CHAPTER III
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT
Officer Burke was back again at his work on the force. He was a triflepale, and the hours on patrol duty and fixed post seemed trebly long,for even his sturdy physique was tardy in recuperating from thatvicious shock at the base of his brain.
"Take it easy, Burke," advised Captain Sawyer, "you have never had aharder day in uniform than this one. Those two fires, the work at thelines with the reserves and your patrol in place of Dexter, who is laidup with his cold, is going it pretty strong."
"That's all right, Captain. I'm much obliged for your interest. But alittle more work to-night won't hurt me. I'll hurry strength along bykeeping up this hustling. People who want to stay sick generallysucceed. Doctor MacFarland is looking after me, so I am not worried."
Bobbie left the house with his comrades to relieve the men on patrol.
It was late afternoon of a balmy spring day.
The weeks since he had been injured had drifted into months, and thereseemed many changes in the little world of the East Side. This storehad failed; that artisan had moved out, and even two or three fruitdealers whom Bobbie patronized had disappeared.
In the same place stood other stands, managed by Italians who lookedlike caricatures drawn by the same artist who limned their predecessors.
"It must be pretty hard for even the Italian Squad to tell all thesefellows apart, Tom," said Bobbie, as they stood on the corner by one ofthe stalls.
"Sure, lad. All Ginnies look alike to me. Maybe that's why they carveeach other up every now and then at them little shindigs of theirs.Little family rows, they are, you know. I guess they add a few marksof identification, just for the family records," replied Tom Dolan, anold man on the precinct. "However, I get along with 'em all right bykeeping my eye out for trouble and never letting any of 'em get mefirst. They're all right, as long as you smile at 'em. But they'retricky, tricky. And when you hurt a Wop's vanity it's time to get ahalf-nelson on your night-stick!"
They separated, Dolan starting down the garbage-strewn side street tochase a few noisy push-cart merchants who, having no other customers inview, had congregated to barter over their respective wares.
"Beat it, you!" ordered Dolan. "This ain't no Chamber of Commerce.Git!"
With muttered imprecation the peddlers pushed on their carts to makeplace for a noisy, tuneless hurdy-gurdy. On the pavement at its side adozen children congregated--none over ten--to dance the turkey trot andthe "nigger," according to the most approved Bowery artistry of"spieling."
"Lord, no wonder they fall into the gutter when they grow up," thoughtBobbie. "They're sitting in it from the time they get out of theirswaddling rags."
Bobbie walked up to the nearby fruit merchant.
"How much is this apple, Tony?"
The Italian looked at him warily, and then smirked.
"Eet's nothing toa you, signor. I'ma da policeman's friend. You takahim."
Bobbie laughed, as he fished out a nickel from his pocket. He shookhis head, as he replied.
"No, Tony, I don't get my apples from the 'policeman's friend.' I canpay for them. You know all of us policemen aren't grafters--even onthe line of apples and peanuts."
The Italian's eyes grew big.
"Well, you'ra de first one dat offer to maka me de pay, justa de same.Eet's a two centa, eef you insist."
He gave Bobbie his change, and the young man munched away on the freshfruit with relish. The Italian gave him a sunny grin, and thenvolunteered:
"Youa de new policeman, eh?"
"I have been in the hospital for more than a month, so that's why youhaven't seen me. How long have you been on this corner? There wasanother man here when I came this way last."
"Si, signor. That my cousin Beppo. But he's gone back to It'. He hadsome money--he wanta to keep eet, so he go while he can."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I don'ta wanta talk about eet, signor," said the Italian, with astrange look. "Eet'sa bad to say I was his cousin even."
The dealer looked worried, and naturally Bobbie became curious and moreinsistent.
"You can tell me, if it's some trouble. Maybe I can help you some timeif you're afraid of any one."
The Italian shook his head, pessimistically.
"No, signor. Eet'sa better I keep what you call de mum."
"Did he blow up somebody with a bomb? Or was it stiletto work?" askedBobbie, as he threw away the core of the apple, to observe it greedilycaptured by a small, dirty-faced urchin by the curb.
The fruit merchant looked into Officer Burke's face, and, as others haddone, was inspired by its honesty and candor. He felt that here mightbe a friend in time of trouble. Most of the policemen he knew wereaustere and cynical. He leaned toward Burke and spoke in a subduedtone.
