to count me in. All I’m waitin’ for is the tip — when I’m to meet up with the big shot an’ where.”
“Who’ll give you the tip? Spider?”
“No. That’s the part I don’t know. I’m to stick around Red Mike’s. See? Until some bozo shows up an’ passes me the high sign.”
“Yeah?” Cardona was gruff. “Listen, Duff, this kind of talk would sound natural from a hop-head. But from you it sounds like a stall. I’m telling you—”
“I can prove it, Joe!” broke in Duff, anxiously. “I ain’t stallin’. There’s some guy goin’ to walk in on me at Red Mike’s. Look at this — then you’ll know I’m talkin’ straight.”
Fumbling in his pocket, the crook produced a small, roundish object. He dropped it on the battered table. It fell with a dull clank. Cardona picked it up. The object was a grayish disk of metal, slightly smaller than a half dollar. Engraved upon its center was a Chinese character.
“Who gave you this?” demanded Joe. “Spider Mertz?”
“Yes,” responded Duff. “Spider’s got one like it. He gave me this one. The guy that’s goin’ to meet me at Red Mike’s will have one. That’s how I’ll know him.”
“Did Spider tell you why they use a disk like this?”
“No. An’ I’ve been wonderin’ what the thing is. It ain’t a Chinese coin — I’ve seen Chinese coins, an’ they’ve got square holes in the center of ‘em. I don’t know what this thing means, outside of it servin’ for a high sign.”