Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  He was almost to it, with the purpose of going around the square building to the house side, when a faint sound, off to his left and a little behind him, barely reached his ears. He stopped and turned his head, listening. He made it out as the soft purring of a motor, but whether it was fairly near at hand or at some distance was impossible to tell. He waited, and the sound ceased entirely.

  Still he wasn’t satisfied. He moved over a little and saw that both doors of the summerhouse were open, back and front. He also made out that the walls were cut by windowless spaces with their shutters swung high. If a car were really back there, he couldn’t have had a better place from which to watch and see if anyone came from it. He stepped soundlessly across the low threshold and turned toward his left.

  Then something hard and heavy struck his head a glancing blow; and Larry went down to one knee. He was dazed and momentarily half stunned; but he had been in that condition before and still carried on. One hand was on the floor supporting him. He swept the other long arm around, encountered trousered legs, let his right hand join its mate and heaved. A man came down heavily and Larry tried to throw himself on top of him.

  An avalanche of forms came down on him, grasping at arms and legs and throat. There was no word spoken; only the one oath jarred out of the man who had hit the floor. Larry was still dizzy, but he arched his back, gathered hands and knees beneath his body lifting the weight with him as he struggled to get upright. Then a hand grasped the back of his neck roughly. Instinct made him duck his head to one side and again a blow clipped the side of his head, but it was enough to drop him sprawling.

  Knees knelt on his outstretched arms. One man put his weight on Larry’s shoulders, another on his legs. He felt ropes twisted around his wrists, and he started to struggle again. A fist beat the back of his head, jarring his face against the floor. Larry lay quiet, waiting for his strength to come back to him for a better chance.

  He was pulled to his knees, his arms were yanked to his sides and the rope was wound around his body to pinion them. Larry flexed his muscles against the pull, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. A trap, and he had walked right into it, baited by the girl, of course. Anger flooded him, but more for his own trust and stupidity than against Vivian Knapp.

  Hands held his arms, pulled him to his feet, and he staggered against the men holding him. In a foolish sort of way, for his head was not yet clear, he thought of Elsie Garland and her advice and what he would tell her about it. Then it occurred to him suddenly that he would probably not be given the chance, and that helped more than anything else to bring his mind back to the present.

  The hands that had grasped him were holding his upper arms; the rope was around his forearms. He twisted his wrists a little, found that there was a looseness in the bonds where he had held his muscles against them. He turned his head, trying to make out a face beside him, wondering at first who these men could be. His head was clearing fast and in a moment he remembered.

  “Pellini!” he said. It was more a statement of fact to himself.

  “What you want, mug?” a low-toned voice answered, and a fist crashed into his mouth, jerking his head backward.

  Larry said nothing. He caught dimly the start of another swing, ducked his head to one side as far as the hold on him would allow, and knuckles cut his cheek.

  “Save it,” a low voice growled. “We goin’ to work on him anyway. Wait till we get him where we can do it proper and so’s he’ll know the answers.”

  “A good deal his fault Otto got it,” Pellini said. “Besides, I owe this mug plenty.”

  “Then wait till you can see him better.” A gun muzzle dug hard into Larry’s back. “March, guy! Straight ahead. An’ it would tickle me pink if you thought of runnin’.”

  The gun prodded him and the hands on his arms urged him forward.

  Larry saw the tall figure of Pellini slip in between him and the lighter oblong of the front doorway, and they moved toward it. At the threshold, Pellini suddenly stopped and spread his arms wide.

  “Back up!” he hissed. “A dame’s coming from the house. “It’s that damned nosy girl. Why the boss don’t keep her in line’s beyond me. She tried to warn this guy from the office,” he rumbled, “an’ we knew she was watchin’. You palookas made too much noise. Oughta have crowned him in the first place like I said.”

  “Stop your whinin’,” the man at Larry’s left growled back. “You go send her back or take her somewhere so’s we can slip into the basement.”

