Under Brennan's patient tutelage John progressed rapidly, learning
thoroughly the rudiments of newspaper reporting in its two branches,
news gathering and writing. P. Q. occasionally gave advice which John
knew came from a man who took a secret pride in supervising the
remarkable metamorphosis of a "cub" into a well trained reporter. It was
the gossip of newspaper workers that P. Q. excelled in the training of
his reporters whom he handled with the tact of a psychologist and the
care of a manager of a baseball team for his players. Nothing gave him
more pleasure than to develop a "cub" into a star and there were dozens
of star men throughout the country whom he brought to the top and who
still thought him the "greatest of them all."
Brennan was one of the star men who broke into newspaper work under P.
Q. Between P. Q. and his star reporter there was a peculiar relationship
which John studied with interest. When Brennan performed some especially
clever piece of work the city editor treated him as though it was
unnecessary for him to give any praise or commendation. When Brennan
disappointed him, which was seldom, P. Q. would berate him with the
same caustic fervor that lashed a stupid, thick-headed reporter to a
point of self-abnegation that gave him thoughts of suicide as the only
way out of his misery.
The praise Brennan received from P. Q. came to him in a roundabout way
and the star reporter drank it in as eagerly as a "cub," knowing as he
did it that it was a "master" who praised. P. Q. would summon some
offending reporter to his desk and after scolding him would laud Brennan
to the skies.
"If you had only one-tenth the sense that Brennan has there might be
some hope for you," the city editor would say. "Brennan is a real
newspaper man, a real reporter. I wouldn't trade him for any dozen men
in the country. Watch Brennan, read the stuff he writes and study the
way he does things if you want to become a reporter."
These words, P. Q. knew, would get back to Brennan, who would
cross-examine the reporter to get every word of the city editor's
commendation. Yet between them, except for rare occasions when they went
out to lunch together, there was a "strictly business" attitude that was
deceiving. Brennan's loyalty to P. Q. was only rivaled by the city
editor's covert admiration for him as a reporter. Several times John
overheard wordy altercations between P. Q. and Brennan in which the
city editor would threaten to discharge him and Brennan would reply with
a threat to resign, but nothing ever came of these quarrels and they
were forgotten within an hour after they occurred.
From Brennan John received precious bits of advice.
"Never argue with a city editor," Brennan warned him. "It's useless.
Don't ever, no matter how friendly he is, get familiar with one of them.
It's ruinous."
Gradually John learned Brennan's story. An Englishman by birth and a
university man, Brennan was a rancher in Alberta for a year before he
joined the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. He had been everywhere and
seen everything. He became a reporter under P. Q. in a Middle West city,
and his first training received, he became restless again. He went to
Central America to participate in a revolution and then to the South Sea
islands. For a time he had been in China, Japan and India, and Kipling's
verse was given its proper swing when he recited it. He was a fast, hard
boxer and John had to extend himself to hold his own when they sparred
for exercise at Blake's gymnasium.
"Something of a soldier; something of a dreamer; something of a
poet--but only a newspaper man," he once described himself, adding a
few seconds later, "Oh, forget it," as though he was ashamed to
soliloquize about himself.
To John he was unstinted in his laudation of P. Q., whose eccentricities
he knew so well.
"P. Q. has always believed that a hungry reporter is the best reporter,"
Brennan told John. "He swears that a reporter works twice as well when
he is hungry as when he is well fed. He says a person can't help but
become somewhat soggy mentally when his stomach is full, while an empty
stomach makes a keen brain. That's why he never has breakfast until
after the first edition is away. He practices what he preaches."
Assigned to work as Brennan's "leg man," the newspaper term for
understudy, John became acquainted with the men in Los Angeles who
appear almost daily in the news. He met Le Compte Davis, Paul Schenck,
Joe Ford, Dick Kittrelle, Al MacDonald, W. I. Gilbert, Frank Dominguez
and Jud Rush among the lawyers; the district attorney and his staff of
deputies; "Bud" Hill, the county counsel; police detectives, deputy
sheriffs, private detectives, city and county officials, federal agents
and a host of others, including such picturesque characters as Martin
Aguirre, court bailiff, former sheriff and one-time warden of San
Quentin; Charlie Sebastian, whom the reporters declared unanimously was
a capable chief of police, despite his faults; Billy Wong, representing
the Bing Kong Tong of Chinatown, and "Cap" Gillis, Chinatown "lookout"
and undying friend of the police reporters.
