Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure Page 9

  CHAPTER VI

  THE WORK OF THE GANGSTERS

  Bobbie Burke's eyes sparkled with the flame of battle spirit, yet hemaintained an outward calm. He turned his face toward the wall of therestaurant while Jimmie the Monk tripped nonchalantly out into thestreet. Burke did not wish to be recognized too soon. The negromusicians struck up a livelier tune than before. The dancing couplesbobbed and writhed in the sensuous, shameless intimacies of thedemi-mondaine bacchante. The waiters merrily juggled trays, stackedskillfully with vari-colored drinks, and bumped the knees of theclose-sitting guests with silvered champagne buckets. Popping corksresounded like the distant musketry of the crack sharp-shooters of theDevil's Own. Indeed, this was an ambuscade of the greatest, oldest,cruellest, most blood-thirsty conflict of civilized history--the War ofthe Roses--the Massacre of the Innocents! In Bobbie's ears thejangling tambourine, the weird splutterings of the banjos, the twangingof the guitars, the shrill music of the violins and clarionet, themonotonous rag-time pom-pom of the piano accompanist, the clash andbang of cymbal and base-drum, the coarse minor cadences of the negrosingers--all so essential to cabaret dancing of this class--soundedlike the war pibroch of a Satanic clan of reincarnate fiends.

  The waiter was serving some savory viands, for such establishmentscater cleverly to the beast of the dining room as well as of theboudoir.

  But Burke was in no mood to eat or drink. His soul was sickened, buthis mind was working with lightning acumen.

  "Bring me my check now as I may have to leave before you come aroundagain," he directed his waiter.

  "Yes, sir, certainly," responded the Tenderloin Dionysius, not withouta shade of regret in his cackling voice. Early eaters and shortstayers reduced the percentage on tips, while moderate orders of drinksmeant immoderate thrift--to the waiter.

  The check was forthcoming at once. Burke quietly corrected theaddition of the items to the apparent astonishment of the waiter. Heproduced the exact change, while a thunder-storm seemed imminent on theface of his servitor. Burke, however, drew forth a dollar bill fromhis pocket, and placed it with the other change, smiling significantly.

  "Oh, sir, thank you"--began the waiter, surprised into the strictlyunprofessional weakness of an appreciation.

  Bobbie, with a left-ward twitch of his head, and a slight quiver of thelid of his left eye, brought an attentive ear close to his mouth.

  "My boy, I want you to go outside and have the taxicab starter reservea machine for 'Mr. Green.' Tell him to have it run forward and clearof the awning in front of the restaurant--slip him this other dollar,now, and impress on him that I want that car about twenty-five feet tothe right of the door as you go out."

  The waiter nodded, and leered slyly.

  "All right, sir--I get ye, Mr. Green. It's a quick getaway, is thatit?"

  "Exactly," answered Bobbie, "and I want the chauffeur to have all hisjuice on--the engine cranked and ready for another Vanderbilt CupRace." Bobbie gave the waiter one of his best smiles--behind thatsmile was a manful look, a kindliness of character and a great power ofpurpose, which rang true, even to this blase and cynical dispenser ofthe grape. The latter nodded and smiled, albeit flabbily, into thewinsome eyes of the young officer.

  "Ye're a reg'lar fellar, Mr. Green, I kin see that! Trust me to have alightning conductor fer you--with his lamps lit and burning. Thesenighthawk taxis around here make most of their mazuma by this flystuff--generally the souses ain't got enough left for a taxicab, andit's a waste o' time stickin' 'em up since the rubes are so easy withthe taxi meter. But just look out for a little badger work on thechauffeur when ye git through with 'im."

  Burke nodded. Then he added. "Just keep this to yourself, won't you?There's nothing crooked about it--I'm trying to do some one a goodturn. Tell them to keep the taxi ready, no matter how long it takes."

  "Sure and I will, Mr. Green."

  The waiter walked away toward the front door, where he carried outBurke's instructions, slipping the second bill into the willing hand ofthe starter.

  As he came back he shrewdly studied the face of the young policeman whowas quietly listening to the furious fusillade of the ragtime musicians.

  "Well, that guy's not as green as he says his name is. He don't looklike no crook, neither! I wonder what his stall is? Well, _I_ shouldworry!"