"Poor Beppo, he have de broken heart. He was no Black Hand--he wouldano usa de stiletto on a cheecken, he so kinda, gooda man. He justaleave disa country to keepa from de suicide."
"Why, that's strange! Tell me about it. Poor fellow!"
"He'sa engag-ed to marry de pretty Maria Cenini, de prettiest girl inour village, back in It'--excepta my wife. Beppo, he senda on demoney, so she can coma dis country and marry him. Dat wasa four weekago she shoulda be here. But, signor, whena Beppo go toa de Battery tomeet her froma da Ellis Island bigga boat he no finda her."
"Did she die?"
"Oh, signor, Beppo, he wisha she hadda died. He tooka de early boat tomeeta her, signor, and soma ona tella de big officier at de Batteryhe'sa da cousin of her sweeta heart. She goa wid him, signor, andBeppo never finda her."
"Why, you don't mean the girl was abducted?"
"Signor, whatever eet was, Beppo hear from one man from our village wholeeve in our village dat he see poor Maria weed her face all paint, andlocked up in de tougha house in Newark two weeks ago. Oh, _madre dio_,signor, she's a da bad girl! Beppo, he nearly killa his friend fortell him, and den he go to Newark to looka for her at de house. Butshe gone, and poor Beppo he was de pinched for starting de fight in dehouse. He pay twanty-five de dols, and coma back here. De nextamorning a beeg man come to Beppo, and he say: 'Wop, you geet out displace, eef you tella de police about dees girl,' Dassal."
Burke looked into the nervous, twitching face of the poor Italian, andrealized that here was a deeper tragedy than might be guessed by apasserby. The man's eyes were wet, and he convulsively fumbled at thecorduroy coat, which he had doubtless worn long before he ever soughtthe portals of the Land of Liberty.
"Oh, signor. Data night Beppo he was talk to de policaman, justa likeme. He say no word, but dat beega man he musta watch, for desagang-men dey busta de stand, and dey tella Beppo to geet out or deybusta heem. Beppo he tell me I can hava de stand eef I pay him someeacha week. I take it--and now I am afraid de busta me!"
Bobbie laid a comforting hand upon the man's heaving shoulder.
"There, don't you worry. Don't tell anyone else you're his cousin, andI won't either. You don't need to be afraid of these gang-men. Justbe careful and yell for the police. The trouble with you Italians isthat you are afraid to tell the police anything when you are treatedbadly. Your cousin should have reported this case to the Ellis Islandauthorities. They would have traced that girl and saved her."
The man looked gratefully into Burke's eyes, as the tears ran down hisface.
"Oh, signor, eef all de police were lika you we be not afraid."
Just then he dropped his eyes, and Burke noticed that his hand trembledas he suddenly reached for a big orange and held it up. The man spokewith a surprising constraint, still holding his look upon the fruit.
"Signor, here's a fine orange. You wanta buy heem?" In a whisper headded: "Eet is de bigga man who told my cousin to get outa da country!"
Bobbie in astonishment turned around and beheld two pedestrians whowere walking slowly past, both staring curiously at the Italian.
He gave an exclamation of surprise as
he noticed that one of the menwas no less a personage than Jimmie the Monk. The man with him was abig, raw-boned Bowery character of pugilistic build.
"Why, I thought that scoundrel would have been tried and sentenced bythis time," murmured the officer. "I know they told me his case hadbeen postponed by his lawyer, an alderman. But this is one on me."
The smaller man caught Burke's eye and gave him an insolent laugh. Heeven stopped and muttered something to his companion.
Burke's blood was up in an instant.
He advanced quickly toward the tough. Jimmie sneered, as he stood hisground, confident in the security of his political protection.
"Move on there," snapped Burke. "This is no loafing place."
"Aaaah, go chase sparrers," snarled Jimmie the Monk. "Who ye think yertalking to, rookie?"
Now, Officer Burke was a peaceful soul, despite his military training.His short record on the force had been noteworthy for his ability todisperse several incipient riots, quiet more than one brawl, and tameseveral bad men without resorting to rough work. But there was arankling in his spirit which overcame the geniality which had beenreigning in his heart so short a time before.
