Dead End Street by Owen Fox Jerome (pseudonym of Oscar J

by Monte Herridge

  Popular Detective, March, 1938

  Dead End Street

  by Owen Fox Jerome

  Corcoran, Rookie Patrolman, Stakes His Career on a Desperate Gamble!

  JOHNNY CORCORAN was a rookie cop. So

  upstairs. Mama Patelli was the best spaghetti fresh from police school, he was, that he still cook in the entire neighborhood. Corcoran went through the manual of arms and the book learned that early; it took a lot of food to stoke of regulations in his sleep. A very serious, his muscular young frame. And there was

  highly ambitious, intensely earnest young Rosa!

  rookie—all six brawny feet of him.

  Rosa — dark-eyed, raven - haired,

  And what had the department done

  slender as a willow wand, heir to fifty

  with him? Stuck him off on a dead beat along generations of Italian fire and beauty, yet a the East River front, where nothing could daughter of modern America. But she wasn’t a possibly happen. Three months now he had

  sophisticated, forward, self-assured thing.

  trudged along, occasionally unsnarling traffic, Papa Patelli had kept the check-rein too tight helping old ladies across the street, for that. In the evenings when Corcoran found exchanging a cheery greeting with himself welcome to drop in for a friendly shopkeepers and patting underprivileged visit—and a dish of spaghetti, he would have children on the head.

  liked to spend more time just talking to Rosa.

  There wasn’t even any shipping on his

  But Papa Patelli generally sat close by,

  beat to vary the monotony. That is, unless one sipping his wine, and talking with his good considered the lone warehouse of Woodson

  friend, Officer Corcoran. Papa Patelli had a and Company. This building, with its private secret grief of which he unburdened himself wharf, was the only spot which showed only in the bosom of his family.

  activity of any magnitude. Woodson and

  This was Tony. Tony was a good boy

  Company were importers of silks, an old-style gone wrong. At an early age he had played business firm which had its offices in the front hooky from these so good American schools, of the building facing First Avenue, and a preferring to run wild on the streets. Even fence around its wharf. They closed at six Father Costello had had little influence. When o’clock every night; they wouldn’t even Tony reached the age of twenty, just a couple accept a cargo of silk after dark. They of years ago, he had abruptly left home.

  maintained the same dignified and complacent He still came back to see Mama every

  style that had existed during old Henry month or so—Officer Corcoran had met him Woodson’s lifetime. In fact, Woodson and

  twice; but there were unpleasant rumors about Company was so respectable a firm, it was his business connections. Sure, Tony dressed really smug.

  flashily, had plenty of money to spend, spoke good English like his sister Rosa, had a

  THE only color in Patrolman Corcoran’s life winning smile which exposed nice white teeth was the Patelli family. Papa Patelli ran the that the dentist over on Second Avenue had fruit store on the corner, and his family lived charged a dollar and fifty cents once to clean;

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  he was bad. He was running with gangsters.

  And Mama Patelli would cry softly in protest at Papa Patelli’s bitterness, and faintly defend her first-born “bambino.”

  In the course of time Corcoran learned

  all about the Patelli family. The entire

  childhood and youth of the erring Tony he digested, along with yards of spaghetti and pounds of Parmesan cheese. Nevertheless, in spite of this biographical handicap, Corcoran managed very well with Rosa.

  They went to the motion pictures

  occasionally, or walked along the new East Side drive on pleasant evenings, or sat in the park and held hands. They were both very

  serious about it.

  Unquestionably, the Patelli family kept

  Johnny Corcoran from going crazy with the monotony of his beat. And during the day, he walked that beat, unsnarled traffic, spoke to the tradesmen and scowled vindictively at the high fence enclosing Woodson and

  Company’s wharf at the lower terminus of a dead-end street, and wondered why the police department had taken the trouble to put him through school.

  He and Rosa talked it out, as they

  talked out many matters of great importance.

  There were two obstacles to their getting married: his first promotion, and Tony.

  Rosa was very vehement about one,

  Corcoran about the other. The girl had very emphatic ideas about her brother. She was the natural bond between her parents on the

  subject. With her mother, she loved the

  carefree Tony, with her father she lamented his occupation. It was unthinkable that she could marry a policeman while her own

  brother was a gangster.

  “I think you’re sorta cracked on the

  idea, Rosa.” The young Irish cop shook his head. “I think Tony’s a pretty good fellow.

  And I haven’t heard any complaints about him at the precinct house at all. Anyhow, what of it? I don’t care if he runs a mob and a racket but

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  by himself. You can’t help it because he’s he tella this! I aska you, Johnna, is this right?

  your brother. It’s my promotion to a live Ah, Tony, my blacka bambino!”

  beat— maybe to the plainclothes squad—and Papa

  Patelli

  bowed

  his head on his arm

  an increase in pay that we gotta worry about.

  to weep in true Latin dramatics, found there We can get married then.”

  was still wine in his cup, raised his head Rosa smiled the slow smile which was

  quickly to drain it, and then proceeded to give so like her brother’s. But she was very vent to a father’s outraged feelings.

  positive in her reply.