  The gun was still hard against Larry’s back; hands pulled him toward the rear of the square building and away from the light from the doorway. The gun shifted a little, but the grip on his arms didn’t relax as the men tried to peer past Pellini. Larry drew in his stomach muscles, twisted his right hand hard against them and eased it up slightly inside the rope. When the time came, he would have it free.

  And here was a new angle on Vivian Knapp. He couldn’t see her beyond Pellini and he turned his head to look out the side opening. A movement out there caught his eye.

  He supposed it was the girl, but a moment later he saw a man’s figure slide stealthily from one tree to another not far from the main house. He was not advancing toward them, but along the side of the house. As he watched, a second figure followed the first.

  “What are you lookin’ at, guy?” the man at Larry’s left asked in a hoarse whisper. Then he turned his head. “What the hell is that?”

  Pellini suddenly ducked to one side of the doorway. Then Larry saw the girl walking straight toward them, though still some distance away. He flashed a glance to the side. The two men had started to run, They were making for the girl, their footfalls soundless on the grass. Larry drew in a breath.

  “Look out!” he yelled. A hand slammed over his mouth. The pistol dug viciously into his side.

  “One more peep, big feller,” the man on his left snarled, “an’ I’ll spill your guts!”

  The hand was still over his mouth, the fingers digging into his cheeks. That didn’t bother him; the gun in his side did! He eased his right hand farther; it was almost free, but the pistol was boring into him. He had to stand there and watch, while the two men bore down on the girl, who hadn’t heard them. She knew nothing of their approach until a hand clapped over her mouth and arms closed roughly about her, stopping her frantic struggles almost as they began.

  It was the work of seconds. The light wasn’t strong but Larry could see a cloth whipped about her face, her arms bound. Then the men lifted her and bore her swiftly back through the trees, probably to the car he had faintly heard.

  Pellini chuckled in the darkness. His step came nearer them.

  “Just like we’d ordered it,” he said.

  “What’s the play, Pellini?” the man with the gun on Larry asked.

  “Simple, Nick. They’ve taken her to play against what this guy’s brought us.” He laughed, low. “A gal against five hundred grand. The boss don’t hold her that high, an’ she’ll turn up somewhere missin’ in the morning, with her throat cut from ear to ear. Those guys ain’t foolin’. They got Otto’s killin’ against ’em, and two or three more won’t matter.”

  “And we ain’t neither,” Nick told him with an oath.

  “You bet we ain’t,” Pellini confirmed. “Coupla minutes more an’ this guy’ll give us the works or he’ll take it like the gal. This is playin’ pretty—right into our hands.”

  “Think so?” a low voice mocked him from just outside the opening. “Get ’em up, you rats!”

  The gun whisked away from Larry’s back and blazed into the outside dark. Larry acted as swiftly. His right hand came free and swung viciously at the man on his right. His fist connected solidly. Larry went on with the blow, low down on hands and knees and scrambled toward the farther side of the house. A gun exploded behind him! He heard the bullet thud into the wall above his head before other guns were banging.

  Then a stuttering roar broke out from the rear doorway, drowning out the cra
shing pistols, silencing them one after the other as a machine gun weaved back and forth blasting the huddled men. Larry didn’t need that to drive him. With his right arm free to balance him, he swung over the low sill of the opening and dropped to the ground.

  With the tommy gun chattering its song of death, he crawled at frantic speed to the nearest tree, got half erect behind it and ran as he had never run before. His left arm was still bound, but that hampered him little. He was concerned alone with speed and keeping some trunk between himself and the charnel of a summerhouse with its spewing lead. But the trees were few, and the distance to the wall ahead was greater than he could wish.

