VAST FORCE.
All over the great city, desk sergeants and captains took their feet
from their desks as they interpreted that message. Big Ed Margolo at 47
River Street with his assistants! Definite proof that they had shot and
killed someone, presumably McGuirk! Act at once! Orders went ringing
through big rooms, and reserve men rushed to obey. In five seconds,
police cars were racing to River Street.
Having thrown this verbal bomb, Officer Cates went on talking, calmly
outlining the sub-station reports that had come in to headquarters that
day. Before he had finished, blue uniforms began creeping up on the
house at 47 River Street to surround it, before closing in.
As he talked, the radio cop stared out of the little window that gave
him a view of proceedings. Cates became tense as he saw a squad of men
go to a side door and pound for admittance. There was no response, so
Officer Jake Schmaltz kicked in the panels.
At the rear of the house, another squad smashed two windows. A gun
cracked sharply--another--and the battle was on. All in a second the
quiet of River Street was broken by yells, shots, and the smashing of
furniture.
Then Dave Cates attained greatness. After a quick word of reassurance to
the frightened girl, he rolled up his mental shirt sleeves and cut
loose. Now he was not only a police announcer, but a news reporter, and
the biggest story of the year was breaking right under his nose. As he
described the scene, there was a ring in his voice that brought his
listeners up wide-eyed.
“There’s a little squabble going on out here, folks, that you might be
interested in. The police are making a raid on a River Street house,
occupied by Big Ed Margolo, the gangster, and a number of his gunmen.
Definite proof has been established that Margolo and three of his men
just shot and killed Red McGuirk, chief of the opposing gang.
“Now they are shooting down there, and there’s plenty of
noise--_plenty_! Those gun flashes in the dark are like lightning
flashes. They’re pretty, but they’re bad. Oh, there comes a gunman
running out of the house. He breaks through three officers who are
covering the door and starts on the run for cover.
“Now the officers are chasing him, shooting as they go. He turns and
fires back at them. There he goes down! One of the bullets got him--in
the leg, I think. The officers had every right to shoot to kill, but
they didn’t. Now they’re putting the cuffs on him.
“People are around here, but about all you can see of ’em is an
occasional head showing from behind a tree or from around the corner of a
building. They’re still shooting in the house, but not quite so much.
Ah, there’s a siren--it must be the wagon coming up. Yes, and it’s
coming fast, too, by the sound of it. Oh, boy, there’s plenty of action
in this row, all right!”
He paused for breath. “Please stand by, folks. I’ll be with you in a
minute.”
He grinned at Anabelle Talbot, then went to the window to seek more
details. Gee, if he could only be out in that scrap himself!
* * * * *
Absorbed as he was in the arrival of the patrol wagon, he failed to
notice the man who crept around the corner of the house and paused,
noting instantly the figure in the garage window.
Big Ed knew he had been framed by somebody, but he wasn’t sure by whom.
That dim green glow that shaded the figure gave him suspicion. Big Ed
knew something about radio. His teeth bared, and he moved toward the
garage.
The radio cop was still standing at the window when Big Ed Margolo,
automatic in hand, pushed the door noiselessly open. But Anabelle Talbot
saw--saw the set, deadly expression on Margolo’s swarthy face, saw the
glint of blue steel in his hand.
Horror made her motionless. Sudden danger sometimes will reveal many
things. In the fractional part of a second Anabelle saw into her own
heart and read correctly what was written there. Must she sit and see
Dave killed because there was no way of warning him? She swallowed hard
and lifted her white face to the heavens in agonized appeal, her lips
moving.
Paralyzed vocal chords fought with the chains that bound them. Quick
tears marked the terrific effort. Then the miracle happened, perhaps
brought about by the working of the vast, beautiful force in a girl’s
heart.
In the silence Miss Anabelle’s voice broke hysterically: “Dave! Oh,
_Dave!_”
The radio cop whirled instantly and saw Margolo. Long practice before
the mirror at headquarters brought its reward. Dave Cates dropped flat,
his hand whipping to his left shoulder.
_Crack!_
Margolo’s automatic spat flame, but the bullet passed harmlessly over
Cates’ head and thudded into the wall.
_Boom!_
Cates’ big police gun roared. Margolo spun around as the heavy slug
ripped into his shoulder.
Like a flash Cates was upon the gangster. He knocked the automatic from
his hand, and applied the cuffs. Adroitly he kicked Margolo’s feet from
under him, and lowered the gangster to the floor.
“Oh, Dave!” faltered Miss Anabelle, one hand fluttering to her throat.
In a stride the little radio cop was beside her. He blinked, then caught
up her hands and looked intently into her face.
“Holy pup!” he breathed, awed. “How’d you do it, honey? What happened?”
Now she was laughing and crying on his shoulder. “I--I don’t know, Dave.
I just had to s-say something when I knew he was going to shoot.”
Officer Cates of the wave-length squad didn’t understand, but he was
grateful, so grateful that he was inarticulate. The marvel of it was
that the glow of reverence upon his freckled face made him almost
handsome.
“Gee!” he said softly. “Gee!”
He didn’t quite know what to do. But the green light was still on, and
from force of habit he moved nearer the microphone, holding Anabelle
Talbot tightly in his arms. Deliriously happy, he knew not what words he
spoke.
Consequently, for the next half hour, the cops in a dozen different
sub-stations tore their hair and raved over a message they couldn’t
fathom:
“Aw, say, honey! Don’t take on like that or I’ll be bawling, too!
Honest, now, I love you like the dickens.”
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 15, 1929 issue
of “Top-Notch” magazine.]