“Nix. Something may happen.”
“Not a chance of it, Ben. You know the agreement. When your gang has done the work, you get the dough.”
“We’re going to do the work!”
Ernie nodded. He glanced at his watch. He showed the timepiece to the dock walloper.
“Lookit, Ben,” he said. “The blowoff is due in two minutes. We ain’t got time now. I don’t want to flash a roll in front of this mob. Afterward I’ll—”
“O.K.,” agreed Big Ben.
The two men kept their eyes on the watch. Two minutes went by; then two minutes more. Ernie became restless.
“That phone ought to be ringing,” he said.
Three more minutes passed. Still no sound from the telephone.
Then, while Ernie still studied the watch, there came a sound that brought half the mobsmen to their feet in sudden excitement. The dull noise of an explosion had reached their ears.
It must have occurred somewhere within a dozen blocks!
“What was that?” demanded Big Ben.
“Don’t know,” replied Ernie, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. Somebody’s pulling something down this way! We’d better lay low until we find out what it is!”
One of the gangsters was starting toward the door to investigate. Ernie stopped him.
“Wait,” he warned. “We can look around later.” He turned to Big Ben. “I can’t figure what’s wrong up in the Bronx,” he said.
One of the gangsters was speaking.
“Sounded like it came from over on Tenth Avenue,” he said to a companion. “A couple of warehouses up there — another garage—”
A sudden thought came to Ernie Shires. One of the New Era Garages was on Tenth Avenue! One of Durgan’s garages! Another garage like this one!
He looked at his watch. Almost five minutes had elapsed since the explosion. It had occurred at the time set for the second blowoff in the Bronx garages!
There was no time for hesitation, Ernie realized, as an amazing suspicion flashed through his brain! He strode across the room and opened the door that led out through the back of the garage.
“Come on, gang,” he ordered. “Get going, quick! No talk. Out!”
The mobsmen rose to follow him. Big Ben Hargins was the first. But even as they responded to Ernie’s command, without realizing its purpose, the catastrophe occurred!
There was a terrific roar! The whole side of the partition collapsed. The moving gangsters were thrown flat. Some of them were buried amidst a pile of falling debris.
The truck that Nipper had brought to the garage had carried a time-set bomb. It had been intended to wreak ruin in Fogarty’s Garage in the Bronx. Instead, it had brought destruction to Killer Durgan’s stronghold.
CHAPTER XII
KILLER DURGAN LEARNS THE NEWS
Two grim-faced men entered Killer Durgan’s apartment. They were Ernie Shires and Big Ben Hargins. Their clothes were soiled and torn; their faces bore grimy stains.
Both showed signs of having made a hasty effort to make themselves somewhat presentable before their visit to Larchmont Court.
“What’s the lay?” demanded Killer Durgan. His face was clouded with anger.
“We’ve been double-crossed!” replied Ernie. “Somebody’s busted the works! Your garages have gone up in smoke, instead of those dumps up in the Bronx!”
“My garages!” Killer Durgan was on his feet, his fists clenched as he glowered at Ernie Shires. “You gummed the works, eh? Fine guy, you are!”
“Lay off me,” retorted Ernie. “I figure I know the guy that’s done it! I told you he’d be making trouble! Let me tell you what’s happened.”
Durgan sat down and listened impatiently while Ernie recited the events that had occurred in the New Era Garage on Eighth Avenue. It was the account of what happened after the explosion that brought oaths from his puffed lips.
“Big Ben and I got out,” explained Ernie, “but we had a tough time doing it. Everything broke loose after that truck blew up. Gas tanks exploded — walls came down — it was lucky we managed to get away.
“The back door was blocked by stuff that had fallen. By the time we got out, the cops were on the job, and fire trucks were coming up. We were in a mess for sure!”
“What about the mob?”
“Some of ‘em got out right after us; but the coppers nabbed them. Ben and I got away because we came first. We ducked the cops when they saw us, and they came running over just in time to nab the rest of the crowd.”
“The whole mob?”
“All that got out” — Ernie laughed hoarsely — “but that ain’t all of ‘em. Some of ‘em got trapped, and ain’t ever going to get out!”
“That means some of my mob, too,” interposed Hargins. “It’s going to be a job squaring this with Bart Hennesy, I’ll tell you that! He didn’t like the idea in the first place; he’ll like it less, now.
“Say — how about that dough that I’ve got coming to me?” He looked at Ernie; then at Durgan. “How about it?”
“How about it?” answered Ernie jeeringly. “Fat chance you have of getting it! It was to be paid after the job” — he looked toward Durgan for approval — “and the job ain’t been done!”
“No?” Big Ben thrust out his jaw. “Well, it ain’t my fault the job went sour, and if you guys don’t want a run-in with Bart Hennesy, you’d better come clean.”
“Pay him the money!” ordered Durgan. “Not here! Somewheres else. And get going now, you guys! I’ve got plenty to worry about without you being here!”
THERE was a knock at the door. Mike Wharton came in as Ernie and Ben were leaving. The garage manager’s face was solemn. He was anxious to talk with Durgan, but he kept his patience until the others were gone.
“Well?” demanded Durgan.
“I guess you’ve heard all about it,” said Wharton.
“You mean the garages?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I know the Eighth Avenue place has gone up.”
“So have the others. Terrible damage, Mr. Durgan. It wasn’t so bad with the other two. A lot of cars smashed, and it’s going to cost plenty.
“But the Eighth Avenue garage is all shot to pieces. That’s where the cops nabbed the fellows coming out. Patrols — ambulances — fire trucks — they’re all up there!”
“A fine guy you are!” growled Durgan savagely.
“How was I to know?” protested Wharton. “We were the last ones to expect this. It’s going to cost a lot of money—”
“What! Those joints? They don’t mean that” — Durgan snapped his fingers. “I could see a dozen garages go up in smoke, and I wouldn’t mind it if I owned all of them! This has put the skids under me in a big way — that’s all!
“You know the Public Garage Owners Association?”
Mike Wharton nodded. Technically, a garage manager, he was, nevertheless, familiar with the racket run by Killer Durgan.
“Well” — Durgan was fuming — “who has been paying in to it regular — leading the way for the others — talking protection — all that?”
“The New Era Garages.”
“Right! My garages! The last ones where anything ought to happen! Now they’ve been hit hard!
“You say they’ve gone up — well, the Public Garage Owners Association has gone up with them! Don’t you see?”
“Yes,” agreed Wharton thoughtfully. “I see it now. I didn’t before. Somebody’s after the association — that’s sure. So all the garages that subscribe to it are going to get scared.”
“You’re right they are! They’ll figure that this means a war. They’ve been forking over dough to the association because they figured they’d get smashed if they didn’t. Now they’ll figure they’re due for a lacing anyway!