  The tommy gun ceased its burst for a moment. Dodging, Larry risked a glance backward, hearing the shouting of hoarse voices, then seeing a flashlight sweeping the inside of the low building. At once, there was a louder yell, words that had his name. The answer came swiftly. Bark chipped from a tree he was swinging around. The machine gun had started again! Bullets raked about, whipping through the leaves of shrubs that clung to his churning legs, thudding into solid wood, spanging against the rock wall beyond, leaving a breath against his cheek!

  He zigzagged, diving from one tree to the next, running with his right hand almost trailing the ground. He swung toward the water side and the greater darkness there. Then, as the tommy stopped for a moment, a pistol crashed from the general direction of the boathouse. He heard feet crashing through the shrubbery, and he turned in his stride and made straight for the wall.

  Larry got close to it, and lead came in an endless rain, spattering against the rocks. He weaved away from their pattern, dropped flat into the shadow of the wall’s base and worked along as best he could toward a thick shrub that grew close, seeking only the protection of its darkness. The machine gun’s bullets sought the opposite direction, then came back at foot-width spaces—closer, closer, creeping up on him fast.

  Larry leaped over the wall, letting his knees bend under him as he landed, and as a pistol crashed down along the wall the bullet sped just over his head. He spun and ran again, zigzagging, making for a roadway at the head of the grounds. The tommy gun had stopped, but three more bullets from the pistol sought him out—slow, careful shots with one cutting the flesh of his bound left arm.

  Before he made the roadway, he heard the roar of a speeding motor on the other side of the grounds. It came louder as it passed Jerome Knapp’s big house. Larry stopped, waiting, crouched low; then the car turned cityward. The sound faded and he became aware of voices, the screaming of women in fright, the hoarser cries of men.

  Larry rose slowly, looking about, not so much to see anything as to decide which way he should go. He thought of the speedboat, turning in that direction; then it occurred to him that the man with the pistol had not been given time to reach the car. As he hesitated, the unmistakable puttering of the motor boat sent him around to try his luck at hitch hiking. It seemed his only chance.

  With the idea of geting away from that immediate vicinity, first, he hustled toward the main roadway, rounded a smartly trimmed hedge and smacked into a stout policeman, nightstick out, running heavily but silently on rubber-soled shoes. They collided and the big officer’s free arm went around Larry’s shoulders and stayed there. His eyes went to the rope from which Larry had not yet been able to free himself. The grip tightened.

  “Scrammin’ from that shindig, eh? Robbery, huh? And caught right at it. Say, what the hell was the battle anyway?”

  There was no help for it. He was caught.

  “You’re wasting time, officer; Jerome Knapp’s niece has been kidnaped. You want to get out the alarm fast.”

  “Do I now? You couldn’t be lyin’ by any chance?”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Larry erred in his exasperation. “The car went toward the city not two minutes ago.”

  “And what kind of car was it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see it; I heard it. And I saw Vivian Knapp grabbed by two men and carried over to where the car started from. Get a move on!”

  “Yeah? And what were you doin’ so handy you could see all them things?”

  “Oh, hell! I was dodging bullets, if you must know. Aren’t you going to get out that alarm? There’s a chance to stop them now; there won’t be later.”

  A light shone in the policeman’s eyes, a bright light of sudden understanding.

  “And I’m thinking you can tell us where they’ve taken her—if she has been taken at all. Come on, now. We’ll go along to the station.”

  Larry twisted in the grasp that grew tighter. The nightstick came into obvious sight.

  “You can’t do that,” he protested. “I was almost a victim as much as she. And you’re wasting valuable time. Why the hell can’t you understand it? You’ve got to get that alarm out!”

  “Oh, I can’t, eh?” the officer said to the first protest, ignoring the rest.

  Larry considered. If he’d had two hands free, he would have risked it, night stick and all. He’d stopped bigger men.

  “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s hurry.”

  “ ’Tis only a couple of blocks, my lad. And you’d better be savin’ your breath for the story you’ll no doubt be tellin’.”

  “And I’m telling you,” Larry said wrathfully, “you’ll have some explaining to do for letting them get away after I’ve warned you.”

