Coffins for the Suicide Squad E-Book

Emile Tepperman

• Herausgeber: Endymion Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 73

Beschreibung

STEPHEN KLAW'S train arrived in New York at 8:55 P.M. He slipped quietly off it. Walking through Pennsylvania Station, his slim and wiry figure might have been mistaken for that of a kid back home from college for the holidays - were it not for those cold, slate-grey eyes of his, and for the sure and effortless way in which he handled himself. He kept both hands dug deep in his overcoat pockets as a flock of newspaper reporters and cameramen surrounded him. "Is it true, Mr. Klaw, that you've been sent here to hunt down Dunstan Vardis?" "That's true," said Steve. "Dunstan Vardis escaped from Leavenworth five years ago. Since then he's made a business of harboring wanted criminals. He controls the most vicious gang in the country." "Are you going to capture him dead or alive?" "Either way."

Leseprobe

COFFINS FOR THE SUICIDE SQUAD

Emile Tepperman

ENDYMION PRESS

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Copyright © 2016 by Emile Tepperman

Interior design by Pronoun

Distribution by Pronoun

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. — VOLUNTEERS TO DIE!

2. — Killer in a Derby

3. — Death Wears a Muff

4. — LIGHTNING WAR

5. — THE KILLER ORDERS EGGS

6. — DEAD END FOR G-MEN

1. — VOLUNTEERS TO DIE!

STEPHEN KLAW’S TRAIN ARRIVED in New York at 8:55 P.M. He slipped quietly off it.

Walking through Pennsylvania Station, his slim and wiry figure might have been mistaken for that of a kid back home from college for the holidays—were it not for those cold, slate-grey eyes of his, and for the sure and effortless way in which he handled himself.

He kept both hands dug deep in his overcoat pockets as a flock of newspaper reporters and cameramen surrounded him.

“Is it true, Mr. Klaw, that you’ve been sent here to hunt down Dunstan Vardis?”

“That’s true,” said Steve. “Dunstan Vardis escaped from Leavenworth five years ago. Since then he’s made a business of harboring wanted criminals. He controls the most vicious gang in the country.”

“Are you going to capture him dead or alive?”

“Either way.”

“Suppose he gets you first, Mr. Klaw?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m paid to take chances.”

“What about the Suicide Squad?” one of the reporters persisted. “Where are your two partners—Johnny Kerrigan and Dan Murdoch?”

Klaw shook his head. “That’s their business. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Just a minute, Mr. Klaw!” a photographer begged. “Stand still for a second, will you?”

The man raised a bulky camera to his eye and sighted through the periscope. He had his finger on the lever to click it down. Before he could do so, Stephen Klaw took his right hand from his pocket. There was an automatic in it. Without wasting a fraction of an inch of motion, Klaw fired from the hip.

The shot echoed and re-echoed like thunder in the vaulted train-shed. The slug smashed square into the camera, driving through the box and embedding itself in the photographer’s skull. The man went hurtling back, and at the same time there was an explosion from the camera.

Flame lanced upward from it and a bullet screamed wildly into the air, thudding against the steel arch far overhead. Had the camera been pointing at Stephen Klaw, the bullet would have hit him between the eyes.

Those two almost simultaneous shots created a veritable inferno of panic in the great railroad station. Stephen Klaw slipped the automatic back in his pocket, and stepped over to the side of the dead man. A couple of the reporters, with eyes gleaming with delight at such a story, knelt with him. Flashlight bulbs exploded by the dozen.

“What a story!” exclaimed Kearney, of the World. He put a hand on Klaw’s shoulder. “How did you know he had a gun in that camera?”

Klaw pointed to the smashed box. Where the lens should have been, there was the round bore of a long-barrelled forty-five calibre revolver.

“Did you ever see a camera with a gun-muzzle for a lens?” he asked.

Police were surrounding them now, and it was necessary to clear a space around the body. Lieutenant Schirmer, of the Homicide Squad, took Steve aside.

“Do you think that man was an agent of Dunstan Vardis?” he asked.

Klaw stared at him without blinking. “What do you think?”