  And he went his way rejoicing in the possession of that peace of mindwhich comes to some men who let neither the joys nor woes of othersbreak through the armament of their own comfortable placidity. Everynight of his life was crowded with curious, sad and ridiculousincidents; had he let them linger long in his mind his hand andtemperament would have suffered a loss of accumulative skill. Thatwould have spelled ruin, and this particular waiter, like so many ofhis flabby-faced brothers, was a shrewd tradesman--in the commoditiesof his discreetly elastic memory--and the even more valuable asset, atalent for forgetting!

  Burke was biding his time, and watching developments.

  He saw the mealy-faced Baxter take Lorna out upon the dancing floor forthe next dance. They swung into the rhythm of the dance with easyfamiliarity, which proved that the girl was no novice in this style ofterpsichorean enjoyment.

  "She has been to other dances like this," muttered Bobbie as he watchedwith a strange loathing in his heart. "It's terrible to see the girlsof a great modern city like New York entering publicly into a dancewhich I used to see on the Barbary Coast in 'Frisco. If they had seenit danced out there I don't believe they'd be so anxious to imitate itnow."

  Lorna and Baxter returned through the crowded merrymakers to theirseats, and sat down at the table.

  "You need another cocktail," suggested Baxter, after sipping onehimself and forgetting the need for reserve in his remarks. "Youmustn't be a bum sport at a dance like this, Miss Barton."

  "Oh, Mr. Baxter, I don't dare go home with a breath like cocktails.You know Mary and I sleep together," objected Lorna.

  "Don't worry about that, little girlie," said Baxter. "She won't mindit to-night."

  To Burke's keen ears there was a shade of hidden menace in the words.

  "Come on, now, just this one," said Baxter coaxingly. "It won't hurt.There's always room for one more."

  What a temptation it was for the muscular policeman to swing around andshake the miserable wretch as one would a cur!

  But Bobbie had learned the value of controlling his temper; that is oneof the first requisites of a policeman's as well as of an army man'slife.

  "Do you know, Mr. Baxter," said Lorna, after she had yielded to theinsistence of her companion, "that cocktail makes me a little dizzy. Iguess it will take me a long while to get used to such drinks. Youknow, I've been brought up in an awfully old-fashioned way. My fatherwould simply kill me if he thought I drank beer--and as for cocktailsand highballs and horse's necks, and all those real drinks ... well, Ihate to think of it. Ha! ha!"

  And she laughed in a silly way which made Burke know that she wasbeginning to feel the effect.

  "I wonder if I hadn't better assert myself right now?" he mused,pretending to eat a morsel. "It would cause a commotion, but it wouldteach her a lesson, and would teach her father to keep a closer watch."

  Just then he heard his own name mentioned by the girl behind.

  "Say, Mr. Baxter, you came just at the right time to-night. That Burkewho was calling on father is a stupid policeman, whom he met in thehospital, and I was being treated to a regular sermon about life andwickedness and a lot of tiresome rot. I don't like policemen, do you?"

  "I should say not!" was Baxter's heartfelt answer.

  They were silent an instant.

  "A policeman, you say, eh?"

  "Yes; I certainly don't think he's fit to call on nice people. Thenext think we know father will have firemen and cab-drivers and streetcleaners, I suppose. They're all in the same class to me--justservants."

  "What precinct did he come from?"

  Baxter's tone was more earnest than it had been.
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br />   Burke's face reddened at the girl's slur, but he continued his waitinggame.

  "Precinct? What's that? I don't know where he came from. He's a NewYork policeman, that's all I found out. It didn't interest me, whyshould it you? Oh, Mr. Baxter, look at that beautiful willow plume onthat girl's hat. She is a silly-looking girl, but that is a wonderfulhat."

  Baxter grunted and seemed lost in thought.

  Burke espied Jimmie the Monk meandering through the tables, in companywith a heavy, smooth-faced man whose eyes were directed from even thatdistance toward the table at which Lorna sat.

  Burke wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, thus cutting offJimmie's possible view of his features.

  "Ah, Jimmie, back again. And I see you're with my old friend, SamShepard!"

  Baxter rose to shake hands with the newcomer. He introduced him toLorna, backing close against Burke's shoulder as he did so.

