CHAPTER VI: VAST FORCE
All over the great city, desk sergeants and captains took their feet from their desks as they interpreted that message. Big Ed Margolo at 47 River Street with his assistants! Definite proof that they had shot and killed someone, presumably McGuirk! Act at once! Orders went ringing through big rooms, and reserve men rushed to obey. In five seconds, police cars were racing to River Street.
Having thrown this verbal bomb, Officer Cates went on talking, calmly outlining the sub-station reports that had come in to headquarters that day. Before he had finished, blue uniforms began creeping up on the house at 47 River Street to surround it, before closing in.
As he talked, the radio cop stared out of the little window that gave him a view of proceedings. Cates became tense as he saw a squad of men go to a side door and pound for admittance. There was no response, so Officer Jake Schmaltz kicked in the panels.
At the rear of the house, another squad smashed two windows. A gun cracked sharply—another—and the battle was on. All in a second the quiet of River Street was broken by yells, shots, and the smashing of furniture.
Then Dave Cates attained greatness. After a quick word of reassurance to the frightened girl, he rolled up his mental shirt sleeves and cut loose. Now he was not only a police announcer, but a news reporter, and the biggest story of the year was breaking right under his nose. As he described the scene, there was a ring in his voice that brought his listeners up wide-eyed.
“There’s a little squabble going on out here, folks, that you might be interested in. The police are making a raid on a River Street house, occupied by Big Ed Margolo, the gangster, and a number of his gunmen. Definite proof has been established that Margolo and three of his men just shot and killed Red McGuirk, chief of the opposing gang.
“Now they are shooting down there, and there’s plenty of noise—plenty! Those gun flashes in the dark are like lightning flashes. They’re pretty, but they’re bad. Oh, there comes a gunman running out of the house. He breaks through three officers who are covering the door and starts on the run for cover.
“Now the officers are chasing him, shooting as they go. He turns and fires back at them. There he goes down! One of the bullets got him—in the leg, I think. The officers had every right to shoot to kill, but they didn’t. Now they’re putting the cuffs on him.
“People are around here, but about all you can see of ’em is an occasional head showing from behind a tree or from around the corner of a building. They’re still shooting in the house, but not quite so much. Ah, there’s a siren—it must be the wagon coming up. Yes, and it’s coming fast, too, by the sound of it. Oh, boy, there’s plenty of action in this row, all right!”
He paused for breath. “Please stand by, folks. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He grinned at Anabelle Talbot, then went to the window to seek more details. Gee, if he could only be out in that scrap himself!
Absorbed as he was in the arrival of the patrol wagon, he failed to notice the man who crept around the corner of the house and paused, noting instantly the figure in the garage window.
Big Ed knew he had been framed by somebody, but he wasn’t sure by whom. That dim green glow that shaded the figure gave him suspicion. Big Ed knew something about radio. His teeth bared, and he moved toward the garage.
The radio cop was still standing at the window when Big Ed Margolo, automatic in hand, pushed the door noiselessly open. But Anabelle Talbot saw—saw the set, deadly expression on Margolo’s swarthy face, saw the glint of blue steel in his hand.
Horror made her motionless. Sudden danger sometimes will reveal many things. In the fractional part of a second Anabelle saw into her own heart and read correctly what was written there. Must she sit and see Dave killed because there was no way of warning him? She swallowed hard and lifted her white face to the heavens in agonized appeal, her lips moving.
Paralyzed vocal chords fought with the chains that bound them. Quick tears marked the terrific effort. Then the miracle happened, perhaps brought about by the working of the vast, beautiful force in a girl’s heart.
In the silence Miss Anabelle’s voice broke hysterically: “Dave! Oh, Dave!”
The radio cop whirled instantly and saw Margolo. Long practice before the mirror at headquarters brought its reward. Dave Cates dropped flat, his hand whipping to his left shoulder.
Crack!
Margolo’s automatic spat flame, but the bullet passed harmlessly over Cates’ head and thudded into the wall.
Boom!
Cates’ big police gun roared. Margolo spun around as the heavy slug ripped into his shoulder.
Like a flash Cates was upon the gangster. He knocked the automatic from his hand, and applied the cuffs. Adroitly he kicked Margolo’s feet from under him, and lowered the gangster to the floor.
“Oh, Dave!” faltered Miss Anabelle, one hand fluttering to her throat.
In a stride the little radio cop was beside her. He blinked, then caught up her hands and looked intently into her face.
“Holy pup!” he breathed, awed. “How’d you do it, honey? What happened?”
Now she was laughing and crying on his shoulder. “I—I don’t know, Dave. I just had to s-say something when I knew he was going to shoot.”
Officer Cates of the wave-length squad didn’t understand, but he was grateful, so grateful that he was inarticulate. The marvel of it was that the glow of reverence upon his freckled face made him almost handsome.
“Gee!” he said softly. “Gee!”
He didn’t quite know what to do. But the green light was still on, and from force of habit he moved nearer the microphone, holding Anabelle Talbot tightly in his arms. Deliriously happy, he knew not what words he spoke.
Consequently, for the next half hour, the cops in a dozen different sub-stations tore their hair and raved over a message they couldn’t fathom:
“Aw, say, honey! Don’t take on like that or I’ll be bawling, too! Honest, now, I love you like the dickens.”
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 15, 1929 issue of “Top-Notch” magazine.