Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

TalkiQ Murder Mystery "1 don't care anything about his Chicago murders. I want him for those two out in California. If I could only get him extradited . . "Did you bring the extradition papers?" ' Yes. I told the Los Angeles Chief of Police the lead I was working on and he had them written out for me. If we could only bring him to trial in Los Angeles we could keep any of the Chicago scandal from coming out, and at the same time the little stone room up in San Quentin could finish him. "Yes," said Jackson, "but getting him out of Chicago without a World War battle would be like trying to move the Marshall Field Store from the Loop to the Stockyards at high noon without anyone seeing you!" "I have a hunch on how to work that out," said Kenny. "Will you help me?" "Sure I will, kid," said Jackson with a smile. "But you've got a nasty job ahead of you. What do you want me to do?" "Two things. First get Headquarters to stick a special car on the Chief tonight, bound for Los Angeles. Have them put a number 22 in the car window and expect the Big Shot about five o'clock. Second, show me where he lives. " "I'll do my best for you, kid," said Jackson. "I know there is nothing the police would like better than gettitig rid of him once and for all. They'll have a squad of men in Car 22 waiting for him. " The lawyer picked up his hat. "Come on, I'll point out his house to you. It looks innocent enough on the outside, but it's like an armed garrison on the inside! " HE WAS a tall man, enormously thick and powerful. Steel-gray eyes peered out from cavernous brows, the eyes of a killer. His face was a furrowed, cruel mask. Kenny flinched just to look at him. But he had deliberately walked into this fortress and there was no way to get out except by the ruse he had arranged. If it failed . . . ! He shuddered to think what would happen if it failed. He had walked up the front steps calmly enough, but when a burly gangster opened the door and demanded what he wanted, with a heavy rod sticking out of his coat pocket, his courage almost left him. They had frisked Kenny in the hall and frisked him again in the front room, searched in places where Kenny had never dreamed a man could carrj' a gun. They had questioned him for a half hour before letting him in to see the Big Shot, threatening and intimidating him with their huge fists. But Kenny had stood pat and refused to answer questions With the look of an innocent cherub on his face, he had insisted upon seeing the Boss. ' "Well, what do you want?" demanded the killer as he sat behind a magnificent oak desk and toyed with certain suspicious looking electric buttons. "I don't want anything," said Kenny in a hurt, schoolboy voice. "I have come to bring you a message from some friends." "So? Who are diey?" "I don't know their names. They didn't tell me. I came in on the Chief with them {Continued from page 66} this morning from Los Angeles. They had a compartment in my car. We became friendly and chatted." From Kenny's tone of voice you would have thought he was telling the killer about a girl he had met at a party the night before ! "What is your message? " asked the Big Shot, after peering into Kenny's innocent eyes for many moments. "In the dressing room this morning, as we were shaving, one of the men asked me if I would take a message to a friend of his. He gave me your address. They told me to tell you that the Hollywood contract has been signed." THE face of the Czar remained impassive before these words, but his eyes narrowed down to pinpoints. ""What . . . contract ... in Hollywood?" he asked. "I really couldn't tell you," said Kenny lightly. The thick man gazed at Kenny's childish face for a moment. "Sit down," he said. Kenny sat down. "Is that all the message?" the huge man inquired. "No," replied Kenny, "they wanted to know if they should come on in, or go back to Kansas City." "Why Kansas City?" asked the man in a suspicious tone. "How should I know?" "Where are you to take them back their answer?" demanded the Czar. "To the Chief before it leaves this afternoon." "The Chief! Then they are returning?" "They said for you to tell them whether you have business for them in Kansas City. They gave me their compartment number on the train." "'All right," grunted the husky man, "what is their number. Give it to me!" "They said you would make it worth my while," said Kenny with a winsome, boyish smile. " I hope you don't forget — " The Big Shot looked at him for a moment with a half sneer. If there had been any suspicion in his mind about this young man, it was now dispelled. He had run this errand merely because he expected to get a little money out of it! The killer reached into his pocket, took out a wallet and handed Kenny a fifty dollar bill. Kenny's eyes lit up like those of a child who is given a piece of candy. "All right," said the Czar, "give me the compartment number and get out. Your work is done!" Tm awfully sorry," said Kenny, "but they told me to bring you to the train, because they had to see you." "Never mind that, give me the number!" "'My friends asked me not to. They told me to bring you personally." The Boss meditated for a moment. "Well, they must have a reason for that," he murmured. Then he turned to Kenny. "Did they tell you why they wanted you to bring me?" "No," said Kenny in his sweetest manner, "but they said you would understand." The Big Shot grunted. 'What time does the Chief leave?" "In an hour." "An hour! That doesn't give us much time. All right, let's go. Why in hell didn't those saps get off in Kansas City and stay there?" Kenny did not venture an answer to this. The Boss ordered his car. A man came in to speak to him in a quiet voice. "No," said the Boss, "it's not necessary. Our Hollywood representatives are in town for an hour and I want to talk to them. Just stick two of the boys in the front seat." The other man remonstrated, but the Boss cut him off with, "Pipe down, this is Chicago, isn't it? I'm only riding down to the station and back. What in hell could turn up? The Rat is buried and his gang is shot up. Who else is there? I'll only be gone an hour." Kenny saw the big thick man take off his coat, put on some queer looking straps that crossed on his chest, and stick two guns into the holsters under each arm. He tried not to look too interested in these operations and stood at the door twirling his hat. '"All right," said the Big Shot, "let's go. I want time to talk to these birds!" THE Boss' black sedan took them to the station. People were already streaming through the gate marked Chief. The sinister giant handed the gate keeper a bill and walked through. "What number is the car?" he asked Kenny. TU take you to it,"' said Kenny. ' It's down the line." They walked for quite a ways until they saw a little white card with a 22 marked on it, setting in the window. A fat woman swung up on the car just as Kenny and the Big Shot reached it. "This is the one," said Kenny. "Number 22." "All right," said the Boss, " you come on along with me !'" He shoved Kenny ahead of him and swung up the high stairs by means of the porter"s platform. As soon as he turned to go down the short corridor of the car toward the main section, the door of the steps closed behind him quietly and the porter ran as fast as he could. The Czar, keeping Kenny just ahead of him, walked down the rather long corridor. He had to turn a corner to see the main section of the car. Just as they did so Kenny dropped to his knees on the floor and the Big Shot found himself staring into the muzzles of two Tommy guns, a riot gun and two black rods with itching fingers be hind them. Kenny jumped to his feet and joined the armed men. The fat woman, who had been used as a decoy, ducked into one of the open compartments. The Big Shot made a grab for his arm-pit rod, but before his hand gcTt there he realized the hopelessness of the situation and decided to fight it out in the courts instead of a Pullman car. "Hello, Sullivan," he said to one of the men fingering a Tommy gim, "where do you 86