The exciting events at the apartment of Arnold Bodine had made it hot for Dave Markan. He had ordered the death of the big shot. He had an alibi. Ordinarily it would have held. But now it was subject to fire.
It was obvious that the police would have to round up any one who might be connected with the affair, purely because the trail might lead to Double Z. That, in itself, was trouble enough for Markan.
But he was in wrong elsewhere. The underworld was seeing red. Markan’s mob was growling at their chief’s slip. It was rumored that Arnold Bodine’s bodyguards would not let the death go unavenged.
There was talk of a fund established secretly by Bodine.
In the event that the big shot was murdered, so the tale went, a certain lawyer would pay a large sum to the man who killed the murderer.
When the underworld said that gunners were out to get Markan, the underworld meant that very thing.
Under all this pressure, Dave Markan showed a yellow streak.
He fled from the city. He had planned too boldly. He feared his own mob, Bodine’s killers, and the police.
Jake Dermott assumed control of the leaderless mob. His apprehension had been changed to realization.
Jake was on top of the world. He prided himself upon his secret allegiance to Double Z.