Doors of the Night

by Frank L. Packard

The old hag stared at him for a moment in silence, as she dug again at her dishevelled locks.

“Youse dirty little runt!” She found her voice at last, and in spite of her scowl there was a grudging note of admiration in her tones. “Youse are pretty slick, ain’t youse?”

“Sure!” admitted the Cherub imperturbably. “If I wasn’t, youse wouldn’t have a hundred dollars in yer kick now, an’ two hundred more comin’ to-morrow—if youse ain’t queered it fer yerself. Go on, give us de dope!”

Shaky Liz preened herself. She adjusted the threadbare bodice of her dress that seemed to bulge and sag uncomfortably, picked up her hat, and smirked at her audience.

“It’s all right!” She wagged her head secretively. “Youse don’t any of youse need to worry. When de Cherub pipes me off this afternoon dat de stunt is to be pulled to-night, I sends fer her as soon as he gets out of de way, an’ she comes on de run. She don’t suspect nothing, ’cause wid two weeks’ acquaintance she——”

“Can dat!” interrupted the Cherub politely. “We all knows dat fer two weeks youse an’ me has been gettin’ acquainted wid her, an’ feedin’ on her jellies, an’ dat I’m de errin’ child dat’s taken a shine to her an’ dat mabbe can be influenced fer good—if she tried hard enough. Wot did she say when she comes here dis evening?”

“Wot did she say?” repeated Shaky Liz, with a sudden and malicious grin. “Why, she falls fer it, of course! Wot d’ye expect? Me, I was lyin’ dere on de bed when she blows in. She asks me how I was, an’ I says I ain’t no worse dan usual, but dat it’s me young grandson dat’s troublin’ me, an’ how I ain’t got no one to tell it to except her, an’ how I dunno as I durst tell even her. An’ den she says I oughter know well enough dat I can trust her, an’ dat she won’t say nothin’, an’ den I gives her de spiel. I says I ain’t slept all de last night thinkin’ about it. I tells her it wouldn’t do no good me talkin’ to youse, ’cause I ain’t got any influence wid youse an’ she has, an’ besides dat I was afraid of Gypsy an’ Clarkie if dey got wise to me. An’ I tells her wot a good boy youse are, too, Cherub, an’ how though mabbe youse might be better it ain’t all yer fault ’cause youse’re easily led by bad company, but dat youse have stood by yer old grandmother. Savvy?”

“De one bright spot in me life,” said the Cherub sweetly, “is dat me own grandmother is dead, an’ don’t know de raw deal I’m handin’ her. She looked just like youse, too—not!”

Shaky Liz scowled.

“Youse close yer face!” she flung out. “I tells her dat me grandson has got pulled in by two of de toughest crooks in New York.” Shaky Liz’s scowl became a grin. “Dat’s youse, Clarkie, an’ youse, Gypsy. I tells her who youse are, an’ dat last night youse three was here, an’ dat youse all thought I was asleep, but dat I heard youse whisperin’ together, an’ dat Clarkie an’ Gypsy was persuadin’ me little boy to pull a trick down to Kegler’s dock on de East River, ’cause dey didn’t dare do it demselves on account of de police bein’ leery about dem ever since dey comes down from Sing Sing de last time. I tells her how I hears youse two crooks explainin’ dat Kegler’s got a bunch of coin in his safe to pay off some sand barges dat he had expected yesterday, but dat had got held up down de Sound, an’ dat instead of takin’ de money back to de bank he was lettin’ it rust in his box, knowin’ dat de barges’d be along de day after to-morrow, an’ dat youse had de combination of de safe, an’ de key to de front door, an’ dat dere wouldn’t be nobody around dere, an’ dat, anyway, nobody’d suspect me little lad, an’ dat he was to go down dere alone at ten o’clock to-night an’ make de haul, an’ den meet Clarkie an’ Gypsy uptown somewhere fer de split.”