The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

by Otto Penzler

“Kind of. But I heard you’ve been shooting the town up. Where’s the catch?”

  “Rehearsing. No public showing just yet, Duke.”

  “Forget it. I got a right to a private interview.”

  MacBride shook his head. “That’s a lot of noise. You’ve got no rights at all so far as I’m concerned. The door’s behind you, Duke. The air’11 do you good.”

  Duke Manola snarled, “Can that tripe, Mac. I didn’t come out here to chin with you. I came out to see who you picked up. Cut the comedy!”

  “Soft pedal, Duke. You’re in bad company right now.”

  “Why, damn your soul, MacBride!—”

  “Shut up!” barked the hard captain. “You might be a big guy in other circles, but just now, as far as I’m concerned, you’re only a little dago shooting off a lot of hot air.” He stepped to the outer door and yanked it open. “Now get the hell out!”

  Manola’s lips moved in a silent oath, and his eyes flamed behind lids that were almost closed. Then he shrugged. “All right, MacBride. Have your way. I see you’re not tamed yet.”

  “Not by a damned sight, Duke!”

  “Maybe—I’ll try a little more—taming.” With that he sauntered out, a leer on his dark, smooth face.

  A moment later the newspapermen followed.

  From then on until midnight MacBride sat in his office, behind locked doors, and raked Devore with a merciless third degree. But Devore only taunted him. He made no confession. He gave no details. He weathered the gale with the hardness of his kind, and at midnight MacBride, worn and haggard, torn inwardly by emotions that he never revealed, called it a day.

  “All right, Devore. That’ll do for tonight. More later, buddy.”

  He called in a policeman and directed him to put Devore in a cell.

  “Listen here, MacBride,” the gangster protested on the way out of the office. “I want a lawyer. I want him mighty quick.”

  “Dry up. You’re not getting out on bail while I’m alive.”

  Still protesting, Devore was dragged away to a cell.

  Weary, sunk at heart, MacBride slumped back in his chair, his chin dropping to his chest, his tousled hair straggling down over his red-rimmed eyes. He was up against it. He dared not look ahead. There was no telling what the morrow would bring. But one thing was certain. His daughter would be drawn into the net, linked with a gangster’s crime, her name and likeness published throughout the country. Judith MacBride, daughter of Captain MacBride, feared by the criminal element of Richmond City. A stickler for the law. A hard man against crooks. Possessed of an enviable record.

  He shuddered; the whole, big-boned frame of him shuddered.

  And then the telephone rang, and he picked up the receiver.

  “Is this you, Steve?” came his wife’s anxious voice.

  “Yes, Ann.”

  “Steve! I don’t know where Judith is. She went to a movie tonight—to—forget for a little while. She’d promised to go with Elsie, from the other end of town. You know the show’s out at eleven. And she hasn’t come home yet. I called up Elsie and she said they parted in front of the theatre at eleven and Judith started walking home.

  “And Steve, listen. At about ten some woman called up and asked for Judith. I said she wasn’t in, that she’d gone to the movies. Then she hung up. What do you suppose could have happened?”

  Under the desk, MacBride’s clenched fist pounded against his knee.

  “I don’t know, Ann. But don’t worry. I’ll be home right away. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll—be— home.”

  The color had drained from his face by the time he slipped the receiver back on to the hook. He sat back, his arms outstretched, the hands knotted on the edge of the desk, the eyes wide and staring into space. And then the eyes narrowed and the lips curled.

  He heaved up, banged on his cap and strode out of the station. When he reached home his wife was sobbing, and she came to his arms. Hard hit as he was, he, nevertheless, put his arms around her and patted her gently.

  “Buck up, Ann. That’s a brave girl. Maybe it’s nothing after all. Maybe—”

  The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted him. Slowly, he approached the instrument, unhooked the receiver.

  “Who is this?” grated a voice.

  “MacBride.”

  “Get wise to yourself, MacBride. You see that Devore gets free by tomorrow midnight, or your daughter gets a dirty deal. This is straight. The gang’s got her at a hide-out you’ll never find. I’m calling from a booth in the railroad station. By tomorrow midnight, MacBride, or your daughter gets the works! Good-bye!”

  A click sounded in MacBride’s ear. He turned away from the telephone, met his wife’s wide-eyed stare.

