Before Larrigan’s mobsmen or the police who were near by had grasped the situation, Machine-gun McGinnis quietly packed up his typewriter, and left the premises.
Thus came the end of a fierce six-day fight.
Without their chief, Larrigan’s hoodlums scattered. The lesser mobs slipped into retirement. There was no one else to carry on.
Nick Savoli grinned when Machine-gun McGinnis came to report, with Brodie, the chauffeur.
The big shot had had a hectic week. His bullet-proof car had been plastered with gunfire. It had rolled away just in time to escape the explosion of a pineapple. A squad of automobiles had peppered the front of the Escadrille Apartments, but to no avail.
Now, at last, there was to be relief.
EXCEPT for the one futile attack by the passing automobiles, life had been comparatively quiet at the Escadrille. There were more gangsters than usual, and they were constantly on watch. But they had proven a protection rather than an attraction to lure rival mobs.
Everything had swung to Nick Savoli’s advantage, even though his ranks were depleted, and his organization had suffered. It was true that his peace plans had gone to naught. But his supremacy was on the verge of greater establishment.
From the smoking ruins of the underworld, he could gain the opportunity to set up a new and more powerful kingdom.
Yet events were in a critical stage. Any unexpected incident might cause a complete crash. Nick Savoli realized this, and so did Mike Borrango. They knew the insecurity of their position. Between combats with rival mobs and conflicts with the police, the big shot’s system had been taxed to the breaking point. But for the death of Larrigan, the emperor would have lost his throne.