  “I’m thinkin’,” the officer said, giving up the attempt to match his step to Larry’s long stride, “you’ve enough to worry about on your own account without botherin’ over me.”

  Larry was inclined to agree with him; yet at that moment the plight of Vivian Knapp was foremost in his mind.

  CHAPTER V.

  ACCUSED!

  The small suburban station was empty except for a man behind a tall desk, working frantically at the telephone. Larry jerked his head toward him.

  “Cut in and get that alarm going,” he said.

  The stout officer led him to a door, opened it and shoved him into a small office with a desk, swivel chair and one other. He closed the door behind him. He severed Larry’s bonds with a pocketknife and cuffed his wrists. Then he pulled out the plain chair and seated himself with a little grunt of satisfaction. Larry dropped into the swivel and reached for the phone.

  The nightstick rapped his wrist.

  “You’ll be leavin’ that alone.”

  “I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  “You can tell the chief that.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, man, aren’t you going to do anything?”

  The stout policeman smiled complacently.

  “I’m doing very fine, thanks.”

  Larry leaned back hopelessly. Then thoughts of his own situation tumbled upon him. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, then twenty.

  The door came open swiftly but quietly. A solidly built man with a round, dark face and alert, inscrutable eyes, came in and closed the door softly behind him.

  “I’ve never seen such a mess,” he said. “Three men cut to ribbons and the place a shambles. What you got here, Mahoney?”

  The stout policeman came importantly to his feet.

  “Just the lad we want, chief. Nabbed him at the corner of Knapp’s—runnin’ away—and brought him in.”

  “Listen, chief,” Larry cut in. “Vivian Knapp has been kidnaped. She was grabbed and carried off in a car that turned toward the city. I’ve been trying for the last half-hour to get this nitwit to put out the alarm.”

  The chief turned slowly toward Mahoney’s blazing-red face.

  “Outside, Mahoney. If I don’t call you in fifteen minutes go down and patrol the Knapp place. Send Schlesinger in.”

  The stout policeman gave Larry a baleful look, tossed the key to the handcuffs on the desk and went out. A wiry man came in, walked over to sit on the window ledge and fixed sharp black eyes on Larry. Larry started to get up, but the chief waved him back.

  “What’s your story?” he asked quietly.

  “I’ll tell it gladly,” Larry
said, “if you will let me call my lawyer.”

  “Sure—sure! But give us the story first.”

  “Won’t you get that alarm out?” Larry begged him.

  “I put it out from the house. Did you see the men who took her?”

  “I didn’t see anyone except figures. Too dark.”

  “All right. Shoot!”

  “I had a date with Miss Knapp,” Larry began. “For some reason, she didn’t want her uncle to know that I was coming, and she asked me to meet her in the summerhouse.” They listened to the end in silence, and then said nothing.

  “Can I call my lawyer, now?” Larry asked.

  The chief nodded. “You haven’t told us your name,” he said, as if offhand.

  “Let me speak to him first.”

  He put in a call for David Hollister’s home and while waiting, turned his head to the chief. “What did Jerome Knapp say?”

  “We haven’t located Jerome Knapp, yet,” the chief said slowly.

  David Hollister’s grave voice sounded on the wire.

  “Were you able to find that information?” Larry asked him.

  “Young man,” Hollister came back severely, “you will have to put yourself in my hands from this moment on.”

  “But the information?”

  “All in good time. Do you agree?”

  “I guess I’ll have to, if you hold out on me.”

  “Very well. Then meet me as soon as possible at—” He added the address.

  “But that’s the district attorney’s home!” Larry blurted.

  “Exactly! I have spoken with him. He will give you all the consideration warranted, after listening to you.”

  “But I can’t go until I have more information; my story is incomplete.”

  “Meet me there immediately. This is a homicide matter.”

  “Wait a minute.” Larry swung around to the chief. “Will you have me taken to the D.A.’s house?”