  “Steve! Steve!” she cried.

  “Judith’s been kidnapped by Devore’s gang. Devore’s the man I’ve got in jail. His freedom is their price—for Judith.”

  “Oh—dear—God!”

  Ann MacBride closed her eyes and swayed. The hard captain caught her, held her gently, carried her to a sofa and laid her down, kneeling beside her.

  For the first time in his life MacBride prayed—for his daughter.

  VIII

  Next day he sat in his office, with the doors bolted, and Ted Kerr facing him.

  “Ted, I’m cornered,” he muttered. “I’ve got to pay through the nose.”

  “The skunks!” exclaimed Kerr. “God, can’t we comb the city? Can’t we run the pups down?”

  “It would take two or three days. They demand Devore by midnight. I’ve got to swallow my pride and let him go.”

  “But, Cap, you can’t let him just walk out.”

  “I know I can’t. There must be another way. He must escape.”

  Kerr bit his lip, perplexed. “Escape? Can you imagine the razzing you’ll get?”

  MacBride nodded. “Yes, more than you can. I’ve been called a tough nut, Ted. Well, I won’t deny it. And my pride’s been one of the biggest things in me. Swallowing it will damn near choke me. But my daughter—my flesh and blood—is the price, and, by God, I can’t stand the blow!”

  “But can’t it be fixed so the blame’ll fall on me? Hell, Cap, you’ve got so much more at stake.”

  “No. I’m the guy pays through the nose. Devore must escape.”

  “What about those birds at the Blue River?”

  “They’re not in the know. I hauled Donnegan off last night. Devore was just their bootlegger. Hinkle came across. He said Devore warned him to close his trap and keep it closed, or wind up wrestling with a bullet. No, there’s no alternative. Sometime tonight I’ve got to pull a bone-head move and let Devore blow. Afterwards, Ted, I’ll clean him out. But Judith comes first.”

  “Suppose they double-cross you?”

  “I’ll take care of that before Devore goes.”

  The day dragged by, and at nine that night MacBride had Devore brought in from the cell. He dismissed the officer with a nod. Devore sat down—he was without manacles—and helped himself to a cigarette from a pack on the desk. He needed a shave, and he looked down at the mouth—and nasty.

  “What a crust you’ve got, MacBride! Dammit, I want a lawyer. I want to see something besides polished buttons. I gotta right to that, MacBride.”

  MacBride rocked gently in his swivel chair. “Pipe down. And listen. You’re going to slide out of here tonight.”

  Devore looked up, suspecting a trick. “What d’ you mean?”

  “The rats you run with kidnapped my daughter last night. Their price is—your freedom. They’ve got me buffaloed, and I know they’d slit her open if I didn’t come across.”

  “Told you I’d get you tied by the heels.”

  “Shut up. It’s a bum break, and I’m not yapping. You slide out tonight.”

  Devore looked around. “Which way?”

  “Not yet, buddy. You’re going to call up your gang and tell ‘em to let my daughter go.”

  “Do you see any green on me, Cap?” snarled Devore.

  “Yo
u can take my word or leave it. I’ve never framed a guy yet, Devore. You ought to know that. Here’s my proposition. You call up your gang and tell ‘em it’s all fixed. They let my kid go. You breeze. I’ll give you twelve hours’ grace. But after that I’m going after you. I’ll know what number you call up, so don’t hang around there after you’re out. You’re getting a lease on life, a twelve hours’ lease. Grab it before I change my mind.”

  Devore leaned forward, his luminous eyes roving over the captain’s face.

  “Call Northside 412,” he breathed.

  MacBride reached for the telephone and put through the call. When he heard the operator ringing, he passed the phone over to Devore and watched him intently.

  “Hell—hello,” snapped Devore. “This you, Jake? … Yeah, this is Chuck. It’s all fixed. Let the dame go—right away. Put her in a taxi and send her home. Then clear out and I’ll meet you at Charlie’s…. Of course, I mean it. For God’s sake, don’t act dumb! … Yeah, right away. S’ long.”

  He hung up, his eyes narrowed. “Now, MacBride!”

  MacBride pulled open a drawer and laid an automatic on the desk. “The gun you shot Joe Manola with. It’s empty. You grab it and cover me and beat it out the back way, through the lots, and run for three blocks. There’s a main drag there, and a bus goes through to the city in five minutes.”

