Speedy (Holman)/Chapter 13
For the first time within his memory, Speedy did not sleep well that night. Always previously, job or no job, in trouble or out of it, he had been able to slip into blissful unconsciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow and remain thus until the battered alarm clock on the chair beside his iron bed shrilled the waking hour. But during the night following the Battle of De Lacey Street he lay wide awake, his brain packed with confused thoughts and his body tossing, for hours.
Speedy had a shrewd idea that he was not through with Carter and his gangster confederates, that, in fact, his troubles were but fairly under way. He could not believe that an unscrupulous fellow like Carter and born battlers like the Callahanites would be deterred by the temporary setback they had suffered that day. Carter evidently had a deep and determined purpose behind his vicarious efforts to prevent the Crosstown Railways' veteran rolling stock from making its daily journey.
It was Speedy's guess that no more attempts would be made to render the old horse car hors de combat by strong-arm tactics. In fact Johnny Burke, the policeman, had promised to "buzz the lieutenant to send down a couple of other strong lads, like meself, hungry for trouble so that the next times them bozos come snoopin' around we can give them a real welcome." Doubtless this intelligence had already been flashed to Carter's headquarters. No, Speedy was convinced, Carter's next move would be of a subtler character and hence more to be feared.
Speedy was not afraid. He would glory in another open battle. But he did not fancy possible strategy in the dark on the part of his shrewd antagonist. He had a vague feeling that somehow Jane was in danger, that, while he was away on the car, Carter's cohorts might do something to her. He wished Pop Dillon was back. He had had no answer to his wire to Pop and he was worried. If Pop were there to look after Jane, then Speedy could go out to do battle with a light heart.
Moreover, Pop's wise head would be useful. The old man was nobody's fool. He was a seasoned veteran of many a rough and tumble battle. What was detaining him up there in Connecticut? Had something sinister happened to him at the hands of Carter's agents? Speedy thought of sending Jane up to find out. No, that wouldn't do. She might be walking into a trap.
Amid these confused and troubled thoughts Speedy worked out one resolution. He would make at least one trip with the car as early as possible the next morning. Then he would travel uptown, see a responsible official of the Inter-City Railways and frankly ask them if they were interested in acquiring the Crosstown franchise. If by any chance they were, he would secure their offer and wire it to Pop Dillon with a strong demand that Pop either accept or decline by wire or return to town to investigate the matter in person. If the Inter-City people professed ignorance of any development lately in connection with the Crosstown franchise, Speedy would go to other traction companies.
That much of his future course having been settled, Speedy, tired of mind and sore of body, fell into a doze. He suddenly awoke about four o'clock in the morning to find himself on his knees in bed lustily pummeling away at his pillow with both fists! In his sleep he was again fighting Callahanites. It was the first time in his life he had ever been afflicted with a semblance of nightmare and he grinned foolishly to himself in the dark as he crawled back under the sheets and fell asleep again. In what seemed to be the next minute his alarm clock merrily rang out and, scarcely rested at all, he got out of bed and started to dress.
Jane had again spent the night with the Ryans, and Speedy had accepted an invitation there for breakfast. The ample family, together with Jane, were eating when he arrived.
"Well, if it ain't Battling Speedy, the Boy Bandit Eater," sang out Danny as loudly as he could manage with a mouth full of oatmeal. "We thought you were going to sleep all day after your roughhouse."
"Nothing doing," smiled Speedy. "There's plenty of work to be done yet, Danny."
He slid into the vacant chair beside Jane indicated by Ma Ryan. The younger Ryans gazed at him in awed admiration, having learned already of his exploits of the previous day from the neighbors.
Jane greeted him with a pleasant good morning. The sun was shining outside. Despite his lack of sleep, Speedy began to feel better. The world was going on about as usual, and maybe after all Carter had given up the fight.
"You haven't heard from Pop, have you?" Speedy asked Jane.
She shook her head with a troubled frown.
"Well, that's all right," soothed Speedy. "Probably he's resting comfortably and knows we can handle everything all right."
"Oh, do you think there will be more trouble?" asked Jane.
"No—no, they're licked," Speedy assured her with a confidence he himself did not feel.
"You always got to look out for them slicked-down fellers like this Carter," Ma Ryan opined. "I knew he was a bad one from the time he landed in the neighborhood. Though how he runs around with that Callahan gang beats me."