Le Compte Davis they met in his turret-like office room in the Bryson
block, examining a tattered book under a microscope. He learned that
Davis had a private library of more than 8,000 volumes and was one of
the rare old book lovers of the city. His office room was stacked with
books he had purchased, several of which were to be sent to England to
be handsomely bound by hand. On the wall were several oil paintings, one
of which Davis bought at an auction for $75 and which he had been
offered more than $1,000 for.
"Sometimes Le Compte Davis disappears in the middle of a busy day and
scouts are sent out to look for him," Brennan told him. "Invariably they
find him at some bookstore, pawing over a recent purchase of old books,
or in some second-hand store where he picks up rare and costly things
for a few dollars.
"He's such a shark on books that whenever he goes into a bookstore the
proprietor details a clerk to follow him around. When Le Compte takes a
book from a shelf, examines it and returns it to its place, the clerk
takes the book down and immediately doubles the price of it.
"He would rather get some old book that's listed in his catalogue as
valuable for a few cents than win the most important law case."
The offices of Davis and his partner, Jud Rush, who was once a cowboy in
California, were picturesque in themselves because of the furnishings,
as quaint and dusty as those pictured by Dickens. The furniture was
mid-Victorian, the rugs and carpets worn by the feet of countless
clients, and a musty odor of old books and papers permeated the air. It
was like stepping back fifty years to enter the waiting room.
"I don't know whether Le Compte realizes it," Brennan said, "but it's
good psychology for him to keep his office as it is. It suggests
stability, dignity, soundness. A person feels like he is entering the
office of secure, reliable, established lawyers when he comes in here.
It has twice the effect of entering a bright, shiny, new office,
smelling of varnish and neatly kept."
Frequently Brennan and John lunched with Paul Schenck and his partner,
Dick Kittrelle, at a little eating place in West Second street
frequented by lawyers, newspaper men, police officers, deputy sheriffs
and others who were thrown into contact daily in the making and
gathering of news. There Schenck would discourse on psychiatry and
psychology, his two hobbies, talking of "phobias" and "complexes" and
maintaining that everyone in the eyes of others has a touch of insanity.
"I believe, with Le Compte Davis, that the two things that a successful
lawyer must have are tact and an instinctive knowledge of psychology,"
Schenck would tell them.
They were interesting days for John. He heard the "inside" stories of
famous murder cases, municipal upheavals, political battles, celebrated
trials and notable "beats" scored by reporters in the history of
newspaper work in Los Angeles. He saw behind the scenes and what he
learned made a distinct impression on his receptive brain. He was
surprised to find that most of those he met, whom Brennan described as
the "head-line boys," shared Brennan's skeptical viewpoint, rejoicing as
he did when their doubts were overcome and their faith in their fellow
men re-established.
These men differed on the question of Gibson's sincerity in his "clean
up" crusade. Some of them believed him to be an altruist, while others,
without evidence to support their views, regarded him with suspicion.
The opinion of the skeptics was that Gibson was either a plain
"glory-seeker" or, despite his denials of the reports to that effect, a
potential candidate for mayor.
"He knows that no man can become mayor of Los Angeles unless he has the
support of respectable citizenry, represented by the churches and
business and civic welfare associations, as well as the women's clubs,"
one of them said. "After he is elected mayor he may break his pledges to
these organizations, but as soon as he does he's through."
Late one afternoon, two weeks after his last meeting with Consuello and
Gibson, Brennan and John were gossiping at the office, speculating on
Gibson's next move.
"He'll pull another stunt soon," Brennan declared. "When he does it's up
to us to dig in and find out what's behind it. If we can get a little
more evidence like that you stumbled on to when he raided the Spring
street bookmakers, we'll be on the trail of the biggest story that's
broken here in years."
"Isn't there a chance that he's straight?" asked John, still unable to
believe that the man Consuello had such unfailing faith in was the man
Brennan suspected him to be.
"If he is it won't be the first time I've been wrong," said Brennan,
"but it will be the biggest jolt I ever got, let me tell you that."