  “Yeah,” said Officer Corcoran

  “No, Johnny, it isn’t your promotion. I

  sympathetically. “This is swell spaghetti don’t care about that, for I know you will tonight, Mrs. Patelli.”

  advance in time. But I can’t have a cop and Under the table he squeezed Rosa’s

  a—a racketeer in the same family. Tony’s all hand. In moments like these it was even good right. He’ll get out of his bad associations and to listen to Papa Patelli’s diatribes.

  settle down. Mama and I talk to him every After a suitable dramatic pause, Papa

  time he comes home. You wait and see. Then Patelli rose to replenish his wine cup. Rosa I’ll marry you.”

  obediently forestalled him. As she was

  Thus matters stood that Wednesday pouring the beverage, there came an night Papa Patelli waxed particularly wrathful interruption. Hurried footsteps scampered up in his wine cups. Papa Patelli was garrulous at the dark, steep stairs. A hasty knock at the all times, and tonight he was grandiloquent.

  door.

  “Ifa Tony don’t quita dis monkey-biss,

  “SIGNOR PATELLI!” called an

  hesa gonna wind up in the calaboose sure. My excited voice. “Are you home?”

  friend Johnna, you thinka so to, eh? Mama,

  “It is Pietro Garivella,” said Papa

  where you getta those diamond earrings? Patelli, raising his eyebrows and taking the Tony! Rosa, where you getta those new long-necked wine bottle from Rosa’s hand.

  dresses and shoes? Tony! Mama, where you

&
nbsp; “Leta heem in, Rosa. Justa in time for a cup of getta that silk bedspread? Tony! Rosa, where wine. Hallo, Pietro! You know my friend

  you getta—”

  Johnna Corcoran?”

  “Papa, where you getta those new

  The newcomer, a corner newsdealer on

  housa-jacket and slippers? Tony!” interrupted Third Avenue and a crony of the elder Patelli, Rosa, laughing and winking at Corcoran.

  nodded in greeting.

  “Arrrgh!”

  snorted

  Papa Patelli. “I

  His eyes went wide at sight of the

  don’ta wear them! I maka good living with young patrolman’s uniform — Corcoran had

  fruit store. I feeda my family swell, eh, come here for supper upon going off duty—

  Johnna? Gooda place to live, warm in winter, and he fell nervously silent.

  gooda food—spaghetti, eh?”

  “Get Signer Garivella a wine cup,

  “Yeah — spaghetti,” agreed Corcoran

  bambina,” directed Papa Patelli. “Sit down, obediently.

  Pietro. Hava your supper?”

  “But is thisa good enough for Mama

  Signor Garivella erupted in voluble

  and Rosa? No!” declared Papa Patelli, Italian. Corcoran glanced up in mild interest at accepting Corcoran’s full endorsement the unintelligible words, then stiffened as he without a falter in his stride. “They musta take saw Rosa’s face go dead white. Mama Patelli presents froma Tony. Always Tony! Where he clutched at her bosom, and Papa Patelli’s getta this dough? When I aska heem straight, features took on the stunned expression of a he say I talka too mucha—to heesa own papa stricken man.

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  In a moment everybody was talking at

  Without realizing it, Papa Patelli had suddenly once, casting anxious glances at the seated put him on the spot.

  patrolman. Corcoran stood it for a moment, It would have been funny had it not

  and then pushed back his chair.

  been so tragic to everyone concerned.

  “I guess I’d better be going along,” he

  Corcoran’s duty was to report the tip of this said, rising. At once Papa Patelli clutched his intended raid to his precinct station at once.

  arm, fairly forcing him back into his seat.

  He knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

  “No, no, Johnna! No, please. You are

  And he had never thought but what he would my friend. You tella me what to do, eh? Justa obey his book of regulations faithfully without wan minute—”

  the least hesitation or regret. And the very first A fresh outburst from the two women,

  time the occasion arose, he was on the horns vehement disapproval. Garivella wrung his of a cruel dilemma.

  hands and looked frightened. Papa Patelli’s He knew he must do his duty. Also, he

  jaw set like the prow of a battleship.

  knew that if he reported this matter, he was

  “No!” he declared in English, savagely

  through eating Mama Patelli’s spaghetti and shaking his head. “No! I tella Johnna. He will holding Rosa’s hand. Why in hell did Patelli know what to do. Silence! I’m nota drunk. I have to tell him this? He almost groaned

  want to know what Johnna think. You staya aloud.

  here, Pietro.”

  Papa Patelli turned to the bewildered

  FOUR intent faces were turned steadily to young officer. The newsdealer almost Corcoran’s own. He. smiled sickly as he collapsed in a chair and poured himself a thought of Tony Patelli’s pleasant face, so shaky draught of wine. Mama Patelli stared at much like Rosa’s. Why did the damn fool

  the patrolman’s face with a piteous intensity.

  have to mix up in anything crooked that was Rosa, her features still colorless, lifted her so close to home?

  head proudly, almost defiantly.