Schirmer scowled. “I think you ought to have a bodyguard. Are you crazy, Klaw? The F.B.I. has kept sending men in here one after the other, to get Dunstan Vardis. And Vardis gets them, one by one. He’ll get you, too.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Steve said coldly.

Lieutenant Schirmer flushed. “Now get me right, Klaw. Nobody wants to see Dunstan Vardis laid by the heels more than I do. But the New York police department has been working on the case for a year. You G-Men think you can come in and clean it up in a month. You don’t work right, either. You’ve got to play with stoolies, and keep your ear to the ground for information, and wait for a chance to grab him.”

“That’s not the way I do it,” Stephen Klaw said. “I’ve been sent to get Vardis—and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Lieutenant Schirmer shrugged. “Have it your way, Klaw. I’ve heard a lot about you, and those other two fellows, Kerrigan and Murdoch. You three are supposed to be the Suicide Squad of the F.B.I. Well, if you want to commit suicide, go right ahead. Should you get in a jam, call on me—if you have the time.”

“Thanks,” said Stephen Klaw. He nodded, and walked away.

As Schirmer watched him go, the Lieutenant’s face was twisted into an expression of intense perplexity. He turned to one of the reporters who crowded around him. “There goes a man,” he said, “who isn’t afraid of God or the Devil!”

WHEN Stephen Klaw got out into the street he turned north on Seventh Avenue, looking for a taxicab.

A girl in a sleek black Hudson seal coat came hurrying after him, with a handful of little ribbons attached to buttons. She had yellow hair, and deep blue eyes.

“Won’t you buy a button, sir,” she said, smiling, “to help the starving Chinese?”

Without giving him a chance to refuse, she came up close, and started to pin the button to his lapel. Her lips were still smiling, and she seemed to be saying something to him in a bantering manner. But her voice was suddenly deadly serious, and there was live terror in her eyes.

“For God’s sake, be careful, Mr. Klaw!” she breathed. “You’re being watched. Pretend to give me a coin!”

Steve studied her quizzically. He took his left hand out of his coat pocket and slipped it into his trousers pocket. He took out a quarter and handed it to her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Never mind who I am. If you want to find Dunstan Vardis, come to see me tomorrow at noon. The Hotel DeGrasse, Room 715. Ask for Miss Lee.” She slipped the quarter into a little tin box, and started to hurry away.

Stephen Klaw reached out and caught her wrist.

“Not so fast, Miss Lee,” he said tightly. “It’s too long to wait till tomorrow at noon. You tell me what you know—now!”

“Oh God,” she groaned, “you mustn’t. They—they’ll see us talking.”

“Who will see us talking?”

“Dunstan Vardis’ men. Don’t you understand? You’re being watched every second!”

“Interesting!” said Klaw. He kept his grip on her wrist. His glance swept up and down the street. There were several men idling nearby, but there was nothing to indicate that they were the men of Dunstan Vardis. “How do you know we are being watched?”

She tried to drag her wrist away, but unsuccessfully. “Oh, you beast! I thought you were clever, and could help me. I—I’m sorry I approached you. Let me go quickly, before they shoot us to death!”

Stephen Klaw grinned thinly. “Let’s see those buttons of yours!” He lifted up her hand, which was clutching the buttons with the colored ribbons attached. They were all green, but the one she had pinned on his lapel was red.

“So,” he said, “you pinned this ribbon on me so that Dunstan Vardis’ gunmen may recognize me later, when they come to look for me. You were posted here for this purpose, in case that photographer failed!”

She ceased struggling. Her eyes met his. A faint, bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“Well,” she said, “what are you going to do about it? Will you arrest me?”

“No. I couldn’t prove that you work for Vardis. I’m going to let you go.” He released his grip on her wrist. “Goodbye, Miss—Lee!”

She stared at him a moment, unbelieving. “You—you’re taking that ribbon off?”

His eyes were cold and hard. “On the contrary, Miss Lee, I shall wear it. Go back and tell Dunstan Vardis that I shall wear it all the time—to make it easier for him to find me!”

The girl sucked in her breath sharply.

“Stephen Klaw,” she said, “you are a very brave man!”

Then she turned and walked swiftly away.

Steve looked after her, fingering the ribbon in his buttonhole. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded in her direction.