Mugs Birdsong's Crime Academy

by Wheeler, Richard

  Mugs stabbed the last piece of pancake, and left. Pretty soon the old orphanage would shine. He was content. Life was perfect. He located The Rock Springs Tattler just off the business district, where the rent was cheaper.

  The editor proved to be a gray-haired woman, which might slow things down slightly.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  “You still pay for all printing and advertising,” she said.

  “I’m Mugs Birdsong. I think you ran some Wanted posters on me.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone wanting you,” she said.

  “I have a story for your paper.”

  “It better be good,” she said, “or out you go.”

  “I’ve taken over the orphanage. I’m starting the Mugs Birdsong College of Crime. Rock Springs will soon be the Crime Capital of the World.”

  “It already is, Mugs baby.”

  “No, not yet. We’ll have courses on assaulting women, purse snatching, mugging, bigamy, harem slavery, suicide, and the Mann Act.”

  “You’ll still have to pay for printing,” she said.

  “You put a notice in the paper, and print up an ad and send it to lawmen across the country, two hundred dollars for a one-month crime doctorate degree, plus room and board.”

  “Pay in advance, sweetheart.”

  “Tonight or tomorrow night?”

  She sighed sweetly. “You win, baby.”

  “I always pay my debts,” he said. “Be ready. They call me Swifty. What did you say your name is?”

  “Typhoid Mary, baby.”

  Mugs smiled, revealing the gap in his teeth where Jake Drink landed a long piece of lead pipe.

  “Whistle while you work,” he said, and exited.

  Good, another few tasks taken care of. It was such a fine day. Almost as good as being in the pen at Rawlins. The next step was some firearms. You couldn’t teach a doctoral course in crime without a few weapons. He headed for the Bull Moose Brothers Hardware, hoping to find a fine selection in the display cases. He knew exactly what he wanted. A snub-nosed small revolver, a shotgun, and a sniper rifle. Sure enough, there was a fine display on hand. Rock Springs was a law-abiding and safe town, so everyone was armed to the teeth.

  The proprietor hastened to the display case, eager to peddle his wares, but then he studied his customer and hesitated.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “You are?”

  “Mike Moose. No, sir, I have some scruples, you know. You’re the face in every post office in the nation. How many felonies is it now?”

  “I’d have to see the list, Moose baby. It reads like a Montgomery Ward catalogue. A few hundred. Seven jail terms. Eighty-nine hung juries. Twelve murders that go unsolved. A hundred-nine deflowered ladies. I’ve cost several states a few hundred thousand smackeroos in legal and custody expenses. And that’s all great news for Rock Springs. It’s going to be the Crime Capital of the World, and you’re going to like that. There’ll be people coming in here to buy these fine weapons, and you’ll hardly be able to keep them in stock. Now, I am looking for a garden-variety snub nose, a shotgun, and a long range rifle. They don’t have to be fancy. All that stuff about having just the right weapon, the right balance, the right make, the right action, the right holster— that’s just nothing but propaganda from hardware salesmen like you. The only thing that counts is reliability. Man, if it doesn’t shoot, I’ll come back here and shoot you.”

  “You don’t frighten me a bit.”

  “It’s for the Academy of Crime, bonehead. I need to teach my students how to employ each weapon. I’ll have rooms full of lawmen eager to learn from me. You expect me to teach them using toys?”

  “What academy of crime”

  “The Mugs Birdsong University of Crime, which will soon fill the old orphanage.”

  “You got references?”

  “You send a wire to Rawlins, and they’ll wire you straight up.”

  “How are you going to pay for these?”

  “You’re going to donate them to the university. Along with lots of blanks. We won’t be using live ammo. Just a ton of blanks. It’ll make your hardware store famous. The Bull Moose Hardware Store has donated weapons and cartridges to the academy.”

  “I’ll think about it, Birdsong.”

  “While you’re thinking, I want to look at that snub-nose there under glass.”

  Mike Moose reluctantly drew a little .38 from the counter and handed it to Mugs. Mug checked the action—nothing in the chambers—and pointed it straight at Moose.

  “I’d be grateful if you’d point that somewhere else,” Moose said.

