Primal Spillane Read online

  “It’s a wonder the money didn’t get blown to bits when the blast let go.”

  “Naw.” the cop said, “it was in a separate metal case inside. Probably didn’t even get dented.”

  The hood fell off at Johnnie’s touch, and he looked around inside. There, fastened to the motor block, was the remains of the bomb. He poked further into the wreckage and came up with a watch face. This must have been the clock that set off the explosion! The stub of the hands were set at 12:17. He checked with his watch. It was now 12:25. and it had only taken him a few minutes to get here, so the blow-up had occurred on schedule.

  Nevertheless, he felt sure that something was wrong. This street was a busy one, with traffic running in both directions. Bystanders that witnessed the robbery told vague stories of a black sedan that stopped for a moment, then sped on. As far as Blaine could see, there must be some truth in their accounts.

  He hopped in the car and rode back to the office from which the wrecked car had operated. A worried-looking manager took him into the office. “Terrible, wasn’t it?” he said. “Luckily, we were insured.”

  Johnny leaned across the desk.

  “Tell me — these cars operate on a definite schedule, don’t they?”

  “Thar’s right.” The company manager handed Johnny a sheet that resembled a railroad timetable. “Here’s a list of our runs. Every minute is accounted for, so that we know exactly where they are at any time of day.”

  Johnny looked it over. At 12:17 the car was supposed to be on Kent Street somewhere between Ninth and Twelfth Avenues, yet the explosion took place a mile away. He handed the sheet back.

  “Thanks. You’ll hear from me later.” The pieces of the puzzle were getting a little clearer now.

  The bank was the next stop. According to the schedule the guards were allowed fourteen minutes to make the pick-up and get on to their next. Evidently something had delayed them.

  Johnny Blaine went directly to the teller’s window and flashed his badge at the man. “I’d like to know if the guards on that truck got stuck here for some reason or another.”

  The teller thought a moment.

  “Yes, come to think of it. They were having trouble with the money box, and it took them about ten minutes to get it closed.”

  Ten minutes. That was why the truck blew up where it did. The crooks must have followed the steel car in case something like that happened, and did the job right after the blast. The detective rode down to Kent Street at the prescribed speed the truck would have used. It brought him to a spot just past Tenth Avenue when the ten minutes were up. This then was the place the blast was supposed to have taken place! Even at this time of day the street was practically empty. It was a warehouse district, bordered by high wooden buildings well covered with the city’s grime.

  A few blocks further down was a candy store, and Johnny called headquarters. The desk sergeant answered and Johnny shot a question at him. “What mob used to hang out on Kent Street, Sarge?”

  “Tony Bertillo’s bunch. Somewhere around Twelfth, I think. But Tony is in the pen right now. A couple of weeks ago a stoolie let loose that the mob was together again under Tony’s brother, Mike.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.” He hung up the receiver and walked to the counter. The owner sat behind it reading a newspaper with a radio blaring m his ear, so it was unlikely that he had overheard the conversation. Johnny took a chance anyway.

  “See Mike around, chum?”

  “Who wants him?”

  “I got a message from his brother in the big house — for him. personally.” Without a word the man got up and went to the phone booth and dialed a number. Johnny whipped out a pencil. The men had forgotten to turn off the radio and every click of the dial phone came in on the speaker. He wrote them down. 2-3-1-6-3. A moment later the man was back.

  “Mike says nerts. Now beat it!”

  Johnny shrugged his shoulders and walked to his car. He drove a few blocks and entered another store. Identifying himself to the operator, he asked her to trace the numbers 2-3-1-6-3.

  “That is a warehouse, sir. Number 742 Kent Street”

  This was it! Night was falling, and the dusk covered him well. He went to the number and tried the door. Locked. Two doors down Johnny found an open window, and he slid inside. The place had a musty smell and was thick with cobwebs. The floor creaked under his feet.