"Anybody can hire that bunch for a few bucks a head," offered Danny, wiping his full red lips with a napkin preparatory to dashing off to his job. "I remember when we were fighting the Royal Scarlet taxicab people, they hired the Callahan gang to run us off the streets. They're bad eggs."
Danny had hardly gone out of the front door when the bell rang. Daisy answered the summons. The breakfasters heard her conversing with a male voice and the door shut.
"Mr. Carter is out there in the hall and he wants to talk to Jane," Daisy announced when she returned to the kitchen. The table was instantly filled with interested, questioning faces, Jane hesitated, uncertainly.
"We'll both talk to him," said Speedy. Jane and he arose.
Carter was waiting nonchalantly, hands in pocket, in the narrow Ryan hall. A flicker of annoyance passed over his smooth face as he noticed that Speedy was with Jane. But he greeted them both with a cheerful "Good morning."
"I didn't think you'd have the nerve to show up around here again, after yesterday," Speedy began belligerently.
"I don't know what you mean," said Carter in feigned surprise.
"Oh, yes, you do. You hired the Callahans and their mugs to put me and the car out of business yesterday. But it didn't work. I saw you in a taxicab watching the fight—from a safe distance."
Carter was confused for an instant by this direct accusation. Then, knowing that Speedy could not positively prove anything, he recovered.
"I understand you had a little trouble yesterday, Swift," he went on smoothly. "It's evidently affected your head."
"My head's all right," Speedy retorted grimly. "But some of your little playmates, the Callahans, probably have headaches this morning."
Carter ignored Speedy and turned to Jane.
"I really came here to see you, Miss Dillon," he said pleasantly. "I heard you were stopping here with the Ryans in the absence of your grandfather. Contrary to this man Swift's crazy accusations, I was downtown in Wall Street during the fracas yesterday. But I heard about it. It must have disturbed you very much. It's lucky your grandfather was away. If he had been mixed up in it, in his weakened condition, it might have affected him very badly. If this trouble continues after he comes home, it's liable to undo all the good his rest has been to him and have some very serious results. So Dr. Mason told me last night.
"Knowing that, and with your welfare and his in mind, I went last night to the man who once said he would pay $1,000 for the Crosstown franchise, an offer which I transmitted to your grandfather and which he very foolishly refused. I asked this man as a personal favor to me to renew the offer. I am very happy to say that I persuaded him to agree. Your grandfather left the car line in your charge during his absence and I am here this morning to offer you $1,000 for the franchise. I even have a preliminary agreement there that you can sign. Your grandfather can sign the final papers later. I ask you, for the sake of your grandfather's health—it may be even a matter of life and death—to seize this opportunity not only to preserve his peace of mind but to make a shrewd business deal in securing $1,000 for a property that everybody knows is worthless."
Jane looked troubled and uncertain. She was used to believing people. She had had no experience with unscrupulous, prevaricating males. And Carter had spoken so very convincingly, so politely.
"I don't want to alarm you, Miss Dillon," he went on in a slightly more urgent voice, "but I have heard rumors that there is liable to be more trouble in connection with the Crosstown Railways. The next time it will not be trouble that your friend Swift and his Coxey's Army will be able to settle. Nor will Mr. Burke and his stalwart bluecoats be of much assistance either."
"Is that a threat or a promise?" asked Speedy sharply.
"Neither—it's a prophecy," said Carter.
Speedy took a step toward the sneering Carter and thrust out his chin.
"Whatever it is," almost shouted Speedy, "Jane is not going to fall for any of your bullying or your dirty work or your phoney offers for the franchise. There's somebody bigger and straighter than you after this franchise and probably you're trying to double-cross them as well as us. I propose to find out who it is and, when I do, we may do business with them and we may not. But, whatever happens, we won't accept any of your offers. We wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pole. Meantime, if there's trouble, we'll face it and lick it just as we did yesterday. So run along now back to your gunmen and report nothing doing."
"Where do you get that 'we' stuff?" sneered Carter. "I thought Miss Dillon was the boss and you were the stable boy. Isn't that right, Miss Dillon?"
Jane's spirit came to the fore suddenly with a rush.