  Devore grabbed the gun, his eyes brilliant in their deep sockets, his lips drawn tight.

  “Paying through the nose, eh, MacBride?”

  “Shut up. When I meet you again, Devore, I won’t be taking any prisoners. The morgue bus will gather up the remains. Breeze!”

  Devore snapped to his feet, leered, and sped out through the rear door. MacBride sat still, his face granite hard, his fingers opening and closing, his teeth grinding together. For two minutes he sat there. Then he jumped up, ran to the door leading into the rear hall and banged it shut.

  He spun around and dived for the door leading into the central room. Sergeant Haley was playing solitaire. Kerr was sitting at a table playing checkers with Kennedy, of the Free Press.

  “Snap on it!” barked MacBride. “Devore’s escaped! He pulled a fast one. Grabbed a gun lying on the desk. Come on!”

  Kerr kicked back his chair. Two patrolmen came running from another room, drew their nightsticks.

  MacBride led the way out, and on the street said, “We’ll split.” He directed the patrolmen to head for the trolley line. To Kerr he said, “We’ll watch the bus line.”

  A moment later he and Kerr were running for the bus line, and when they reached the highway, MacBride pointed to a red light just disappearing around a bend.

  “That’s the bus,” he said. “And Devore.”

  “So you did it, Cap.”

  “Hell, yes!”

  IX

  An hour later, MacBride and Kerr stopped in at the captain’s house. Judith was weeping in her mother’s arms and her mother was shedding tears of happiness.

  “Judith just came in,” she said.

  MacBride took his daughter and stood her up, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Poor kid—poor kid. Now tell me, Judith, tell me—all you know.”

  Ted Kerr stood a little back, ill at ease.

  “Oh, daddy, I’ve been a fool—a little fool. When I was walking home from the movies last night that girl drove up in a car, called to me— and then two men jumped for me, gagged me, and they drove off.”

  “What girl?”

  “Arline Kane. I met her a month ago at a hairdressing parlor in the city. She said she was an actress, and marveled at my hair. She said I ought to go on the stage. She took me to lunch, and then promised to introduce me to some theatrical men. She was going with a man named Devore. I met him several times, and then the other night we went to the Blue River and there was another fellow—for me. Mr. Manola. I—I didn’t like him. He—he drank too much.

  “When we drove away from the Blue River, he wanted to park on a dark road. But I didn’t want him to. He was pretty drunk, and he wanted to make love to me. I fought him off, and then he turned to the others and said, ‘I thought you said I’d find a good time.’ And Mr. Devore said, ‘Don’t crab, Joe. Drive on.’ And Mr. Manola said, ‘Nothing doing. I’ve got a mind to make you all walk. Go on, get out, all of you.’ Well, he meant it, and he was pretty angry, too. And Mr. Devore got angry. They began swearing. Then Mr. Manola said, “You will get out, all of you!’ And he drew his gun. But Mr. Devore, who was sitting in the back, jumped on him, and the gun went off, but it was twisted around so that the bullet struck Mr. Manola.

  “He screamed, and then he shouted, ‘I’ll wreck all of you!’ He seemed crazy, and threw into gear, and the car started. Then Mr. Devore yelled, ‘Jump! We’ll have to jump!’ And we all did. And the car gathered speed, and Mr. Manola must have fainted, because it swerved to right and left and then hit a tree.

  “We fled through the woods, after I’d gone to the wreck to see if he was alive. But he wasn’t. Then Mr. Devore told me to say nothing about what had happened. He threatened that if I did he’d wipe out my whole family. That’s why I wouldn’t tell you, dad. I’ve been terrible—a fool—a fool!”

  “Yes, you have,” agreed MacBride. “But did Devore and Manola talk about—well, business?”

  Judith thought; then, “No. But I remember, at the Blue River, when Arline and I had come back to the table from the ladies’ room, Mr. Devore was saying to Mr. Manola, ‘And they think hooch is being made there! A good blind!” And then he laughed.’

  MacBride stepped back, stroking his jaw. Judith threw Kerr an embarrassed look, but he came to her and took her hand. “It’s all right, Judith. I’m awfully glad you’re safe.”