He was tired. He was weak from his recent confinement. But thefighting blood of English and some Irish ancestors stirred in his veins.
He walked quietly up to the Monk, and his voice was low, his wordscalm, as he remarked: "You clear out of this neighborhood. I am goingto put you where you belong the first chance I get. And I don't wantany of your impudence now. Move along."
Jimmie mistook the quiet manner for respect and a timid memory of therecent retirement from active service.
He spread his legs, and, with a wink to his companion, he began, withthe strident rasp of tone which can seldom be heard above FourteenthStreet and east of Third Avenue.
"Say, bo. Do you recollect gittin' a little present? Well, listen,dere's a Christmas tree of dem presents comin' to you ef ye tries anymore of dis stuff. I'm in _right_ in dis district, don't fergit it.Ye tink's I'm going to de Island? Wipe dat off yer memory, too. W'y,say, I kin git yer buttons torn off and yer shield put in de scrap heapby de Commish if I says de woid down on Fourteenth Street, at debailiwick."
"I know who was back of the assault on me, Monk, and let me tell youI'm going to get the man who threw it. Now, you get!"
Burke raised his right hand carelessly to the side of his collar, as hepressed up close to the gangster. The big man at his side came nearer,but as the policeman did not raise his club, which swung idly by itsleather thong, to his left wrist, he was as unprepared for whathappened as Jimmie.
"Why you----" began the latter, with at least six ornate oaths whichout-tarred the vocabulary of any jolly, profane tar who ever swore.
Burke's hand, close to his own shoulder, and not eight inches away fromJimmie's leering jowl, closed into a very hard fist. Before the toughknew what had hit him that nearby fist had sent him reeling into thegutter from a short shoulder jab, which had behind it every ounce ofweight in the policeman's swinging body.
Jimmie lay there.
The other man's hand shot to his hip pocket, but the officer's ownrevolver was out before he could raise the hand again. Army practicecame handy to Burke in this juncture.
"Keep your hand where it is," exclaimed the policeman, "or you'll get abullet through it."
"You dog, I'll get you sent up for this," muttered the big man.
But with his revolver covering the fellow, Burke quickly "frisked" thehip pocket and discovered the bulk of a weapon. This was enough.
"I fixed the Monk. Now, you're going up for the Sullivan Law againstcarrying firearms. You're number one, with me, in settling up thisscore!" Jimmie had shown signs of awakening from the slumber inducedby Burke's sturdy right hand.
He pulled himself up as Burke marched his man around the corner. TheMonk hurried, somewhat unsteadily, to the edge of the fruit stand andlooked round it after the two figures.
"Do youse know dat cop, ye damn Ginnie?" muttered Jimmie.
"Signor, no!" replied the fruit dealer, nervously. "I never saw heemon dis beat before to-day, wenna he buy de apple from me."
Jimmie turned--discretion conquering temporary vengeance, and startedin the opposite direction. He stopped long enough to say, as he rubbedhis bruised jaw, "Well, Wop, ye ain't like to see much more of 'imaround dis dump neither, an' ye ain't likely to see yerself neither, ifye do too much talkin' wid de cops."
Jimmie hurried up the street to a certain rendezvous to arrange for arescue party of some sort. In the meantime Officer 4434 led anunwilling prisoner to the station house, one hand upon the man's rightarm. His own right hand gripped his stick firmly.
"You make a wiggle and I'm going to give it to you where I got thatbrick, only harder," said Burke, softly.
A crowd of urchins, young men and even a few straggling women followedhim with his prisoner. It grew to enormous proportions by the time hehad reached the station house.
As they entered the front room Captain Sawyer looked up from his desk,where he had been checking up some reports.
"Ah, what have we this time, Burke?"
"This man is carrying a revolver in his hip pocket," declared theofficer. "That will take care of him, I suppose."
Dexter, at the captain's direction, searched the man. The revolver wasthe first prize. In his pocket was a queer memorandum book. Itcontained page after page of girls' names, giving only the first name,with some curious words in cipher code after each one. In the samepocket was a long, flat parcel. Dexter handed it to the captain whoopened it gingerly. Inside the officer found at least twenty-fivesmall packets, all wrapped in white paper. He opened two of these.They contained a flaky, white powder.