  "This is my friend, Sam Shepard, the theatrical manager, Miss Lorna,"began Baxter. "He's the man who can get you on the stage. You know Iwas telling you about him. This is Miss Barton, you've heard about,Sam. Sit down and tell her about your new comic opera that you'recasting now."

  "This is my friend, Sam Shepard, the theatrical manager,Miss Lorna. He's the man who can get you on the stage.]

  As Shepard shook Lorna's hand, Jimmie leaned over toward Baxter's earto whisper. They were not two feet from Burke's own ears, so he heardthe message: "I've got de taxi ready. Now, make a good getaway toReilly's house, Baxter."

  "Say, Jimmie, just a minute," murmured Baxter. "This girl says a copwas up calling on her father. I met the guy. His name was Burke. Doyou know him? Is he apt to queer anything?"

  Jimmie the Monk started.

  "Burke? What did he look like?"

  "Oh, pretty slick-looking gink. Well set-up--looked like an army man,and gave me a hard stare when he lamped me. Had been in the hospitalwith the old fellow."

  "Gee, dat's Burke, de guy dat's been after me, and I'm goin' ter do'im. Is he buttin' in on dis?"

  "Yes; what about him? You're not scared of him, are you?"

  "Naw; but he's a bad egg. Say, he's a rookie dat t'inks 'e kin cleanup our gang. Now, you better dish dis job and let Shepard pull detrick. Take it from yer Uncle Jim!"

  Every syllable was audible to Burke, but Lorna was exchangingpleasantries with Shepard, who had taken Baxter's seat.

  "All right, Jimmie. Beat it yourself."

  Baxter turned around as Jimmie quietly slipped away. Baxter leanedover the table to smirk into the face of the young girl.

  "Say, Miss Lorna, some of my friends are over in another corner of theroom, and I'm going to speak to them. Now, save the next tango for me.Mr. Shepard will fix it for you, and if you jolly him right you can getinto his new show, 'The Girl and the Dragon,' can't she, Sam?"

  "Where are you going?" exclaimed Shepard in a gruff tone. "You've gotto attend to something for me to-night."

  There was a brutal dominance which vibrated in his voice. Here was adesperate character, thought Burke, who was accustomed to commandothers; he was not the flabby weakling type, like Baxter and Craig.

  "It's better for you to do it, Sam. I'll tell you later. Jimmie justtipped me off that there's a bull on the trail that's lamped me."

  Burke understood the shifting of their business arrangement, but toLorna the crook's slang was so much gibberish.

  "What did you say? I can't understand such funny talk, Mr. Baxter. Iguess I had too strong a cocktail, he! he!" she exclaimed. "What abouta lamp?"

  "That's all right, girlie," said Shepard, as Baxter walked quicklyaway. "Some of his friends want him to go down to the Lamb's Club, buthe doesn't want to leave you. We'll have a little chat together whilehe is gone. I'm not very good at dancing or I'd get you to turkey trotwith me."

  Lorna's voice was whiny now as she responded.

  "Oh, I'm feeling funny. That cocktail was too much for me.... I guessI'd better go home."

  "There, there, my dear," Shepard reassured her. "You get that way fora little while, but it's all right. You'd better have a littlebeer--that will straighten you up."

  Only by the strongest will power could Burke resist his desire tointerpose now, yet the words of the men prepared him for somethingwhich it would be more important to wait for--to interfere at thedramatic moment.

  "Here, waiter, a bottle of beer!" ordered Shepard.

  Burke turned half way around, and, by a side-long glance, he sawShepard pulling a small vial from his hip pocket as he sat with hisback to the policeman.

  "Oh, ho! So here it comes!" thought Bobbie. "I'll be ready to standby now."

  He rose and pushed back his chair. The waiter had brought the bottlewith surprising alacrity, and Shepard poured out a glass for the younggirl. Bobbie stood fumbling with his change as an excuse to watch.Lorna was engrossed in the bubbling foam of the beer and did not noticehim.

  "I guess he's afraid to do it now," thought Bobbie, as he failed toobserve any suspicious move.

  True, Shepard's hand passed swiftly over the glass as he handed it tothe girl.

  She drank it at his urging, and then suddenly her head sank forward onher breast.

  Bobbie stifled his indignation with difficulty as Shepard gave anexclamation of surprise.

  "My wife! She is sick! She has fainted!" cried Shepard to Burke'samazement. The man acted his part cunningly.

