“That’s that!” said Ernie approvingly, after the third man had gone. “The smart-aleck D.A. up in the Bronx is going to have something to guess about to-morrow.
“I’ve done the tire-slashing. Been doing it all week, and swiping tires and damaging paint jobs, and all that. The garages that have swung in line are doing a good business with short parking. But these guys” — Ernie spread the three receipts like a poker hand — “have been figuring on getting business without paying for it!
“There’s a lot of others feel the same way. Watch ‘em fall in line, now. It’s going to be easy for the sales talkers and the collectors. This is a smooth racket, Ben!”
Ernie pulled open a drawer in the desk and dropped the receipts in it. He locked the door through which his visitors had come and motioned to Big Ben to follow him. Ernie went to the door that led to the darkened rear of the garage.
“We’ll go out this way, Ben,” he said. “Nothing to do here until later. Come along. We’ll take in a movie.”
HE stopped abruptly as he opened the door. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and threw its rays through the empty space ahead. The glare revealed small piles of boxes and pieces of junk from old automobiles.
“What’s the idea, Ernie?” asked Big Ben, peering over the gangster’s shoulder.
“See anything?” whispered Ernie.
The flashlight caused strange, uncouth shadows as it turned here and there. They were like mammoth, ghostly shapes. The rays swept a corner of the room.
Ernie hesitated an instant as the light revealed a depth of blackness; then he turned the rays in another direction.