  A staircase leading to the upper floors was on the right, and he took the steps two at a time. Four flights up he came to a bolted door leading to the roof and he stepped out. Now was the time for caution! Swiftly, the cop went across the roof to the other building. The door was open. Good! Holding his breath, Johnny slipped down. Voices were coming from a lower floor, and it was toward them that he went. The voices were louder now.

  He pulled his gun out of the holster and held it ready. If his hunch wasn’t right he’d be in for it! A pencil of light came from under the sill of a double door. Slowly he reached for the knob. WHAM! Something heavy crashed through the semi-gloom, and the lights went out.

  Johnny came to in the room. Four men sat around a table piled high with bank notes. He’d been right, but too late, for his hands were securely bound and his gun gone.

  A heavy-browed fellow looked at him. “Awake, eh copper? Too bad. You’ll be out for good in a little while!” This, then, must be Mike Bertillo. The crooks were splitting the stolen dough, and when they got through, they’d take care of him in a permanent way!

  Trying not to move too much, the detective’s hands felt around the baseboard of the wall. His fingers curled around the top part and pulled, gently. To him the groaning of the plank was terrible, but no one seemed to hear it. It came out further, and a sudden wrench pulled it all the way out.

  Sliding his bound wrists up to the rusted nails, he worked desperately on the ropes. One by one the strands parted, and his hands were free! He bent his knees up and began untying the ropes on his legs. So engrossed were those at the table that they never noticed him.

  For a moment he let the blood run back into his cramped limbs, then took a deep breath and launched himself at the leader! They crashed together on the floor. Johnny reached for the gun and triggered it. A shot blasted out and Mike went limp. One of the gang had tried to shoot him right through the body of the chief!

  The place was a bedlam. A wild shot knocked out the light. Johnny aimed at the gun flash and fired. THUD! A body hit the floor. That left two more. He could hear their breathing as they crept around trying to locate him. A chair moved and a gun roared. Johnny almost fired, but if he hit one it would reveal him to the other, and that would be the end.

  Blaine eased off a shoe and skidded it across the floor. Almost immediately a shot rang out — then another! Across the floor someone groaned before he died. One of the crooks, thinking he was shooting at the cop hit his companion!

  “I got him Joe. Let’s grab the dough and scram!”

  He struck a match, his eyes widened as he saw what had happened. He saw the detective on his stomach in a corner and raised his gun, but he was too late. One shot rang out; the gunman crumpled to the floor.

  The second time that day squad cars screamed through the city streets. Uniformed men dashed upstairs, only to find Johnny Blaine sitting quietly with four dead men. Captain Davis looked around, amazement written on his face. He looked at Johnny in mock severity.

  “A fine thing — no prisoners! Just when I thought we’d have some fun knocking them around for disturbing the peace!”

  ***

  Ham For a Yegg

  RAIN DRIPPED steadily from the slanted roofs of houses and ran in swiftly moving streams into the sewers. Behind the yellow eyes of the building’s windows, people sat at their radios listening to the latest news reports on the war overseas, and trembling at the thought that it might come over here. For every evening at this time there came in, on a popular wavelength, a new voice, blotting out the regular program, a voice that predicted an Axis victory in a few short months, and
told the great nation of the United States that if it did not surrender, Nazi bombers would be over the cities at any moment!

  The voice went on. It told of dire things in store for the country, demolition of the seacoast, the war brought to America. At police headquarters and F.B.I, offices, the men ran around in circles. Try as they might, this voice could not be located.

  Dick Manners paced the floor with the rest. “This dirty Nazi must be operating from a moving auto. Our locators never have him in the same place twice! If we don’t get busy, the newspapers will have our heads!”

  “But what are we going to do?” one of the men asked. “We’ve tried everything, and it’s no soap!”

  Dick shook his head despondently,.“I don’t know. Something’ll have to happen, that’s all.”