  He had sprung to his feet as he rushed around the table to catch thetoppling girl. With a quick jump to her side Bobbie had caught her byan arm, but Shepard indignantly pushed him aside.

  "How dare you, sir?" he exclaimed. "Take your hands off my wife."

  The man's bravado was splendid, and even the diners were impressed.Most of them laughed, for to them it was only another drunken woman, afamiliar and excruciatingly funny object to most of them.

  "Aw, let the goil alone," cried one red-faced man who sat with a small,heavily rouged girl of about sixteen. "Don't come between man andwife!" And he laughed with coarse appreciation of his own humor.

  Shepard had lifted Lorna with his strong arms and was starting towardthe door. Burke saw the entrance to the men's cafe on the right. Hequietly walked into it, and then hurried toward the front, out throughthe big glass door to the street.

  There, about twenty feet to his right, he saw the purring taxicab whichhe had ordered waiting for a quick run.

  In front of the restaurant entrance, now to his left, was another car,with a chauffeur standing by its open door, expectantly.

  Burke ran up just as Shepard emerged from the restaurant entrance. Theofficer sprang at the big fellow and dealt him a terrible blow on theside of the head. The man staggered and his hold weakened. As he didso Burke caught the inanimate form of the young girl in his own arms.He turned before Shepard or the waiting chauffeur could recover fromtheir surprise and ran toward the car at the right. The two men wereafter him, but Burke lifted the girl into the machine and cried to thechauffeur:

  "Go it!"

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm Mr. Green," said Burke. The chauffeur sprang into his seat, butas he did so Shepard was upon the young officer and trying to climbinto the door.

  Biff!

  Here was a chance for every ounce of accumulated ire to assert itself,and it did so, through the hardened muscles of Officer 4434's rightarm. Shepard sank backward with a groan, as the taxi-cab shot forwardobedient to its throttle.

  Burke was bounced backward upon the unconscious girl, but the machinesped swiftly with a wise chauffeur at its wheel. He did not know wherehis passenger wished to go, but his judgment told him it was away frompursuit.

  He turned swiftly down the first street to the right.

  Back on the sidewalk before the restaurant there was intenseexcitement. Baxter, Craig and Jimmie the Monk had followed the artfulShepard to the street by the side door. They assisted the chauffeur inpicking up the bepummeled man from the sidewalk.

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bsp; "Say, Jimmie! There's somebody shadowing us. Get into that cab ofMike's and we'll chase him!" cried Baxter.

  They rushed for the other cab, leaving Craig to mop Shepard's wan facewith a perfumed handkerchief.

  After the slight delay of cranking it the second car whizzed along thestreet. But that delay was fatal to the purpose of the pursuers, forere they had reached the corner down which the first machine had turnedthe entire block was empty. Burke's driver had made another right turn.

  Bobbie opened the door and yelled to the chauffeur as he hung to thejamb with difficulty.

  "Drive past the restaurant again very slowly, but don't stop. Thenkeep on going straight up the avenue."

  The chauffeur knew the advantage of doubling on a trail, and by thetime he had passed the restaurant after a third and fourth rightturn--making a trip completely around the block--the excitement haddied down. The pursuers had gone on a wild-goose chase in the oppositedirection, little suspecting such a simple trick.

  The taxicab rumbled nonchalantly up the avenue for five or six blocks,while Burke worked in a vain effort to restore his fair prisoner toconsciousness.

  The car stopped in a dark stretch between blocks.

  "Where shall I go, governor?" asked the chauffeur as he jumped down andopened the door. "Is your lady friend any better, governor?"

  Burke looked at the man's face as well as he could in the dim light,wondering if he could be trusted. He decided that it was too big achance, for there is a secret fraternity among chauffeurs and thedenizens of the Tenderloin which is more powerful than any benevolentorder ever founded. This man would undoubtedly tell of his destinationto some other driver, surely to the starter at the restaurant. Then itwould be a comparatively simple matter for Baxter and Jimmie the Monkto learn the details in enough fullness to track his own identity. Forcertain reasons, already formulated, Bobbie Burke wished to keep Jimmieand his gangsters in blissful ignorance of his own knowledge of theiractivities.