  “I’ve been awful, Ted. And yet you’re so kind.” Feeling his arm about her, she laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ll never—never do it again, Ted—never.”

  MacBride clipped suddenly, “Ted, I’ve got a hunch. That brewery. I wonder if something besides beer and hooch is being made there.”

  Kerr looked up from Judith. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. Come on.”

  Leaving Judith, Kerr flicked her cheek with his lips, and she pressed his hand.

  But MacBride was calling him, and he hurried out at the captain’s heels. They strode back to the station, and MacBride hauled out Don-negan and the police car.

  “Drive to that old brewery,” he clipped.

  He sat back beside Kerr and lit a fresh cigar.

  Kerr said, “I thought the orders were to lay off that place?”

  “I said I’d lay off if they were busting the Volstead Act. But I’ve got a hunch something else is going on there.”

  “What, Cap?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. Shoot, Donnegan!”

  Donnegan nodded, and as the car moved away from the curb, there were running feet on the sidewalk, and a moment later Kennedy was riding on the running-board.

  “Mind if I tag along, Mac?” he grinned.

  “You’re like a burr in a man’s sock, Kennedy. But get in beside Donnegan.”

  “What’s the lay, Mac?”

  “Stick around and see if you can find out. Here’s a cigar. See if that’ll keep your jaw shut.”

  “Thanks, Mac. Only I’m sore as hell that you didn’t tell me beforehand it was Devore you had. Cripes, won’t they hand you the razzberry! I shot the story right in. I said you were sitting with Devore alone in your office, with the automatic lying on the desk. You were trying to make him swear it was his gun, and in the heat of the argument Devore grabbed it and covered you. I had to make up a lot of fiction, but that was because you didn’t explain. I ended up by saying that you were sure you’d recapture him, and all that sort of boloney.”

  “That’s as good as anything,” muttered MacBride. “Now jam that cheroot in your mouth and sign off.”

  Twenty minutes later they were driving along Farmingville Turnpike. The night was dark, and wi
thin the past ten minutes a chill Autumn drizzle had started, the kind of drizzle that is half rain and half mist—penetrating and clammy. The rubber tires hissed sibilantly on the wet macadam, and the beams of the headlights were reflected back from the gray vapor.

  Presently Donnegan slowed down and swung in close to the side of the road, extinguished the lights.

  “Can’t you drive into the bushes?” asked MacBride. “We ought to get the car off the road and out of sight.”

  Donnegan tried this and succeeded. Then they all got out and stood in a group.

  MacBride said, “We’ll walk up. There’s a lane a hundred yards on, leading into the brewery, which is a quarter of a mile off the Turnpike. You,” he said to Kennedy, “better stay out of this.”

  “Try and do it, Mac. I didn’t come out here to pick wildflowers.”

  MacBride growled, turned and plowed through the bushes. The others followed, and in short time they reached the lane. It led through vacant fields, fenced in, where in the old days horses belonging to the brewing company had grazed.

  “Here comes a machine!” warned Kerr, and they dived into the tall grass by the fence.

  Two beams of light danced through the gloom. The machine was bound in from the Turnpike, and presently it purred by—a big, opulent limousine. When its tail light had disappeared behind a bend, MacBride stood up, motioned to the others, and proceeded. The visor on his cap was beaded with the drizzle.

  Gradually the buildings loomed against the blue-black sky—the big main plant, surrounded by stables and storehouses. Not a light could be seen. They reached the first outbuilding, and from where he stood MacBride could see a half-dozen automobiles parked near the main building, by the loading platform. Here and there he saw a faint red glow near the machines.

  “Chauffeurs, smoking,” he decided, and his gaze wandered up the dark face of the big three-storied building, which an ancient brewing company had evacuated three years ago.

  “Something phony going on there, or I don’t know my tricks,” remarked Kennedy.

  “Guess this is the time you do,” replied MacBride. “Let’s work around to the rear.”

  They retraced their steps a short distance and then began creeping around the outside of the building, weaving through tall grass and dried-out weeds. Ten minutes later they were at the off-side of the main building, deep in shadows. MacBride found a window with broken panes, nodded to the others, and crawled through. He dropped a few feet into a chill, damp cellar, black as pitch; stood waiting while Kerr, Kennedy and then Donnegan, followed.