"I agree with Speedy," she said. "You'd better go."
"And quick!" roared Speedy, clenching his fists and showing signs of letting one of them fly.
Carter looked from one to the other, his suavity falling away and a cloud of dark hostility covering his face. His black eyes narrowed. He backed away toward the door.
"All right, I'm going," he snapped. "But both of you will regret this to your dying days. If you think I'm through yet, you're very much mistaken. In fact, you're going to have a big surprise before you're an hour older!"
As the door shut behind him, Speedy and Jane looked at each other in some apprehension. Big as had been Speedy's words and brave as had been Jane's support of them, Carter's vehemently uttered threat had its effect. He was quite evidently a dangerous man who would stop at nothing. From now on, he had indicated, all scruples were off and it was open warfare.
"I wonder what he meant by a 'big surprise before you're an hour older'?" Jane asked anxiously.
"Probably just a big bluff," answered Speedy, but not with any strong conviction.
"He's a bad man," said Jane. "Oh, I wish I had never seen or talked to him. And what a fool I was to let him send grandfather away! Something must have happened to him. Oh, Speedy, what shall we do?"
She looked ready to cry. Speedy patted her shoulder.
"Don't worry," he reassured her. "If we don't hear from Pop today, you can hop on a train tomorrow and find out what's the matter. It's probably nothing. It's an out-of-the-way place and maybe he never got my wire. There's no telegraph station in the town. The messages are delivered by a boy on a bicycle, the lady in the telegraph place said when I sent the wire."
Speedy was more anxious than ever now to get down to the car barn and at his day's work. Both Jane and he were too excited to eat any more breakfast. They returned to the kitchen for a moment to thank Ma Ryan, leaving that worthy matron in a fine fret of curiosity because they would not take time to give a detailed report of the reason for Mr. Carter's early morning call and what had happened.
King Tut, Harold's shaggy little dog, had been waiting for him outside on the Ryan front porch. He looked up quizzically as Jane and Speedy hurried out and, ears and eyes alert as if he knew something important was in the wind, trotted after them as they walked rapidly down the street.
On the way down De Lacey Street, several of Speedy's fighting comrades of the previous day, now engaged in opening their places of business for the morning trade, greeted him.
"What's your hurry? Don't look like rain today, does it, Speedy?" bantered robust Barnett, the butcher.
But Speedy did not smile in his usual carefree way. He just shook his head noncommittally and strode on.
Everything looked as peaceful as usual at the little car barn when they could see it half a block away. But as they approached the big swinging doors, Speedy let out an exclamation of surprise. The padlock on the doors had been smashed! An intruder—or many of them—had visited the barn sometime between the exodus from the meeting the night before and dawn.
Without inspecting the broken lock closely, Speedy at once flung the doors open and hastened in, followed by Jane and King Tut. Here another bewildering surprise awaited them.
Pop Dillon's horse car was not there! It had disappeared utterly and mysteriously.
"Why—Harold—it's gone," gasped Jane, clutching at his arm.
Speedy's answer was to rush over to Nellie's stall and look in.
Nellie was gone too!
"Golly, they did do it—just as I feared," exclaimed Speedy. "That's what Carter meant by his 'big surprise within an hour.' They've stolen Nellie and the car. If they can keep them hidden for twenty-four hours, we're licked. I didn't think they had the nerve!"
King Tut, who always took a particular delight in barking a friendly good morning at Nellie's hoofs each day, trotted out of the stall with a crestfallen and disappointed air.
"Wha-at are we going to do now, Harold? Oh, I wish granddad were here," almost sobbed Jane.
"So do I. But he couldn't do anything," replied Speedy. He thought rapidly for a moment. Something would have to be done, and done quickly. He threw back his head and announced, "I'm going to get that car back if I have to tear this town apart. They haven't had time to dispose of it yet. They've hidden the car and Nellie somewhere. I'll find them. First I'll do a little detective business where I think it will do the most good."
Jane, with the true Dillon spunk, had recovered her composure.
"I'll go with you," she said bravely.
"No, Jane—please," pleaded Speedy. "There's liable to be some rough work. You can't possibly do any good and you might get hurt."
"But I want to help."
"You can. Run and tell Johnny Burke the car has been stolen. And tell Walters and Barnett and the rest. Meantime I'll go out on my own and see what I can find out."