* * * * *
They received no word from Murphy until nearly a month after Gibson's
spectacular Spring street raid. He appeared at the office late one
afternoon with the information that he had "hot stuff" concerning "Gink"
Cummings.
He declared that Cummings had ordered that all crime stop immediately in
the city.
"Da 'Gink' has passed out da word dat da boys gotta lay off," said
Murphy. "He gives orders dat there's to be no rough stuff until he says
so."
"You mean that the 'Gink' is closing up the town?" asked Brennan.
"Dat's what I say," replied Murphy. "He says there ain't to be no
stick-ups, no gamblin', no bootleggin', no pocket pickin', no house
jobs, no bunko stuff, no nothin' and dat goes. Da first bird dat tries
workin' is gonna be run outa town, see?"
"Where do you pick up that information, Murphy?" Brennan asked.
"Well, da 'Gink' don't tell me poisonally, see? But I gets it straight,
see? Da stick-ups, da sure-thing guys, da dips, everybody gets orders to
lay off, see?"
Brennan whistled softly.
"What's the 'Gink' got up his sleeve now, I wonder?" he said.
"Soich me," said Murphy.
"Are they obeying the 'Gink's' orders?"
"I'll say they are!" asserted Murphy. "All the gamblin' places are
closed and everybody stopped doin' business, see? Even da girls is
behavin' and only enough dope to keep da boys goin' bein' peddled, see?"
"I see," said Brennan, "but it's got me. I can't figure out what his
game is."
With P. Q. approving the cashier's voucher for the money, Murphy was
paid $25 for the information he gave Brennan and John, who told him to
watch the situation in Spring street closely and report to them often.
The information furnished by Murphy that "Gink" Cummings had ordered
that crime be stopped in Los Angeles was substantiated by the
developments of the following week. The crime wave that had been
sweeping the city, as it had the nation, came to an abrupt halt. During
the week only one holdup was reported to the police and prohibition
officers were surprised to find that bootleggers had stopped their work.
There were no burglaries, gambling, picking of pockets, bunko swindling
or handbook betting. The traffic in narcotics, police and federal
officers reported, was the lowest in years.
Police Chief Sweeney and the mayor were baffled by the sudden stop of
crime and frankly admitted their bewilderment to Brennan and John.
"It's beyond me," said the mayor. "All we can do is wait and see what
happens. They are up to something big, that's a certainty, but I can't
figure it out."
Then, after peace and quiet had reigned in the city for ten days, Gibson
issued a statement claiming that he and the forces supporting him,
including his investigators and detectives, had done what the mayor and
Chief Sweeney were unable to do, stopped crime in Los Angeles.
"I call the attention of the citizens of Los Angeles to the fact that
within the past ten days there has been less crime in the city than in
years," Gibson's statement read. "There has been but one holdup, no
burglaries, no violence, no banditry and no open gambling, bootlegging,
thievery or trafficking in narcotics.
"My investigators report that the lid is down tight, solely and
exclusively because 'Gink' Cummings, the notorious boss of the
underworld, and his gang of crooks know that I mean business and that
those behind me are in the fight to a finish for a clean city.
"I am gratified, of course, to find that the crusade is having its
effect and that Los Angeles is beginning to enjoy the protection to
which it is entitled, although the entire situation discloses the
deplorable state of inefficiency in the police department and the
failure of Chief Sweeney and the mayor to enforce the law."
Brennan smiled broadly when he read the Commissioner's latest
proclamation.
"That modest, shrinking violet we hear of so often is a shrieking
braggart alongside of our grand young crusader," he remarked. "What a
dumb-bell I was not to have seen what was coming!"
John realized that Brennan believed he had discovered the reason for
"Gink" Cummings' order to close the city to crime and unlawfulness.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
"It's a mighty slick trick," explained the star reporter. "Don't you see
how it works? Cummings, wanting everyone to believe Gibson really has
the ability to close up the town, gives orders for the bandits and
crooks to 'lay off,' as Murphy put it. Then Gibson comes out and claims
credit for closing up the city. The 'Gink' and Gibson planned this stunt
together; otherwise, how did Murphy happen to find out about it? And
what was the 'Gink's' reason for closing the town if it wasn't to give
Gibson a chance to claim the credit?"