  “It’s aimed straight at your cold heart. Mind if I try the action?”

  Moose was growing oddly quivery. And his armpits grew rank.

  “I’ll take this and that double-barreled Browning shotgun, and that excellent Winchester there, and you can supply a box of cartridges or shells for each.”

  Moose seemed to melt into a puddle. The snub-nose never wavered.

  “You’re robbing me,” Moose whispered. “Broad daylight, too.”

  “Is this gun loaded?”

  “Well, no, but robbing, that’s what you’re doing.”

  “How can I do that? It’s not loaded. We both know that. I could pull the trigger all day long and you’d be standing there safe and sound.”

  “It’s the . . . pressure you put on me, that’s what.”

  “When you give me the guns, I’ll write out a receipt. Then you’ll feel better.”

  Moose stood there mesmerized. Then something sagged, and he lifted the shotgun and rifle off the racks and laid them on the glass countertop.

  “Shells,” Mugs said. “Lots of shells.”

  Sighing sadly, Moose found a box of them for the revolver, a box for the rifle, and started to look for shotgun shells.

  “Double aught buckshot,” Mugs said. “Twelve gauge.”

  Moose sighed and mumbled, and laid the box beside the others.

  “Paper and nib?”

  Moose slowly supplied these.

  Mugs dipped the nib into the ink well and began scratching the receipt. It said, One revolver, one shotgun, one rifle, paid in full, Mugs Birdsong Academy of Crime.

  “Initial this,” Mugs said. “Right there.”

  Moose slowly added his initials, sighing and moaning the whole time. Mugs took the receipt, stuffed it into the breast pocket of his sleazy suit, then added the snub nose, and lifted the rifle, shotgun and shells.

  “Thanks, old pal. Rock Springs is gonna shine.”

  “I’m having a migraine,” Mike Moose said. “I think I’ll close up for the day.”

  “I’ll be back,” Mugs said. “The school’s going to need lots of things.”

  Chapter Three

  Mugs Birdsong could not remember a day of his life when he was unhappy. He always had everything he ever wanted. The whole world was ripe fruit, waiting to be plucked. He couldn’t understand people who were unhappy, and had concluded that something was wrong with them. How was it possible to be unhappy?

  Now the academy was all coming together nicely. He still hadn’t chosen a name, but maybe that was good. He might change the name from year to year, just to stay ahead of the tax collectors. But for the moment it would be the Mugs Birdsong Academy of Crime. He had an artisan, Marcus Boehm, build a gilded sign and mount it over the front door, and Mugs paid the artisan by protecting him from extortion.

  “If anyone bothers ya, lemme know,” he told Boehm. “He’ll never bother ya again.”

  The flyers went out across the country, and pretty soon the reservations came in. There were plenty of lawmen who wanted to learn all about crime from the world’s greatest expert. There were so many applications that Mugs hardly knew how to choose, so he arbitrarily selected twenty for the first term, because that was capacity, and stuffed the rest into the second and third terms. The fees piled up in the bank, and everyone was happy as could be. The academy was convenient. Lawmen
needed only to board a transcontinental train, and step off at Rock Springs and walk a short distance to the academy.

  But there were still loose ends. He could not teach the theory of bank robbery without a bank. Neither could he teach the theory of train robbery without an express car, and a whole train would work better, especially if one intended to rob passengers. But Mugs knew that he would soon have what he needed.

  He headed for the Union Bank of Rock Springs, and found its president, J. J. Jones, ensconced in a gilded rear office that was barricaded by a comely secretary, Miss Opal Luster.

  “Miss Luster, how you do shine this fine morning,” he said. “I’ve come to discuss theater with J. J.”

  He knew that anyone with two J’s in his name would be called J. J. And the last name would be forgotten.

  “Opals don’t shine, sir, they have luster.”

  “I’m a luster myself,” he said. “But I want to lay some stuff on your boss. I’m the arch-criminal Mugs Birdsong, just released from confinement. You can tell by the suit. It’s what they give you going out the door. I have some business with that gent in there. We’ll discuss some theater, as I say.”