  Mentally kissing his shield and his job

  “It’sa Tony,” stated Papa Patelli in good-by, Johnny Corcoran made his decision.

  studied, heavy accents. “Pietro picks up news

  “I know those Stamboni mugs,” he

  every day you no reada in the paper. Hisa said slowly. “And you know it’s my duty to nephew, Luigi Maestromo, worksa for report this matter to my captain. But I am your Woodson Company. Today hees hearing two

  friend, Mr. Patelli. I’ll go and spend the night mena talk. They belong Stamboni gang. guarding Woodson’s warehouse. I’ll warn Thatsa gang Tony run arounda with. They say Tony off. But if you dare breathe a word of Woodson Company gonna be hijacked this to anybody, I’ll be just an ex-cop.”

  tonighta by four men. Tony’s gonna be wan.

  Signer Patelli’s face wreathed in

  So I aska you, my friend, what to do.”

  smiles. He threw his arms about Corcoran’s Corcoran blinked at this succinct shoulders in great affection. Mama Patelli resume. He didn’t grasp the full import for a actually kissed him on the cheek. And there moment. Then, as he glanced from one was the light of a promise in Rosa’s eyes.

  anxious face to the other, he realized that what Thirty minutes later found Officer

  Papa Patelli had just said was cold fact. Tony Corcoran violating a second rule of his code Patelli and three other members of Stamboni’s book. He made unlawful entry through the

  gang were going to break into the warehouse gate into Woodson and Company’s private

  of Woodson and Company tonight. Tony’s

  wharf-yard. He left the little green door father was appealing to him for advice. unlocked for a quick retreat, if needed. The

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  watchman would be in the warehouse proper the length of the pier. He could scarcely make and would be safe. Nothing was endangered out the four struggling figures through the except Corcoran’s job.

  gloom.

  Thinking seriously of a number of

  There was the flash and cough of a

  things, the young officer settled down behind gun, orange flame in the night. A cry, and the a pile of lumber close to the wharf’s edge for a attacked gangster crumpled to the wharf.

  long vigil.

  Before the remaining three thugs could pick He had one. The night grew older, the

  up the chest to load it into the speedboat, like late moon swam slowly up into murky skies, an avalanche Johnny Corcoran was upon

  and Corcoran’s limbs grew cramped and cold.

  them. One hundred and eighty pounds of Irish It must have been after three o’clock when he beef charged into their midst like a rampaging heard a stirring noise at the dock end of the bull elephant.

  warehouse. Signer Garivella had picked up Corcoran’s fist lashed out, connected

  authentic information!

  solidly with the jaw of one man just trying to straighten up from the chest. He straightened CORCORAN had dozed two or three times,

  nicely—and toppled over backward. His head and he couldn’t be sure whether this was the hit a protruding piling of the wharf, and he lay first time that noise had been made or not. He still.

  came to his feet, cautiously limbered stiffened The impetus of the rookie patrolman’s

  muscles, and began creeping to the corner of charge flung him into the body of the standing the warehouse.

  man. They crashed down together, a waving He got there just in time to see a queer

  tangle of arms and legs. From the angry,

  sight under the hazy glimmer of a cloud-

  startled curses, Corcoran recognized the voice obscured moon. Four figures were creeping of Stamboni himself. The rookie was thankful out of the small door of the warehouse and out now for the months at training school, for his along the pier. Two of them shuffled along inherent iron muscles and lusty young

  under the weight of a small chest of some sort.

  strength.

  A dimmed riding light low in th
e water placed He needed it all. The gang leader

  a speedboat which waited for the marauders.

  fought like a tiger. The gun he held exploded Instantly Corcoran sensed something

  again, the shot going wild into the night. And, off-color about this robbery. No small boat with a final gasp, Corcoran swung his own like that would hold enough silk to pay for a weapon up and down for a perfect hit. The dangerous raid like this. But there was no barrel of his gun crunched against the

  doubt a raid of some sort was taking place.

  gangster’s skull, and the man went limp.

  As the young patrolman drew his

  The third looter was already put to

  service pistol and started creeping like a rout. He was trying to scramble down the shadow across the end of the warehouse, he ladder into the bobbing speedboat, breath froze in surprise when one of the thieves sobbing in his frightened throat. Corcoran uttered a sharp exclamation and swung on his staggered erect and made after him. He caught companion. The two gunmen laden with the

  him by the collar just as the fellow let go and chest set it down quickly, and leaped together jumped. His weight nearly pulled the officer with their companion at the fourth man. off the pier.

  Dissension and discord flared.

  Corcoran staggered and twisted around

  Like a sprinter, Johnny Corcoran with a Herculean heave, bringing his captive’s flashed along the dark warehouse and down body halfway across the edge of the wharf as

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  the man fell. The thug hit the timbered edge her throat.

  squarely with his stomach. It knocked the

  “I’m just winged. I won’t die,” her

  wind out of him with a gasping whooofff! He brother reassured her.