“Which means—”
“That you’re through, Yellow!
“Tonight ain’t the first trouble I’ve had. Somebody’s been trying to chisel in on my racket. Telling the suckers to lay off me.
“I’ve got the goods on this guy Marsland. He’ll be working for more than that one grand a week. He’ll be doing what I tell him, so he can keep out of the Big House! Get me? He’s the guy that I want!
“There’s only one man that can keep this racket of mine going, and that’s myself! With the right guy working with me, it’s going to be bigger than ever!
“Tim Waldron knows his own racket, and when he finds a guy that’s yellow, like Ernie Shires, he—”
The sentence was never completed. As Waldron leaned toward the desk, Shires suspected something in his action.
Like a flash, Ernie’s hand came from beneath his coat. His arm shot forward, and the muzzle of his automatic was buried against Waldron’s body. There were two muffled reports. The storage racketeer sprawled forward upon the desk.
Ernie Shires laughed sullenly. He thrust his automatic into his pocket. Then, as an afterthought, he withdrew the weapon, wiped the handle, and dropped it on the table beside Waldron’s body.
“So you’ve got your gorillas!” he said, in a low, sarcastic tone, addressing the inert form of the racketeer. “That’s why there were some new mugs in the lobby tonight!