  "This is my girl, and one of those fellows tried to steal her," saidBurke in a gruff voice. "I was onto the game, and that's why I had thestarter get you ready. She lives on West Seventy-first Street, nearWest End Avenue. Now, you run along on the right side of the street,and I'll point out the house."

  He was planning a second "double" on his trail. The chauffeur gruntedand started the machine again. The girl was moaning with pain in anincoherent way.

  As they rolled slowly down West Seventy-first Street Bobbie saw a housewhich showed a light in the third floor. Presumably the storm doorwould not be locked, as it would have been in case the tenants wereaway. He knocked on the window.

  The taxi came to a stop.

  The chauffeur opened the door and Burke sprang out.

  "Here's a ten-dollar bill, my boy," said Burke. "I'll have to squareher with her mother, so you come back here in twenty minutes and takeme down to that restaurant. I'm going to clean out that joint, andI'll pay you another ten to help me. Are you game?"

  The chauffeur laughed wisely.

  "Am I game? Just watch me."

  Burke lifted Lorna out and turned toward the steps.

  "Now, don't leave me in the lurch. Be back in exactly twenty minutes,and I'll be on the job--and we'll make it some job. But, don't let thefolks see you standing around, or they'll think I've been up to somegame. Her old man will start some shooting. Come back for me."

  The chauffeur chuckled as he climbed into his car and drove away,planning a little himself.

  "Any guy that has a girl as swell as that one to live on this streetwill be good for a hundred dollars before I get through with him," hemuttered as he took a chew of tobacco. "And I've got the number ofthat house, too. Her old man will give a good deal to keep this out ofthe papers. I know my business, even if I didn't go to college!"

  As the chauffeur disappeared around the corner, after taking a looktoward the steps up which Burke had carried his unconscious burden, thepoliceman put Lorna down inside the vestibule.

  "Now, this is a dangerous game. It means disgrace if I get caught; butit means a pair of broken hearts if this poor girl gets caught," hethought. "I'll risk nobody coming, and run for another taxi."

  He hastened down the steps and walked around the corner, hurryingtoward a big hotel which stood not far from Broadway. Here he foundanother taxicab.

  "There's a young lady sick at the house of one of my friends, and I'mtaking her home," said Burke to the driver. "Hurry up, please."

  The second automobile sped over the street to the house where Burke hadleft the girl, and the officer hurried up the steps. He soonreappeared with Lorna in his arms, walked calmly down the steps, andput her into the car.

  This time he gave the correct home address, and the taxicab rumbledalong on the last stretch of the race.

  They passed the first car, whose driver was already planning the waysto spend the money which he was to make by a little scientificblackmail.

  He was destined to a long wait in front of the brownstone mansion.

  After nearly an hour he decided to take things into his own hands.

  "I'll get a little now," he muttered with an accompaniment ofprofanity. "That guy can't stall me."

  After ringing the bell for several minutes a very angry caretaker cameto the door.

  "What do you want, my man?" cried this individual in unmistakableBritish accents. "Dash your blooming impudence in waking me up at thistime in the morning."

  "I want to get my taxicab fare from the gent that brought the lady heredrunk!" declared the chauffeur. "Are you her father?"

  The caretaker shook a fist in his face as he snapped back:

  "I'm nobody's father. There ain't no gent nor drunk lady here. I'malone in this house, and my master and missus is at Palm Beach. If youdon't get away from here I'm going to call the police."

  With that he slammed the door in the face of the astounded chauffeurand turned out the light in the hall.

  The taxi driver walked down the steps slowly.

  "Well, that's a new game on me!" he grunted. "There's a new gangworking this town as sure as I'm alive. I'm going down and put thestarter wise."

  Down he went, to face a cross-examination from the starter, and anaccounting for his time. He had to pay over seven dollars of his tento cover the period for which he had the car out. Jimmie the Monk andBaxter had returned from their unsuccessful chase. As they made theirinquiries from the starter and learned the care with which the coupd'etat had been arranged they lapsed into angry, if admiring, profanity.

  "Some guy, eh, Jimmie!" exclaimed Baxter. "But we'll find out who itwas, all right. Leave it to me!"

  "Say, dat bloke was crazy--crazy like a fox, wasn't he?" answeredJimmie. "He let Shepard do de deal, and den he steals de kitty! Disis what I calls cut-throat competition!"