The man looked down as Sawyer gave him a shrewd glance.
"We have a very interesting visitor, Burke. Thanks for bringing himin. So you're a cocaine peddler?"
The man did not reply.
"Take him out into one of the cells, Dexter. Get all the rest of hisjunk and wrap it up. Look through the lining of his clothes and striphim. This is a good catch, Burke."
The prisoner sullenly ambled along between two policemen, who lockedhim up in one of the "pens" in the rear of the front office. Burkeleaned over the desk.
"He was walking with that Jimmie the Monk when I got him. Jimmie actedugly, and when I told him to move on he began to curse me."
"What did you do?"
"I handed him an upper-cut. Then this fellow tried to get his gun.Jimmie will remember me, and I'll get him later, on something. Ididn't want to call out the reserves, so I brought this man right onover here, and let Jimmie attend to himself. I suppose we'll hear fromhim before long."
"Yes, I see the message coming now," exclaimed Captain Sawyer in a lowtone. "Don't you open your mouth. I'll do the talking now."
As he spoke, Burke followed his eyes and turned around. A large man,decorated with a shiny silk hat, shinier patent leather shoes ofextreme breadth of beam, a flamboyant waistcoat, and a gold chain fromwhich dangled a large diamond charm, swaggered into the room, moppinghis red face with a silk handkerchief.
"Well, well, captain!" he ejaculated, "what's this I hear about anofficer from this precinct assaulting two peaceful civilians?"
The Captain looked steadily into the puffy face of the speaker. Hissteely gray eyes fairly snapped with anger, although his voice wasunruffled as he replied, "You'd better tell me all you heard, and whoyou heard it from."
The big man looked at Burke and scowled ominously. It was evident thatOfficer 4434 was well known to him, although Bobbie had never seen theother in his life.
"Here's the fellow. Clubbing one of my district workers--straightpolitics, that's what it is, or I should say crooked politics. I'mgoing to take this up with the Mayor this very day. You know hisorders about policemen using their clubs."
"Yes, Alderman, I know that and several other things. I know that thispoliceman did not use h
is club but his fist on one of your wardheelers, and that was for cursing him in public. He should havearrested him. I also know that you are the lawyer for this gangster,Jimmie the Monk. And I know what we have on his friend. You can lookat the blotter if you want. I haven't finished writing it all yet."
The Captain turned the big record-book around on his desk, while thepolitician angrily examined it.
"What's that? Carrying weapons, unlawfully? Carrying cocaine? Why,this is a frame-up. This man Morgan is a law-abiding citizen. You'retrying to send him up to make a record for yourself. I'm going to takethis up with the Mayor as sure as my name is Kelly!"
"Take it up with the United States District Attorney, too, Mr.Alderman, for I've got some other things on your man Morgan. Thispolitical stuff is beginning to wear out," snapped Sawyer. "There aretoo many big citizens getting interested in this dope trade and in thegang work for you and your Boss to keep it hushed any longer."
He turned to Burke and waved his hand toward the stairway which led tothe dormitory above.
"Go on upstairs, my boy, and rest up a little bit. You're pale. Thishas been a hard day, and I'm going to send out White to relieve you.Take a little rest and then I'll send you up to Men's Night Court withMorgan, for I want him held over for investigation by the United Statesofficers."
Alderman Kelly puffed and fumed with excitement. This was gettingbeyond his depths. He was a competent artist in the criminal and lowercourts, but his talents for delaying the law of the Federal procedurewere rather slim.
"What do you mean? I'm going to represent Morgan, and I'll havesomething to say about his case at Night Court. I know the magistrate."
Sawyer took out the memorandum book from the little parcel of"exhibits" removed from the prisoner.
"Well, Alderman," Burke heard him say, as he started up the stairs,"you ought to be pleased to have a long and profitable case. For Ithink this is just starting the trail on a round-up of some young menwho have been making money by a little illegal traffic. There areabout four hundred girls' names in this book, and the Chief ofDetectives has a reputation for being able to figure out ciphers."
Alderman Kelly dropped his head, but gazed at Sawyer's grim face frombeneath his heavy brows with a baleful intensity. Then he left thestation house.
Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure Page 6
