CHAPTER III: STRATEGY
At Syndicate Park, the end of the line, Cates swung off the car. The park glittered with hundreds of colored lights, people sauntered about laughing and talking, and through the trees sounded a male voice singing nasally to the tempo of a dance band:
“I wanna be loved by you, by you and nobody else but you,
I wanna be kissed by you alone.”
It was coming from the Salon Quintesse. Perhaps tonight Big Ed would be here celebrating his release from “stir.” Cates walked to a spot near some chauffeurs who were watching the gay crowd inside the hall. He had no especial plan of action, save to trail Big Ed constantly.
Sooner or later, Cates reflected, the gangster would pull a fast one. Cates wanted to be at hand when that happened.
Now and then hard-faced men strolled through the grounds, but they gave not a second glance to the small, inoffensive young man who stood looking through the big windows.
Young men like that were common outside the Salon Quintesse, drawn there by a wistful desire to listen to the smashing jazz and enviously to watch the dancers.
The music stopped. Cates could see the dancers going to their tables. A hum of conversation sounded. A woman’s silvery laugh rose above the tuning of a soprano saxophone. No one seemed to know that the life of a radio cop had been threatened. Had they known they would not have cared. Things are that way in places like the Salon Quintesse.
The music started up again with a preliminary tinkle of a piano. Now some one had appeared from the entertainer’s room and was dancing. It was a girl, small and exquisite.
Dave Cates edged nearer the window, and started violently as he saw her face. Smiling radiantly, dipping, whirling, gliding, the dancer was none other than the girl who had kissed him.
“Well, I’ll be a seagoing brook trout!” murmured Cates.
His first thought was that she was connected with Big Ed Margolo’s gang. Paid entertainers and gangsters frequently run together. Then he dismissed the thought as unworthy. Had she been connected in any way with Margolo she would not have risked her life to save some one she didn’t know.
On the other hand, how had she known about the “ride”? And why hadn’t Fiske shot? Doubts beset the radio cop; doubts that increased when he realized it was not a certainty that Margolo had ordered his death.
Frowning, Cates watched the girl float about the room as effortlessly as a bit of down caught up by a vagrant breeze. Lovely, fascinating!
Dave Cates sighed, and his mouth twisted into a sad little grin. No sense in letting the ideal blossom over her. It would only fade and die if he did. She was a little princess of terpsichore and he was just a police radio announcer with a face that only a mother could love.
Some one was standing by his side. He glanced indifferently around and beheld the youth of the street car.
“Say, d’you know Mr. Margolo when you see him?” the boy inquired.
Dave Cates was on his guard instantly. “Suppose I do?” he demanded.
“Well, it’s this way.” Plainly the boy was flustered. “I—I—say, you work for him, don’t you?”
Cates took a moment before replying. “Maybe.”
“I thought so. Knew I’d seen you with Slim Fiske.” The boy sighed, relieved. “I’m to start drivin’ for Mr. Margolo next week,” he announced importantly.
“Yeh?”
“That’s right. One of his men hired me. Me, I ain’t never seen him, and I thought if you’d point him out I’d see if he’d come through with a little advance pay. I’m broke flatter’n a flounder.”
The nimble brain of Officer Cates digested this. So Margolo had made the mistake of hiring a driver who liked to give information about himself. This information was valuable.
Cates smiled. “I see, kid,” he said. “Now if I were you I’d let Ed alone tonight. He’s in there all right, but I wouldn’t bother him.”
“But I gotta eat,” said the boy desperately. “I used my last nickel for car fare out here.”
The radio cop chewed at his lower lip. “That’s tough, kid,” he sympathized. “I’ve been that way myself. Tell you what I’ll do. I got ten bucks I can spare till you get your first pay from Ed. But don’t say anything to Ed about it because he don’t like to be bothered with such things. You get me, don’t you?”
Cates drew a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it over.
“Say, there ain’t nothing wrong with you!” declared the youth warmly. “Don’t worry, I won’t say nothin’ to Ed.”
Alone, Cates grinned, confident that no one of the men from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation could have handled the matter any better. At least he had provided an entering wedge to the Margolo gang, even if he didn’t know just how he could use it.
His alert eyes sparkled. There was a real kick in this kind of business, entirely different from standing before a microphone and relaying messages.
Still there was pity mingled with his satisfaction. That boy had no business driving for Big Ed Margolo. But perhaps he had been compelled to take the first job offered.
Dave Cates determined to keep an eye on him. “The kid looked hungry,” was his thought, “and hunger has made many a crook. Maybe if I can nab Margolo in time, the kid won’t have any record against him.”
He cast a glance at the Salon Quintesse, turned and walked to the car line.
Those who expected to see Margolo make immediate war upon Red McGuirk were disappointed. Never had the gangster been so quiet. With his inactivity, the percentage of crime in the city dropped until a pedestrian could stroll the streets with comparative safety. The general public reached the conclusion that Margolo’s recent trial had shaken his nerve. Not so the police.
“It’s only the calm before the storm,” observed Captain Henessey. “When Margolo gets under way he’ll raise more hell than ever. I’ve seen these birds before and I know.”
Nightly, Dave Cates stood before the microphone, talking to the world. No more attempts were made upon his life, but he wasn’t fooled by that. Eventually the gunmen would seek him out again. He’d have to get them before they got him.
Each night after the broadcast he went in search of Big Ed Margolo. Everywhere the gangster went, he was followed by a little man with pulled-down cap and turned-up coat collar.
Cates’ size alone probably saved him. The torpedoes who “covered” Margolo never paid any attention to him. It is doubtful if they noticed him.
One evening, Margolo came out of his apartment and summoned a taxi. Dave Cates, lurking in the shadows half a block away, took the next taxi along. Margolo drove to an old house out on River Street, far from the business district. When he came out of the house, he tried a key in the door. Apparently satisfied, he rejoined his companions and the taxi drove off.
Dave Cates had a sudden hunch. He took the number of the house, and ordered his driver back to the city. Two blocks from police headquarters he alighted. Not even a taxi driver should know that he was in any way connected with the police.
With all the enthusiasm of a terrier puppy he burst in upon Captain Henessey.
“Margolo has just rented a house out on River Street,” Cates said rapidly. “Don’t know what he’s going to do, but it’s a cinch he didn’t rent the place to live in. Now listen, captain. There’s an old vacant garage out back of the place. Can’t I have a microphone put up in there?”
Captain Henessey studied the eager face. “What do you want to do—commit suicide?” he asked finally.
“Nobody’ll get wise,” the radio cop declared. “Honest they won’t. There’s a back entrance to the garage where I can go in and out, and I can have the lights dimmed so nobody’ll notice. It’s the chance of a lifetime to keep an eye on this guy, and maybe something good will break.”
Cates’ eyes gleamed as he warmed to his theme. “Suppose Margolo should pull something funny while I happened to be at the mike? It wouldn’t be so tough, would it? Sure, and I can broadcast there just as well as anywhere. Furthermore⸺”
Captain Henessey raised both hands. “Shut up!” he roared. “Do you think I’ve nothing to do but listen to you talk? Get out of here, and I’ll see what can be done about it with the commissioners.”