'Squawked about what?' demanded the big-shot. 'Say, you mugs' - he swung from Ondrey to Slick - 'what's been going on here?'
GRUFFLY, Slick gave the details, stating the facts in brief. When Slick had finished, Pinkey raged.
'And you helped him with that screwy idea!' ranted the big-shot. 'Pulled a
small-change shakedown, didn't you, on a guy that was supposed to know nothing?'
'How could I know what was up?' demanded Slick. 'I thought maybe Parrington had got wise to Bugs, and wouldn't give him a letter to Bron. I figured that was why he wanted to put the heat on the guy.'
Pinkey saw merit in Slick's alibi. He swung toward Ondrey, to blast the portly man.
'You saw what Bugs was pulling, didn't you?' roared Pinkey. 'Why didn't you do something about it?'
'Bugs made me jittery,' replied Ondrey. 'Before I'd catch up with him on one thing, he was off on another, until finally -'
'Until finally he stuck Parrington on the elevator! That was swell, wasn't
it? If Parrington wasn't wise by that time, he got his chance to really think it
over. The guy knows all three of you were working together, so he tipped off Bron.'
Silence followed. If Slick or Ondrey had any ideas, they didn't express them. They were letting Pinkey do their thinking for them; and it was the smartest system that they had yet used. Pinkey formed some rapid conclusions.
'Parrington must have called Bron right away,' he decided, 'from a phone down at the next corner. The question is, what did he tell Bron? There's only one answer.'
'He told Bron that his friend Hopton was a phony, and he advised Bron to get out of the office before Bugs showed up there. He may have told him a lot more, but I don't think so. If Parrington is going to make a big squawk, it won't be to Bron.'
'Maybe Parrington will figure that the bulls ought to know about one of their own bunch.' Pinkey swung toward Slick. 'For instance, about a smart dick named Bill Quaine. That would put a bad crimp in your style, Slick.'
This time, Pinkey was met with a steady stare, the sort that Slick used when he meant business.
'Parrington fell for the bluff tonight,' reminded Slick. 'He'll fall for it again, if I drop in on him.'
The suggestion awoke a response from Ondrey.
'Of course he will!' exclaimed the night club owner. 'After all, Parrington didn't see you take the money. I've got it in the safe, Slick. You can take it with you -'
Pinkey interrupted Ondrey by shoving the portly man back in his chair.
'That dough stays where it is!' hoarsed the big-shot. 'If things go sour, we'll make Bugs eat it. You're going after Parrington, but I'm the guy that's going with you. Between us' - Pinkey produced a revolver - 'well fix Parrington
so he'll never blab to nobody!'
THE next question was where Parrington lived. That was something that Bugs
could have answered, for he was the only one who had traveled around with Parrington.
Bugs wasn't needed, however, for the telephone directory provided the information. There was only one Roy Parrington in the book; he lived at an address in the Sixties, which Pinkey decided must be a small apartment house.
Slick remarked that he didn't have a gun, for he had planted his revolver on Parrington and Bugs had kept it, afterward. Ondrey dug up a .32 that Slick decided would do. Shoving the gun in his pocket, Slick swung to Pinky with the words:
'Let's go.'
Pinkey told him to wait a minute. He wrote out a phone number on a slip of
paper; handed it to Ondrey. 'Give a call there,' he told Ondrey. 'One of the mob
will answer. Tell 'em you're calling for Bugs. They'll believe you, because they're dumber than he is. Have 'em cover up at Parrington's because they may be needed.'
Ondrey asked what he was to do in case he heard from Bugs.
'Send him up there, too,' ordered Pinkey, 'and tell him to take charge of this outfit. Bugs ought to be calling here pretty quick, because, by this time,
he's probably found out that Bron has left his office.'
Pinkey glanced at his watch while he and Slick were riding up in the elevator.
PINKEY figured he hadn't lost much time by his trip to the Bubble Club.
It
was directly on the route to Parrington's address.
'I saved time coming by the subway,' Pinkey told Slick, 'because the show-break had started at Times Square, and being drizzly tonight, there was a lot of traffic there.'
Slick didn't reply. Pinkey gave him a poke, asking raspingly what Slick was thinking about. 'I'm thinking about Bron,' declared Slick. 'I've got a hunch that maybe he went up to see Roy Parrington.'
'Yeah?' Pinkey was enthusiastic. 'Say, that would be nifty, wouldn't it?'
'Maybe. Its going to be hard to put the heat on Bron, though, if we walk right in and croak Parrington.' That comment brought a string of oaths from Pinkey; most of his remarks concerned Bugs Hopton, for the way in which the mobleader had queered tonight's setup. By the time they had reached the street,
however, Pinkey's fuming had ended.
'With all that traffic jam,' Pinkey decided, 'Bron has just about had time
to get to Parrington's. If we hop to Sixth Avenue and get a cab there, we'll be
out of the tie-up. The two of them won't have time to gab much, before we show up.
'What we'll do when we get there, we can decide right then. It would be hoping too much, to croak Parrington and frame Bron, the way we wanted to.
Anyway, whatever we pull, there won't be nobody around to get wise.'
Slick, the hunch producer, agreed with every word that Pinkey uttered; and, thereby, both were totally wrong. Matters were to take a twist that neither believed possible. They were to find that everything could turn out as they wanted it, more effectively than they could have planned.
They were mistaken also, on their second conjecture; namely; that whatever
they did would remain unwitnessed. There was one being whose ability was unwisely discounted by both Pinkey and Slick.
That personage was The Shadow.
CHAPTER XIII
MISTAKEN MURDER
LEWIS BRON had actually started for Parrington's apartment. That had been the burden of Parrington's phone call - that he had to talk with Bron right away, regarding a matter of vital importance to both of them.
But Bron had been a long while getting to his destination; precisely as Pinky had calculated. That fact was worrying Roy Parrington, as he paced the living room of his little apartment. It didn't occur to the promoter that traffic might have delayed Bron.
Parrington's face was haggard; his lips had an increasing twitch. The gradual strain became too much for him. When his nerves finally broke, he showed it by pouncing for the telephone. Within a few minutes, the haggard man was talking to police headquarters.
Across the wire, he heard a gruff voice that announced the speaker to be Inspector Joe Cardona.
It took Parrington a few gulps, before he could talk. When he found control of his vocal cords, he was loath to explain matters fully. At last, he decided to take the line of least resistance: to blame the one man whose name would make Cardona eager to listen.
'Listen, inspector,' gulped Parrington, 'I want to tell you, something about a man I met tonight - a fellow who says he's a detective. His name is Bill Quaine.'
'What's that?' Cardona's query was sharp. 'You saw Bill Quaine tonight?
You couldn't have. He's away on a vacation. Say - who is this calling, anyway?'
Parrington gave his own name and address. He insisted that he had seen Quaine, and began to describe the detective. Parrington's memory was good; his description graphic. The sketch that he gave of Slick Thurley was a
