SYSTEMATIC LAWLESSNESS
Soon after leaving prison I fell in with an old “stir” (prison)
acquaintance. He was an older man than I was, wise as to the methods
of the underworld, and cunning in crime. He proposed a partnership. I
agreed, and the following three years we wandered together over a good
portion of the world. We visited the larger cities of Europe, matching
our wits against the police, and, as luck would have it, always making
a clean getaway. Of course we did no big work. Ours was of a petty
nature.
Tiring of the Continent, we drifted back to the States, wandering from
one to another. The pickings from promiscuous work became poor, and
we decided to systematize our further efforts. Looking about for easy
graft, we decided “working the rattlers” looked the most promising.
“Working the rattler” is a term applied by the underworld to denote
the robbing of freight trains, generally in transit. We organized a
gang of four men as active workers. It was no trouble to find men in
different cities, eager and anxious to take off our hands what booty we
might happen to get. Right here I want to say that it would no doubt
create some surprise to some people to know the identity of those very
“fences.” Of course it is impossible for me here to mention names, but
I will say that among the men to whom we regularly sold our stuff were
found some of the solid men of the community, both financially and
socially. The nature of the “fence” is essentially selfish. Knowing
the origin of the goods to be sold, he offers an absurd sum for them.
The crook may at first hesitate, but finally accedes to the bargain.
The majority of “fences” I found were crooked, even to the crooks
themselves. The men know this, yet still continue to deal with him.
One of the paradoxes of the underworld is this pertinent fact: that
notwithstanding the known reputation of a “fence” for crookedness, the
thief will still continue to deal with him. The “fence,” as a rule,
looks to his own welfare first. If the police happen to “get the goods”
on him, and offer as an inducement the safety of himself, the “fence”
will usually give the information sought by the police. He thinks
nothing of turning “State’s evidence,” providing his liberty is assured
him.
Another peculiarity of the crooks is their habit of congregating in
the city in some rendezvous of the underworld, known to the police as
such. Ask any police head if such places exist, and he will tell you
that they do. Notwithstanding this surveillance of the police, the
crook still continues to make it his resort until he leaves, no more to
return for a period of years.
“Working the rattlers” proved a well-paying proposition. Our method of
work was systematized to an extent little dreamed of by the mediocre
guardians of the road. Night was the time of operation. We would wait
at a division point on the railroad for a train loaded with merchandise
to pull out. Two of us would enter the car after breaking the seal.
The two would then be locked in, the car resealed, and the remaining
two would ride on the train itself to our prearranged point of
debarkation.
Once inside, the two would search the car for easy marketable products.
These would be packed in bags, the bags tied and packed at the door
for easy egress. A merchandise train is generally what is called a
through train, that is, it seldom stops between divisions, unless it
does so for water. Just before our agreed place for debarkation one
of the outside men, by the aid of a rope ladder, would slip over the
side of the car, break the seal and open the door. The goods would
then be thrown out, and a little further down the road, we ourselves
would alight. The goods would then be placed in a wagon and driven to a
house already rented for the purpose. Here the stuff would be assorted,
packed and shipped to different “fences,” according to their needs. I
myself generally followed the shipment and collected our due.
The plan worked well through a year. The railroads were becoming
harassed by our depredations. Police were sent to guard the very trains
upon which our efforts were centered, but with no marked avail. The
losses still went on. All “good things,” through one cause or another,
eventually come to an end. Ours came too.
I remember the day of my arrest like the dawn of yesterday. It was on
a Sunday noon, in the early summer. One of my pals and I had arranged
to take our girls that afternoon to a nearby resort. We had left our
hotel and walked to the corner and stood waiting for a car. The car
came and stopped, and just as we were about to get on, two men in the
blue uniforms of the police laid their hands on our arms and informed
us that the captain would like to see us for a moment. Of course I knew
instantly that the end had come, yet I was curious to know through what
source of information our arrest had been brought about.