"Still, there's a chance that it was only a coincidence, that the 'Gink'
had some other reason to call his men off and that Gibson, believing
that he really had frightened Cummings and his gang, took advantage of
an opportunity and claimed the credit for it," suggested John.
Brennan inhaled deeply on his cigarette before answering.
"Gallant," he said, "you really don't think it happened that way, do
you? Don't let your credulousness put you on the wrong track. Who do you
suppose it was who told Gibson's investigators that it was his crusade
that was closing up the town? Remember, the 'Gink' is the mayor's enemy
and he isn't going to do anything unless it's against the mayor. He
simply passed out the word he was afraid of Gibson to give Gibson a
chance to claim the glory."
The mayor and Sweeney, as well as P. Q., who knew that Murphy had given
Brennan and John advance information regarding the ceasing of crime,
agreed with Brennan that Gibson and the "Gink" had framed the whole
affair.
Gibson's announcement that the ebb of the crime wave was the result of
his crusade brought renewed expressions of commendation and pledges of
support from organizations and individuals lined up behind him.
Churches, women's clubs, civic and business organizations, groups of
citizens and prominent men and women of the city were outspoken in their
praise of the police commissioner, hailing him as the "man of the hour."
A well known minister addressed a mass meeting at his church, his
subject being "Police Commissioner Gibson's Remarkable Success and the
Disgrace of Having a Mayor Who Fails to Do His Duty." Other preachers
delivered sermons extolling Gibson, one of the sermons being advertised
as "A Modern Crusader Against Graft, Booze, Boodle and Sin."
Accepting every invitation, Gibson spoke at churches, mass meetings,
clubs and luncheons of business men's organizations. Brennan declared
that the commissioner was showing signs of weakening on his vow that he
would not become a candidate for mayor under any circumstances.
"You mark my words," he said to John. "Some of these days Gibson will
announce himself as a candidate. He'll say that he has been persuaded
that he would be failing to perform his full duty unless he heeded the
call. He'll excuse himself from his stand that he had no political
ambitions by saying that when he undertook his crusade he had no thought
of ever becoming a candidate."
"What about the $1,000 he told us he'd give to charity the moment he
announced himself as a candidate for any public office?" asked John.
"We'll see that he turns it over to the Children's hospital if it's the
last thing we do," said Brennan, smiling.
At a moment when he was the most conspicuous man in the city, Gibson
disappeared. Brennan and John joined the reporters of other Los Angeles
newspapers in a night and day search for the missing commissioner, but,
as it had been when Gibson disappeared before he foiled "Red Mike" in
his attempted wreck of the "Lark," no trace of him could be found.
Gibson had not been missing for more than twenty-four hours before a
tidal wave of crime swept the city. In a single night there were a score
of robberies, holdups, burglaries and bandit raids. The gamblers and
handbook agents resumed their business, women were attacked on the
streets, bootleg liquor flowed like a river and pickpockets victimized a
dozen men and women. The sudden resumption of unlawfulness, far more
severe than it had ever been, caught the police unprepared and only a
few arrests were made.
Brennan and John sought out Murphy.
"Da 'Gink' has canceled his orders and told da boys to go to it strong,"
Murphy told them. "He gave da word da day after this bird Gibson ducks
out."
"Two and two make four," commented Brennan. "Gibson goes out of town
and Cummings gives orders to his gang to open up. Another slick trick.
Gibson will come back in a few days and the 'Gink' will call them off
again. Result, the people will believe that Gibson is the only man to
keep the lid down in Los Angeles, that as soon as he leaves crime begins
and as soon as he returns it stops. Oh, what a smart pair they are!"
John took time to analyze the situation and decided that the
coordination of the moves of Gibson and "Gink" Cummings was more than a
series of coincidences. He accepted, for the first time without
reservation or qualification, the theory that there was an alliance
between the commissioner and the underworld boss. The realization
shocked him and he felt a hate for Gibson, the deceiver, surge through
him. But he knew that this hate was engendered more by the fact that
Gibson was misleading Consuello than that he was a political Judas,
betraying his city for "Gink" Cummings' stolen silver.
In the midst of the excitement caused by Gibson's disappearance and the
outbreak of crime, while fears were being expressed in some quarters
that the commissioner had met with foul play at the hands of Cummings'
"bashers," John heard from Consuello.