Children of the Whirlwind - Leroy Scott (read aloud .TXT) 📗

days now and you'll be out of that dirty street, and you'll be in swell clothes doing swell work - and it will mean the best restaurants, theaters, swell times!"

The car had turned into the narrow, cobbled street and had paused before the Duchess's. Suddenly Barney caught her into his arms.

"And, Maggie, you're going to be mine! We'll have a nifty little place, all right! You know I'm dippy about you....And, Maggie, I don't even want you to go back in there where Larry Brainard is. Let's drive back uptown and start in together now! To-night!"

It was not the fact that he had not suggested marriage which stirred Maggie: men and women in Barney's class lived together, and sometimes they were married and sometimes they were not. It was something else, something of which she was not definitely conscious: but she felt no such momentary thrill, no momentary, dazing surrender, as she had felt the night when Larry had similarly held her.

"Stop that, Barney!" she gasped. "Let me go!" She struggled fiercely, and then tore herself free.

"What's wrong with you?" panted Barney. "You're mine, ain't you?"

"You leave me alone! I'm going to get out!"

She had the door open, and was stepping out when he caught her sleeve. But she pulled so determinedly that to have held her would have meant nothing better than ripping the sleeve out of her coat. So he freed her and followed her across the sidewalk to the Duchess's door.

"What's the idea?" he demanded, choking with fierce jealousy. "It's not Larry, after all? You're not going to let him make you go straight?"

She had recovered her poise, and she replied banteringly:

"As I said, how can I tell what he's going to make me do?"

She heard him draw a deep, quivering breath between clenched teeth; but she could not see how his figure tensed and how his face twisted into a glower.

"Get this, Maggie: Larry Brainard is never going to be able to make you do anything. You get that?"

"Yes, I get it, Barney; good-night," she said lightly.

And Maggie slipped through the door and left Barney trembling in the little street.


CHAPTER IX


Maggie, as she mounted to her room, was hardly conscious of the ring of menace in Barney's voice; but once she was in bed, his tone and his words came back to her and stirred a strange uneasiness in her mind. Barney was angry; Barney was cunning; Barney would stop at nothing to gain his ends. What might be behind his threatening words?

The next morning as she was coming in with milk for her breakfast coffee, she met Larry in the Duchess's room behind the pawnshop. He smilingly planted himself squarely in her way.

"See here, Maggie - aren't you ever going to speak to a fellow?"

Something within her surged up impelling her to tell him of Barney's savage yet unformulated threat. The warning got as far as her tongue, and there halted, struggling.

Her strange, fixed look startled Larry. "Why, what's the matter, Maggie?" he exclaimed.

But her pride, her settled determination to unbend to him in no way and to have no dealings with him, were stronger than her impulse; and the struggling warning remained unuttered.

"Nothing's the matter," she said, and brushed past him and hurried up the stairway.

At times during the day, while tutoring with Mr. Bronson, Larry thought of Maggie's strange look. And his mind was upon it late in the afternoon when he entered the little street. But as he neared his grandmother's house all such thought was banished by Detective Gavegan of the Central Office stepping from the pawnshop and blocking the door with his big figure. There was grim, triumphant purpose on the hard features of Gavegan, conceited by nature and trained to harsh dominance by long rule as a petty autocrat.

"Hello, Gavegan," Larry greeted him pleasantly. "Gee, but you look tickled! Did the Duchess give you a bigger loan than you expected on the Carnegie medal you just hocked?"

"You'll soon be cuttin' out your line of comedy." Gavegan slipped his left arm through Larry's right. "You're comin' along with me, and you'd better come quiet."

Larry stiffened. "Come where?"

"Headquarters."

"I haven't done a thing, Gavegan, and you know it! What do you want me for?"

"Me and the Chief had a little talk about you," leered Gavegan. "And now the Chief wants to have a little personal talk with you. He asked me to round you up and bring you in."

"I've done nothing, and I'll not go!" Larry cried hotly.

"Oh, yes, you will!" Gavegan withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket where it had been resting in readiness. In the hand, its thong about his wrist, was a short leather-covered object filled with lead. "I've got my orders, and you'll come peaceably, or - But I'd just as soon you'd resist, for I owe you something for the punch you slipped over on me the other night."

Larry, taut with the desire to strike, gazed for a moment into the glowering face of the detective. Gavegan, gripping his right arm, with that bone-crushing slug-shot itching for instant use, was apparently master in the present circumstances. But before Larry's quick mind had decided upon a course, the door of the pawnshop opened and closed, and a voice said sharply:

"Nothing doing on that rough stuff, Gavegan!" The speaker was now on Larry's left side, a heavy-faced man in a black derby. "Larry, better be a nice boy and come with us."