  She gave him a flirty smile. Some women just like crooks, and she was one. “Well, I’ll go see,” she said.

  When she returned, she nodded blandly, and let him in.

  “Well, well, well,” said J. J. Jones. “I’ve been hearing about you.”

  “J. J., old pal, it’s like a reunion. I’ve come to talk about robbing your bank.”

  “I hear you’ve reformed, Mugs.”

  “Reformed? Reformed? Are you trying to rob me of my manhood?”

  “Well, I suppose you have a reputation to uphold,” the banker said.

  The man was as soft as chocolate mousse, but Mugs wouldn’t let that bother him.

  “You’ve heard about my academy of crime. In the orphanage. We’re getting cranked up for our first session. I’ve got twenty lawmen signed up, and if I don’t flunk them, they’ll have a Master’s Degree in Crime. I’ve got the Tattler printing up diplomas and a jail crew sweeping out the place.”

  “It sounds like a winner, Mugs.”

  “I’ll be teaching all the details. They need to know how to do a heist, get it? By the time I’m done with them, they’ll know everything I know, and be fully capable of the most horrendous crimes ever witnessed. Just look at my clippings if you doubt it. I’ve had the best press any criminal has ever seen in this republic.”

  “Makes sense, Mugs.”

  “J. J., we need a bank to rob, got it? It’s theater. I’ll show them how it’s done. I’ll show them where the horse holder should be, and what happens when a few hoods barge in here waving guns, and wanting your tellers to fill the sacks. Now, if this makes you nervous, you just lock up all your cash in the vault before we do the demonstration. You can even dismiss your tellers and we’ll use actors, if I can find any. Actors are a worthless lot. But it’d be best to use actual tellers, wetting their pants when they see the muzzle of a big old revolver aiming at their tonsils.”

  “Well, Mugs, we’ll be glad to help.”

  “I’ve signed up a mess of real fine sheriffs and all. A few old-timers and a few apprentices, this first time around. And I’m fishing for old Wyatt Earp and old Bat Masterson in the next session. Earp’s up in Alaska running a saloon, and Masterson’s writing horse racing stuff in New York. He’s getting a little wobbly on his pins, but he might be eager to learn, got it? I always say, go for the stars when you want to make a splash.”

  “Really? Legends of justice,” Jones said. “I’d be honored to have such splendid men even walk into my humble little bank. Why, they’re known from coast to coast.”

  “Yeah, J. J., we’ll do one of these bank heists with each session. We’ll also do a train robbery and a few other tidbits. Muggings, purse snatchings, extortion, white slavery, cruelty to animals, and so on. You don’t know where I can get a train, do you?”

  “I don’t have much pull with the Union Pacific, I’m afraid. A country banker like me. But I can give you a letter of recommendation.”

  “That’s all right, J. J. It would ruin me to be recommended by a banker. That’s like being turned into a soprano. My national reputation would suffer. The reason my academy is drawing lawmen is my reputation, so I take great care to polish it and nurture it and add to it daily. It’s my livelihood now.”

  “Well, for my money, you’re the all-time greatest crook we’ve ever seen, and that includes Billy the Kid, Mugs.”

  “J. J., we’re going to get along fine. I will let you know the date and time of the heist, and if you’re nervous about your cash, you just lock it up. And of course, we’ll be considerate of any customers in the place.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea, Mugs.”

  “I had the Tattler print up a card for me, and here it is. The lady at the Tattler and I have a warm and cheerful business arrangement.”

  “Very good, Mr. Birdsong. We’ll be in touch.”

  Mugs stepped into a fine day, with the dry breezes lifting his spirits. He meandered over to the orphanage, now the Academy of Crime, and noted the Orphan siding that had once enabled the orphanage to unload freight and foundlings within a few yards of the building. It would be perfect. The orphanage was an inspired choice. He beamed at everyone in town, and they in turn lifted their straw boaters as they passed, or averted their gaze demurely.