They separated in front of the car barn. Speedy hurried up De Lacey Street, King Tut running at his heels. Three times he tried to send the little dog home. But it was no use. The animal, scenting excitement, was bound to go along. Finally Speedy, to avoid wasting more time, permitted his companionship.
Speedy's course took him straight crosstown toward the East River. As he neared the neighborhood in which was located the shack by the river which the Callahans made their headquarters, he slowed down and approached with caution. He knew that he was in critical personal danger if he were found by the gangsters alone and unprotected in this region of warehouses, lumber yards, dark shadows and even darker-charactered human beings. It was a district in which even policemen patrolled in pairs, when one could find a policeman.
At length he was within fifty yards of the Callahan rendezvous itself. The place looked peaceful and deserted in the early morning sunlight. He approached cautiously, sliding along very near the high fence surrounding the lumber yard that was the Callahan crew's next-door neighbor. Arrived at the end of the fence's protecting shadow, he gave a swift look around and then scurried across the open space and, bending low, edged along the side of the Callahan shack. His objective was the small window toward the rear of the weather-beaten building that, he judged, looked out from the private "conference room" noticed by Speedy on his one previous visit to the "club house."
Reaching this vantage point in safety, Speedy cautiously lifted his head and gazed in one corner of the window. At first he could see nothing. The glass of the window was smeared with dirt. But as he continued to look, he soon made out the figures of two men seated inside. They were sprawled out on chairs on either side of a small, bare table. One was a sinister-looking thug who had boarded the car with Callahan preliminary to the tussle of the previous day, and the other was Puggy Callahan himself.
The two were smoking black cigars and talking. But, strain his ears as he might, Speedy could not make out a word of their conversation through the closed window. It was exasperating. By the exultant look on their faces, he was sure they were discussing their coup in capturing the car. If he could catch only a few words of what they were saying, he knew he could learn something to his advantage. But he was doomed to disappointment.
Just as he was debating whether he should walk boldly in and accuse them of the theft or, allowing discretion to govern his movements, to dash away in search of a policeman, Puggy Callahan arose and walked out of the room. Guessing that Puggy was headed for the front door, Speedy dropped down flat upon his stomach in the shadows and waited. Sure enough, he soon heard the front door open and shut again and in a few seconds Puggy waddled past the open space between the shack and the lumber yard and disappeared up the street.
When he judged the thug captain was twenty yards or more away, Speedy slipped out from his concealment and, reaching the side walk, walked briskly along in the same direction pursued by Puggy. He could plainly see the stout figure of Callahan ahead of him.
Two blocks further along, Puggy turned at right angles and crossed the street, Speedy alertly in his wake. Callahan's course was now westward through a crosstown highway leading away from the river. In a square or two pursued and pursuer were in a region of tenements, pushcart peddlers, sidewalks swarming with people speaking a score of different languages and streets a jumble of vehicles and shouting children. It was a typical New York Ghetto thoroughfare. Speedy redoubled his vigil and his pace, afraid of losing his quarry in the midst of this teeming activity. Soon he was only a pace or two behind Callahan, and Speedy drew his cap—Pop Dillon's uniform cap, which the youth had borrowed when he took up his duties as motorman on the car—down further over his face. He was afraid of being recognized should Callahan suddenly turn and scrutinize him.
If Callahan should follow this course a half hour or more it would bring him back to De Lacey Street, and Speedy wondered if that was the thug leader's destination. Perhaps Puggy himself had not been present at the theft of the car and now wanted to make certain that his lieutenants had succeeded in their purpose. Speedy hoped this was the case, for, once the gangster neared the car barn, young Swift could dash ahead by a circuitous route, notify Johnny Burke and nab Callahan in the act of spying around the barn. Then he could be arrested and held for at least twenty-four hours on suspicion—time enough to pump him for information about the whereabouts of the car.
But Speedy hardly believed the shrewd gang leader would be foolish enough to adopt these tactics.
As if to confirm this belief, Callahan suddenly stopped in front of a tenement,—so suddenly that the following Speedy nearly crashed into him,—ascended three worn and refuse-littered stone steps and pulled a bell. Speedy loitered at the bottom of the step, leaning against the iron newel post that supported the rickety step railing. He awaited developments, which soon came.