"Oh, it's you, Casey!" said Larry. "If you say I've got to go, I'll go - for you're one white copper, even if you do have Gavegan for a partner. Come on. What're we standing here for?"

The trio made their way out of the narrow street, and after some fifteen minutes of walking through the twisting byways of that part of the city, they passed through the granite doorway at Headquarters and entered the office of Deputy Commissioner Barlow, Chief of the Detective Bureau. Barlow was talking over the telephone in a growling staccato, and the three men sat down. After a moment Barlow banged the receiver upon its hook, and turned upon them. He had a clenched, driving face, with small, commanding eyes. It was his boast that he got results, that it was his policy to make people do what you told 'em. He had no other code.

"Well, Brainard," he snapped, "here you are again. What you up to now?"

"Going to try the straight game, Chief," returned Larry.

"Don't try to put that old bunk over on me!"

"It's not bunk, Chief. It's the real stuff."

"Cut it out, I say! Don't you suppose I had a clever bird like you picked up the minute you landed in the city, and have had you covered ever since? And if you are going straight, what about the session you had with Barney Palmer and Old Jimmie Carlisle the very night you blew in? And I'm on to this bluff of your going to that business institute. So come across, Brainard! I've got your every move covered!"

"I've already come across, Chief," replied Larry, trying to keep his temper in the face of the other's bullying manner. "I told Barney and Old Jimmie that I was through with the old game, and through with them as pals at the old game - that's all there was to that meeting. I'm going to that business institute for the same reason that every other person goes there - to learn. That's all there is to the whole business, Chief: I'm going to go straight."

Chief Barlow, hunched forward, his undershot jaw clenched on a cigar stub, regarded Larry steadily with his beady, autocratic eyes. Barlow was trained to penetrate to the inside of men's minds, and he recognized that Larry was in earnest.

"You mean you think you are going to go straight," Barlow remarked slowly and meaningly.

"I know I am going to go straight," Larry returned evenly, meeting squarely the gaze of the Chief of Detectives.

"Do you realize, young man," Barlow continued in the same measured, significant tone, "that whether you go straight, and how you go straight, depends pretty much on me?"

"Mind making that a little clearer, Chief?"

"I'll show you part of my hand - just remember that I'm holding back my high cards. I don't believe you're going to go straight, so we'll start with the proposition that you're not going to run straight and work on from there. You're clever, Brainard - I hand you that; and all the classy crooks trust you. That's why I had picked you out for what I wanted long before you left stir. Brainard, you're wise enough to know that some of our best pinches come from tips handed us from the inside. Brainard" - the slow voice had now become incisive, mandatory - "you're not going to go straight. You're going to string along with Barney and Old Jimmie and the rest of the bunch - we'll protect you - and you're going to slip us tips when something big is about to be pulled off."

Larry, experienced with police methods though he was, could hardly believe this thing which was being proposed to him, Larry Brainard. But he controlled himself.

"If I get you, Chief, you are suggesting that I become a police stool?"

"Exactly. We'll never tip your hand. And any little thing you pull off on your own we'll not bother you about. And, besides, we'll slip you a little dough regular on the quiet."

"And all you want me to do in exchange," Larry asked quietly, "is to hand up my pals?"

"That's all."

Larry found it required his all of strength to control himself; but he did.

"There are only three small objections to your proposition, Chief."

"Yes?"

"The first is, I shall not be a stool."

"What's that?"

"And the second is, I wouldn't squeal on a pal to you even if I were a crook. And the third is what I said in the beginning: I'm not going to be a crook."

Barlow's squat, powerful figure arose menacingly. Casey also stood up.

"I tell you you ARE going to be a crook!" Barlow's big fist crashed down on his desk in a tremendous exclamation point. "And you're going to work for me exactly as I tell you!"

"I have already given you my final word," said Larry.

"You - you - " Barlow almost choked at this quiet defiance. His face turned red, his breath came in a fluttering snarl, his powerful shoulders hunched up as if he were about to strike. But he held back his physical blows.

"That's your ultimatum?"

"If you care to call it so - yes."

"Then here's mine! I told you I was holding back my high cards. Either you do as I say, and work with Gavegan and Casey, or you'll not be able to hold a job in New York! My men will see to that. And here's another high card. You do as I've said, or I'll hang some charge on you, one that'll stick, and back up the river you'll go for another stretch! There's an ultimatum for you to think about!"

It certainly was. Larry gazed into the harsh, glaring face, set in fierce determination. He knew that Barlow, as part of his policy, loved to break down the spirit