  Not far west of the orphanage was the Union Pacific Yard, where old crews finished up and new crews boarded the trains. It didn’t take Mugs long to figure out that everything was on hand for the first Crime Academy session. He needed an express car, and found two, plus a baggage car if he couldn’t get an express car. And up ahead was an engine yard and coaling station, where engines were coaled, greased, watered, and serviced. There were several spare locomotives around, which suited him just fine.

  He was looking over an express car when a railroad dick loomed before him.

  “Whatcha doing?” the dick asked.

  “Looking over an express car to rob,” Mugs said. “You think this one here would work?”

  “It ain’t easy to knock over an express car,” the dick said, chewing on the slimy remains of his cigar. The railroad dick was enjoying the encounter. He wore square-toed boots designed for ass-kicking, thick tan britches, a blue flannel shirt, black suspenders, and a battered black bowler. He had bright blue eyes, which now surveyed Mugs with increasing delight.

  “Well, well, well,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Wolfie,” Mugs said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “I hear you got a crime school up and running,” Wolfie said.

  “Yeah, and you can help me. I need an express car to knock over. And a locomotive. And maybe a caboose.”

  “Those ain’t easy to nip, Mugs baby.”

  “Here’s what you do, Wolfie. You get me everything I need to do railroad heists, and run into onto the Orphan siding. Just park all that stuff there. I won’t need the key to the express car; I’ll show them how to blow it open. A little powder in the right places, that door caves right in.”

  “Ain’t this a treat,” Wolfie said. ”Hey, Mugs, I want your autograph.”

  “My John Henry? I never got beyond printing in the sixth grade.”

  “You’re gonna sign, Mugs baby. I want ten autographed Wanted posters. I can sell them. I get people from all over the place wiring me. They want to know if they could buy a Mugs Birdsong dodger, especially signed. Big Money, Mugs. I can sell them for twenty clams apiece.”

  “You want to go into business, Wolfie? I sign the Wanted dodgers, and get two thirds, and you get a third.”

  “Naw, if you want an express car here, along with some steam, or a caboose, you gotta give me a mess of them dodgers, all signed by you. Do you know what you’re worth? Millions and millions. I could sell ten thousand Wanted posters for twenty clams, if you sign them.”

  “Well, cut me in and I’ll sign.”

&
nbsp; “Naw,” said Wolfie. “I’ll do the signing. I can sign your name better than I can sign my own. And you hardly know how to print letters.”

  For a moment, Mugs pondered the unruly universe. He’d been outmatched for once. It brought him a momentary sadness. But not for long.

  “You’re working for the Union Pacific, right? Here’s the deal. I’m running monthly courses in crime. So, six times a year, when I give you the word, you run an express car, engine and caboose onto my siding, and I’ll give you ten signed Mugs Birdsong Wanted posters. You’ll get rich, Wolfie.”

  “It’s a deal, Muggsy. But I want ten signed Wanted posters in advance.”

  “There’s something more I want, Wolfie. You married?”

  “Hell no. I own the town cat house.”

  “Well, that’ll work. I need a woman.”

  “We all do, Mugs.”

  “No, I mean for my classroom. I need to show how to snatch a woman for white slavery; you know, bind her up and get out and delivered. And I need a woman to teach purse snatching. And a woman when I teach pickpocketing. Picking a woman’s pocket ain’t the same as picking a man’s pocket. Stuff like that.”

  “Hell, I’ll sell you one, Mugs.”

  “Naw, but if you could send one over when I need one, you’d make a few dollars on it.”

  Things were sure looking good, Mugs thought. He still needed to line up a few more items. Rustling was a big topic, and he’d need to show the lawmen how to alter brands, how to maverick, how to slide stolen stock out of a county and into stock cars. Eastern lawmen might not be as interested in rustling as the locals. Maybe he should offer a rustling course only every other session.

  The Academy of Crime would open its doors in two days, and Mugs was almost ready. He could use an expert in tax dodging, moonshining, saloon fighting, and a few things like that, but he could teach any of those items. He had the experience but was better known as a bank robber. But a little publicity would fix that.

  Chapter Four

  Wolfie’s scheming bothered Mugs. The man might make a profit from Mugs’s own Wanted posters. That would be sad. He wanted all of the poster business; there was no sense sharing his image with anyone.