PRACTICING FOR DEATH.
A girl who had been anxiously studying the face of every man coming out
of the building hurried to Dave Cates. All in a second he saw the
radiant smile on her face, caught a glimpse of her lovely, hazel eyes
and the infinite grace of her step. She hesitated not a second but came
directly to him, a charming little figure, a bit shorter than himself.
To his utter stupefaction she threw both arms around his neck and kissed
him on the lips. Then quickly she took his arm and led him into the
crowd.
So astounded was Cates that he didn’t notice the way she kept between
him and the gunman, who had recognized the girl and was scowling,
baffled. Cates didn’t even stop to wonder why the gunman didn’t shoot.
“Well, for the love of Mother Machree!” he stammered, completely at sea.
“Are you an angel or have you got the wrong guy?”
She glanced up at him, but made no answer. White of face from the strain
of the ordeal through which she had just passed, she piloted him toward
headquarters, four blocks distant.
Gradually the radio cop recovered his wits. “Sister, I don’t mean to be
too curious,” he apologized, “but there’s a little too much static in
the old dome for me to get this thing right. How’d you happen to step in
there when you did? Were you wise to them? And why didn’t that guy
shoot?”
Still no answer, only a pleading look from the hazel eyes. Then swiftly
she turned and hurried away.
“Hold on,” called Cates, concerned. “I haven’t learned a thing yet.
Here, wait a minute, sister!”
But she did not heed. For a moment he was tempted to overtake her and
demand an explanation, then decided against it. Whoever she was, she had
known there would be an attempt on his life.
But why should she run a risk in saving him? The question fairly shouted
for an answer, but gratitude would not allow him to ask what she very
evidently did not want to answer.
There were other things, too. Officer Cates became aware that his heart
was beating at twice its usual tempo. Faint perfume still trailed about
him, and there was a cool fragrance on his lips that had never been
there before.
“Right on the old pan, she kissed me,” Cates murmured in awed tones.
“Right on the old pan, and I let her get away without even finding out
her name. Well, what do you know?”
For such was the make-up of the stocky announcer that the kiss of an
unknown girl could concern him more than the threat of a gunman. Sighing
profoundly, his alert eyes dreamy, he proceeded on to headquarters.
Captain Henessey, granite-jawed, shrewd-eyed veteran, looked up
interestedly.
“Hello, Dave,” he said, and leaned back in his chair. “What’s all this
you broadcast about being pegged?”
Cates nodded.
“That’s right, captain,” he confirmed. “They almost got me, too. They
would have if it hadn’t been for the cutest little jane I ever saw in my
life. Honest, she was about so high, and she was all dolled up like a
million with a fur around her neck and sort of a satin dress and little
high-heel shoes. And say, captain, you’d ought to see her eyes. The
way----”
“That’s enough,” interrupted Captain Henessey, recognizing the symptoms.
“You’re giving no public address now, lad. Confine yourself to the
facts.”
So, as briefly as he could, the radio cop told his superior of the
incident.
Captain Henessey rubbed at his ear and pondered. “H’m,” he said. “I’d
like to talk with that girl, Dave. Maybe she knows something about this
gang situation.”
“How does it stand now?”
The captain’s mouth was grim. “Bad enough. Here we go and drag Margolo
into court on a murder charge and a lily-livered jury throw the case
out because they say the evidence isn’t conclusive enough.” His big fist
banged down on the desk. “Evidence--hell! They would have had enough
evidence if they hadn’t been scared of the gang’s power.
“Now Big Ed’ll be giving us the horse laugh, and he’ll pull more stuff
than ever. The first thing he’ll probably do is to go after McGuirk, and
we’ll have a gang war on our hands.
“But I don’t mind McGuirk so much. He could be worse. It’s Margolo I
want to get, and I’d give a lot for a man who would see him in a
shooting and then have the nerve to go into court and testify.”
Dave Cates gazed ruefully at the bulletin board. Now more than ever he
wished he could qualify for active service.
“Margolo is sore because McGuirk’s cutting into his business, isn’t he?”
he asked.
Captain Henessey nodded. “Yes, and that means there’ll be more
shooting.”
“Where does Margolo usually hang out?”
“Well, he spends a lot of his time at the Salon Quintesse, that road
house out by Syndicate Park. He’s got an apartment in the new Donahue
block, too, but I don’t think either of those places is his official
headquarters.
“Margolo’s a cagy cuss and he keeps moving from place to place. No
telling where he’s located now.”
The captain looked suddenly at the small figure of his radio announcer.
“What does this chap look like who pegged you?” he asked.
Cates described the man at some length.
“Sounds like ‘Slim’ Fiske of Margolo’s crew,” commented the captain.
“By the way, Dave, what are you going to do about this threat? Take a
little lay-off?”
The radio cop drew himself to his full height of five feet seven.
“Cut it out, captain,” he said.
Captain Henessey hid a grin. It was Cates’ first test, and the lad had
met it as the captain expected.
“Just as you say,” he answered. “But for a while I’ll assign a man to
cover you when you come out after each night’s broadcast. Now run along.
I’m busy.”
* * * * *
As Dave Cates walked up the stairs to the top floor barracks where he
slept, he considered things. Not a doubt that he was in for trouble if
he continued to announce. Even with an officer covering his exits, they’d
get him sooner or later. This was not a pleasant prospect--particularly
since he had looked into a pair of hazel eyes and had received the soft
touch of red lips. Not at all a pleasant prospect to contemplate.
No, he intended both to live and to stay on his job, and the only way to
combine the two things was to get the gangsters before they got him.
Dave Cates stopped short, rubbing at his bulldog jaw.
He’d considered this idea before, of course--for what young man
connected in any way with a police department hasn’t dreamed of putting
a stop to the most flagrant lawlessness in his vicinity?--but hitherto
he had never considered it seriously. Now, under the menace to his life,
the thought was no longer audacious.
Turning the matter over in his mind Cates went to his locker and took
from it his shoulder holster and the big police gun. He adjusted the
holster under his left arm, cast a casual glance at the sleeping forms
of men who were to go on duty with the midnight shift, and went into the
shower room.
A long mirror was there. Dave Cates stood before it. From a lounging
position he yanked out the gun and leveled it. A dozen times he did
this, and then practiced drawing from all sorts of positions, reclining,
walking, bending almost double.
“Getting faster at it, anyway,” he told himself.
This was his nightly habit and had been since he became radio officer.
He was still young enough to thrill to this secret practice; and yet old
enough to realize that some day the acquired deftness and speed might
stand him in good stead.
Every afternoon he practiced assiduously at the short-range targets down
in the basement of the building. Officer Cates of the wave-length squad
was not only very quick on the draw, but very adept at knocking the neck
off a bottle fifty paces distant.
Twenty minutes later he put on an old topcoat, drew a cap well down over
his eyes, and went out into the street to catch a southbound car.
Everybody seemed to think that Big Ed Margolo would go after McGuirk at
once.
Dave Cates thought differently. “Margolo’s no dumb-bell,” he mused,
glancing at a youth of about his own size and general appearance who sat
across the car. “He’ll figure they’re watching him close and lay off for
a time. In that case I’ll watch him closer than ever.”
Cates observed that the other occupant of the car was regarding him with
more than passing interest. “Humph. Wonder who that guy is? He’s givin’
me the once-over like he wanted to know my family history.”