  Little did they realize that something was being done … and not very far away, either. Teddy Conklin was a “ham” … an amateur radio operator, but ever since the government stopped all the hams from sending, he sat around the house wishing he could utilize his knowledge for the good of the country. And, he knew, there must be hundreds of others just like himself. It was when the voice first started broadcasting the malicious propaganda that he got his great idea.

  TEDDY knew every other ham within the vicinity of one hundred miles. Often, they had gotten together and discussed new ideas in radio, much to each other’s benefit. So, he sat down at the telephone with a list of numbers in his hand and started calling. Several hours later he finished, and sat back with a broad smile on his face.

  That night cars pulled up in front of Teddy’s house bearing license plates from three states. They came in a steady stream for two hours, until the curb was lined on both sides with every make of automobile … jalopies and limousines. Inside, the place was a madhouse, with the men shouting “hellos” back and forth to each other. Finally Teddy restored a semblance of order and the place quieted down. Standing in the middle of the floor, Teddy addressed the whole group.

  “Fellows. I got you all together, because we, as Americans, have a job to do. No doubt everyone here has heard the man called the ‘Voice’ who cuts in on the commercial programs with a lot of dirty propaganda. Well, the police can’t catch him, which means that he’s operating with a moving transmitter. Now here’s the payoff. None of us can use our sets to send, but we can listen! By triangulation, we can find the immediate place the Voice sends from, and with all of us on the job, we ought to be able to narrow the field down a bit.

  “Here is what we’ll do. Every one of us but a certain group will remain at their stations, and — when the Voice comes on — locate him! Each one will have a map, so find the street the car is on and the direction in which it’s heading. As soon as you do this, telephone’ to the man nearest that point and he’ll get on the chase. The fellows with the fastest cars will hold down that end, while others will remain near telephones at various points. Are you with me?”

  A THUNDEROUS roar almost took the roof off as every one of them shouted their approval of the plan. Then Teddy went about assigning the men to their various duties. Finally, when all preparations had been made, he held up his hand for quiet.

  “Men,” he said, “there can be no loss of time! Our plan goes into action this very night . . . The Voice is due to broadcast in two hours, so get to your stations and be ready for action!”

  The men jammed the door on the way out, each rushing for his car, and clutching a copy of a large map that Teddy passed out. One by one, the cars shot off, the deadline was almost at hand and a fifth columnist had to be trapped! A pack of hams going after a Nazi yegg!

  But what hams! Each fired with enthusiasm and the will to do something for the country. And they were mad; sore at the fact that the enemy believed this country stupid enough to swallow the stuff it handed out. Well, they would soon find out just how stupid they were … stupid as a fox, maybe!

  As the autos shot off, Teddy got his own group together. “Men,” he said, “we’re covering a section about a mile from here. I’ve done a little detecting on the side before this, and apparently the Voice is operating somewhere from this .neighborhood.” He pointed out a position on the map with a pencil. “Perhaps he’ll operate from a new position, but he usually works one section about a week at a time, and this will be but the third day. Now hit for the spots and don’t spare the horses!”

  One of the men grinned. “I hope I get him! I’ve always wanted a crack at a “real Nazi!” He patted his .22 rifle significantly.

  Teddy gave a short laugh. “It’s ten to one the other boys will lug along their guns too. Only, remember this. We want that guy alive to hang up as an example, so just grab him … don’t shoot him!”

  “Shucks. I wanted to plug him!” the other fellow said, his face falling.

  Teddy glanced at his watch. “Come on, men, it’s time to go. Stay next to your car radios so you can catch the broadcast. As soon as he is located, the position will be phoned to the closest spot, then be on the lookout for any suspicious looking autos or trucks!” The little group went out and piled into four cars. Radios were tuned in on the station that usually was interrupted, and ears were ready to catch every word.

  Fifteen minutes later Teddy pulled up to his station on the corner of two busy streets, and stopped outside a drug store. A block away he saw another of the cars. He pulled down the back seat and took out a .30 rifle, jacked a shell into the chamber and sat back to wait. It wasn’t long, however. The station suddenly went off and a deep voice came on.