A black-eyed, black-haired girl, about twenty, with rouged lips and cheeks and dressed in the flashy style of the East Side gangster's "girl," cautiously opened the door about halfway.
"Hello, Sadie," Speedy heard Callahan greet her and start to push his way in.
"Stick outside, Puggy," quickly said the girl in a raspy voice. "There's 'dicks' inside lookin' for Al on account of that fur job he pulled last night. Did you meet Joe yet?"
"That's what I come to ask you about. Did Joe get back?"
"No, he was supposed to meet you with the car at the corner of Powers and Third Ave., wasn't he?"
"Sure—I'm on my way to meet him now. I'm late though and I thought maybe he came on here."
"Did he get the horse car all right?"
"I dunno. That's what I want to find out. He didn't 'phone nor nothin'. Well, I'll be gettin' on. S'long, Sadie."
"S'long."
So quickly did Callahan take his departure that he was down the steps and on Speedy before the latter had a chance to slip away. Seizing his handkerchief, Speedy, with lightning strategy, made a bluff of shining the smeary brass ball atop the newel post against which he was leaning. He lowered his head until it was almost sunk into his shoulders and held his breath. Puggy stopped and shot a quick glance of suspicion at him. He seemed about to seize Speedy by the shoulders and swing him around to question him. Then, doubtless urged on by the necessity of haste if he were to meet Joe, Callahan muttered something about "You poor nut" and hurried on.
Speedy waited until he feared he might lose Puggy in the sidewalk crowds, then ventured to hasten after him. He had caught practically all of the conversation between the crook and the girl and he was very much encouraged. He felt now that he was on the right track. The mysterious "Joe" was evidently the man who had been in charge of abducting Nellie and the car. If luck only stayed with Speedy and he could manage to be present at the impending meeting between Puggy and Joe, he might even learn where the missing car had been hidden.
Two sharp little barks at his feet reminded Speedy that he was not unaccompanied. King Tut, his little dog, had managed to keep up the swift pace and at the same time avoid being run over by trucks at the street crossings or by just as dangerous humans on the crowded sidewalks. King Tut seemed to sense that something climactic was in the air and was sounding his battle cry preliminary to plunging into the second stage of the pursuit of Puggy Callahan.
A few blocks farther along and disaster almost overtook Speedy. Callahan had apparently scented that he was being followed. Several times he had looked menacingly around. On each occasion, as danger threatened, Speedy had been able to duck behind some convenient pedestrian's back. But now as Puggy looked around sharply, the sidewalk in the immediate vicinity of Speedy was bare. There was no hiding place. Puggy was staring at him. To stop short, Speedy knew, woud be fatal, and it would be equally incriminating to run. There was nothing to do but keep going, which would in a few seconds bring him face to face with the enemy. Callahan grimly awaited him, though it was obvious that the gunman did not recognize him completely and was not quite certain that Speedy had been following him.
At that moment Providence directed Speedy's lowered eyes to a fruit and refreshment stand jutting out from a tenement a few yards away. Speedy nonchalantly strode over to it. The vantage point in the show window was occupied by an assortment of choice cuts of watermelon, and a sign proclaimed that they were ten cents a slice. Speedy quickly plunked down a dime and picked up the succulent fruit. Holding on to it with both bands he sunk his teeth into its red middle and, eating as he went, proceeded on toward his awaiting foe. Speedy's face was as completely disguised by the watermelon as if he had been wearing a mask. Callahan, convinced that he did not know this strangely persistent young man and that he meant no harm, turned and plodded along toward his rendezvous with Joe.
But Speedy now knew that renewed caution would be necessary. Spying a push cart that was a laden with imitation Panama hats, Speedy quickly purchased one, shoving his cap into his pocket. He intentionally chose a hat that was oversize, with a huge flappy brim. Donning this and pulling it down over his eyes, he congratulated himself that Callahan would now believe that the other young man in the motorman's cap had departed.
The gangman now turned a corner and Speedy knew they were on busy Powers Street, with the Elevated Railway overhead and the street beside them littered with vehicles rumbling over its rough cobbles. Five minutes more and they reached the fateful corner of Powers and Third Ave. Their journey had taken them clear across town and it was well after noon.