  This was it! The Voice droned on, warning of terrible things to come. It told the people to stop the war … surrender. Teddy smiled mirthlessly.

  He ducked out and ran into the drug store and stayed near the phone. Outside of himself and the clerks, the place was empty. Then it came. The phone rang shrilly, and Teddy grabbed it. “Teddy speaking, go ahead.”

  “This is Al. Sounds like the sending set is moving south on Main Street. Not going fast as far as we can tell. Hop to it, boy!”

  “Right!” Ted hung up quickly. He ran to the car, flipped the lights on three times to signal to two other cars that could see him, and peered down Main Street. And there it was, the only car on the block … a huge moving van going about thirty. Again Ted’s lights went on and off. The other two cars pulled ahead to intercept the van. But the men in the truck recognized it as a signal!

  Abruptly, the Voice went off! The van sped forward. With a grinding of gears, Ted tried to cut it off, but he was too late. The van passed by, then out of the tail came the spitting of guns! Bullet holes jumped into his windshield and ripped through the fenders! Ted ducked low behind the wheel and took up the chase. The other cars caught what happened and fell in behind him.

  It was a mad chase! The van twisted and turned through the streets, narrowly missing parked cars. Pedestrians screamed as bullets whined through the air. In no time, they reached the outskirts of the city and were tearing into the suburbs. If the van got much further it would make its escape. That couldn’t happen! Ted hefted the rifle with one hand and steadied it against the window frame … the barrel jutting through a hole made by a Nazi bullet!

  WHAM! The gun bucked in his hand! … And a man fell out of the back of the truck. A lucky shot! Again rifles spat from the dark blob that was the truck, and shots screamed by. Ted knew that sooner or later they wouldn’t miss. Suddenly the other cars were alongside. Jack motioned to throw a strong fire at the truck. Ted nodded.

  Rifles came up and leveled at the van. Ted tried to aim at the tires. Suddenly the three guns let go with a tremendous roar. Immediately fresh shells went in. Again they blasted … and the truck ahead swerved sharply. They got a tire! It swung all over the road … then veered to one side. A steel telephone pole was in the way. A rending crash split the night; brakes squealed as the cars stopped.

  Guns ready, the young men piled out and tore for the van. It was a mess. Groans came from inside. Teddy ripped off the covering and crawled in. From the looks of things they wo
uld give no trouble. One distinguished-looking man, a prominent figure in the newspapers was trapped under a huge generator. Ted let out a low whistle. The other men came in and they dragged out the Nazis.

  THE next day the headlines screamed out the story — how American youth rallied to beat off a vicious propaganda attack. Everyone of the group was covered with glory. Teddy leaned back in his seat and sighed. To no one in particular, he said, “After all that action, plain living is too dull! Me for the Signal Corps where I can do a little sending again … instead of just listening!”

  Funny thing, but at that moment there were about fifty other guys thinking the same thing!

  ***

  Ill Wind

  TEDDY TEDESCO squatted on the bench beside the hangar and watched the student mechanics roll out the Piper Cub training plane. His chin was in his hands, and he tried to look as unconcerned about the whole thing as he possibly could be, but his heart was beating wildly, until he thought it would burst right out through his ribs.

  Ever since he decided to take the flying course the college offered he regretted it. From the ground looking up, it was swell, but the thought of having to climb into that cockpit alone and take off … leaving nothing but thin air between you and the good earth … wasn’t such a hot idea. Of course, the gang looked pretty good, all decked out in white coveralls with the red lettering emblazoned across the back, and the sporty pair of wings to be worn looked even better, so Teddy made up his mind, to go ahead, come what may.

  The civilian instructor waved them all to the edge of the field and Teddy, along with a dozen others, gathered around the plane.

  Mike Collins looked them over. “Well, fellows, today is the big day for some of you. We’ll draw straws to see who solos first. About half will take it today, and the rest tomorrow, weather permitting. Now take a straw from my hand and hold it up.”