There was for the moment no sign of Joe. Puggy looked eagerly around and then contented himself by leaning against a hydrant on the corner and lighting a cigarette to pass the time away. There was a cigar store on the corner and a convenient alleyway, littered with boxes and barrels, was located between it and the next shop, a butcher's emporium. Speedy, with King Tut at his heels, glided into the shadows of the alley and, almost breathlessly, crouched there.
Thus passed a half hour, impatiently regarded by both the watcher at the hydrant and the unseen vigilants in the alley.
And then, when it must have seemed to the irritated Callahan that the absent Joe had misunderstood the instructions or met with an accident, that worthy himself swiftly drove up in a bright new
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sedan of costly make and anchored at the curb twenty feet from the hydrant where his chief waited. Speedy's luck was still with him. The stop had been made almost directly opposite the alley. Puggy walked quickly down to Joe and greeted him. Speedy, using the passing crowds as a shield, streaked out of his hiding place, across the sidewalk and to the rear of Joe's car. There he pretended to passers-by and the policeman directing traffic in the middle of the street that he was only awaiting a break in the solid line of cars passing in front of him in order to cross over to the other side.
But if Speedy imagined he was going to overhear the ensuing dialogue between Puggy and Joe and thus find out something about the mysteriously missing car, he was doomed to disappointment. For Puggy, with scarcely a word, leaped into the sedan beside Joe and, with a snort and inexpert shifting of gears, they were off down Powers Street with such speed that the policeman at the intersection yelled at them, though he did not blow his whistle to stop them. Speedy was left standing there, baffled.
He almost groaned. All his sleuthing work had apparently been done for nothing. He stood uncertainly for a moment, wondering what his next move was to be. It was futile to think of hailing a taxi and attempting to follow the flying sedan. It was already many blocks away.
He was about to start back in the direction of De Lacey Street when a yellow taxicab, coming in a wild rush, almost ran over him. He leaped back onto the sidewalk. Emergency brakes were slammed on and the cab stopped with a shrieking of abused brakes. A policeman stood on the running board of the cab beside the driver. The bluecoat jumped off and approached Speedy.
"See anything of a blue Sturges sedan with a tough guy at the wheel?" snapped the cop.
Speedy was all attention in an instant.
"Sure, it stopped here and picked up a fellow. I don't know the driver, but the man he picked up was Puggy Callahan."
"How do you know Puggy, hey?" asked the cop sharply. "But forget that for the minute—which direction did the car take?"
"Straight ahead, going fast," returned Speedy.
A new voice cut in. The traffic cop had come over from the street, having observed the other officer and Speedy in conversation.
"What's the row, Mike?" asked the traffic policeman.
"Guy stole a Sturges sedan from down around the old Lincoln ferry slip. The owner came out just after the get-away. I was half block away, just too late to grab 'em red-handed. Jumped aboard this 'yellow' and came after them hell-bent. We lost sight of them back up the street a quarter of a mile and I asked this kid if he spotted them."
"I saw them myself," said the traffic policeman promptly. "Nearly gave 'em a ticket for speeding."
"O.K. I'm off!" cried the other cop, leaping aboard the running board of the taxi. He ordered the driver, "Beat, it, 'yellow,' with all the speed this can's got."
The taxi fairly leaped out from the curb and shot off down the cobbles. The traffic cop returned to his post. Speedy was thinking rapidly. "The old Lincoln ferry slip," the policeman had said, was the place where Joe had stolen the Sturges. Well, maybe a little trip up there would yield some information about a certain other stolen car also. It was worth a try. He would have to do something quickly. It was nearly three o'clock. On the previous afternoon at half past four he had made his last trip over the line with the horse car. By four-thirty o'clock today he would have to have the car back on the tracks on De Lacey Street and make a complete round trip or Pop Dillion's franchise would be forfeited! And Speedy did not doubt but what Steven Carter would be there promptly to report the forfeiture of the franchise if the trip were not made!
There was not a minute to lose! He knew where the old Lincoln Ferry slip, unused for twenty years, was. It was on the North River, at the foot of East Sixtieth Street, a good twenty-five minutes ride in a taxi which was the quickest way to get there, granted there were no traffic blocks, which was almost too much to ask.
A cab came along in a minute and Speedy excitedly hailed it.