mg.cityofcrime-第1节
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CROOKS IN AMBUSH
IT was gala night in the city of Westford。 Streets were strung with brilliant lines of colored electric lights。 Store fronts were illuminated； throwing their brightness upon festooned posts and displaying the elaborate decorations of their own windows。 Tourists； driving through the main streets； gained the impressions that this city of two hundred thousand was engaged in celebration。
As the boosters phrased it； Westford was a 〃live town〃 that was definitely 〃on the map〃； the city attracted visitors from every town within a hundred miles。 Business was booming in Westford； it was predicted that good times were here to remain。 Thanks for the prosperity belonged to Westford's 〃live wire mayor〃； Elvin Marclot。 His administration was hailed as the greatest in the history of the city。
There was one man who viewed all this dourly； as he sat in a small ground…floor office that gave him a slanted view of the main street。 He was a husky； square…jawed individual； with weather…beaten face and short…clipped hair that was well streaked with gray。 He was attired in a blue uniform； that stretched tight as he sat erect。 His insignia marked him as a lieutenant of police。
Nearly everyone in Westford knew James Maclare。 A veteran police officer； he had gained a reputation for honest and efficient service。 His record was one of blunt； painstaking toil； rather than that of brilliant exploit； yet no one had ever said that Lieutenant Maclare lacked brains。
Though slow to decision； Maclare invariably formed the right opinion。 When matters perplexed him； he thought them over and waited until he had the answer。
During that process he kept silence； when the time was ripe； he acted。
There was one man in whom Lieutenant Maclare placed confidence。 That man was another officer； as straightforward as Maclare himself。 He was Sergeant Cassley； Maclare's chief subordinate。 Together； they had charge of the first precinct； and； of necessity； Maclare frequently told Cassley the trend of his half…formed plans。 Cassley was Maclare's man Friday； never did he pass along a single word that he had heard from his superior。
TONIGHT； Cassley was sitting across the desk from Maclare； watching the lieutenant as he stared from the window of the precinct office。 Though slow of thought； Cassley was positive that opinions were due。 He was right。 They came。
〃This whole thing is the bunk！〃 announced Maclare suddenly； emphasizing his gruff statement with a ponderous punch upon the desk。 〃Look at those lights； all that tinsel！ What do they mean to Westford？ Nothing except trouble！〃
Cassley looked puzzled。 He was a bulky man； his wrinkled uniform made a contrast to Maclare's smooth blue coat。 His beefy； flat…featured face displayed its bewilderment。 The sergeant needed more statements； in order to grasp the full import of Maclare's objections。 The lieutenant noted the fact and formed a wry smile。
〃I know what you're thinking； Cassley；〃 he told the sergeant。 〃You've fallen for the talk of business ing into town。 Sure！ Westford is prosperous。
But what's e on with all this excitement？ I'll tell you…a lot of riffraff who think that Westford is the right spot for any crooked game they can cook up！〃
Cassley nodded slowly。 He was tabulating a list of recent crimes。 Maclare was right； there were crooks in Westford； plenty of them。 But when Cassley thought further； his nod ended。 He could not see just where the law had failed to battle crime。
〃What about the Flying Squadron？〃 queried the sergeant。 〃It's been moving fast； lieutenant； ever since Director Borman organized it。 They were on the job quick； those fellows； after that last bank robbery。〃
〃But the crooks got away；〃 reminded Maclare。 〃Don't forget that； Cassley。〃
〃You can't blame Director Borman for it。〃
〃I'm blaming Kirk Borman for nothing；〃 returned Maclare； leaning across the desk。 〃You know what I think of Kirk Borman。 I say that he's the best police director this town ever had。 Elvin Marclot； as mayor； made the best choice anyone could have； when he picked Kirk Borman for the job。
〃But Borman hasn't stopped the rackets。 He can't； even though he's got full charge of that Flying Squadron。 The job rests with precincts； like ours here。 We've got to raid the places where the crooks hang out。 Clean them up before they have a chance to make trouble。〃
Sergeant Cassley sat silent。 Lieutenant Maclare began to strum his desk； then spoke in rueful tone。
〃We've drawn a blank every time we've tackled the Club Adair；〃 he admitted。 〃We know that Lance Gillick runs it as a gambling joint； but when we blow in； it's always an innocent…looking night club。 We're going there again； though； Cassley。 Only； first； I'm planning to hand Lance Gillick a jolt that he won't forget。〃
〃How will you manage that； lieutenant？〃
MACLARE smiled at Cassley's question。 Picking up a pencil； he indicated an inkwell that rested on his desk； drew an imaginary circle around it。
〃That's Lance Gillick；〃 stated Maclare。 〃Working inside his circle； the Club Adair。 We know what his racket is； don't we？〃
〃Sure；〃 nodded Cassley。 〃Gambling！〃
〃All right。〃 Maclare began to tap all around the desk with his pencil。
〃Here's a lot of stores； pool rooms； flop…houses…all through the city。
They've got slot machines； punchboards； they're running the numbers racket on the q。t。 The State has legalized a lot of that stuff； neither Mayor Marclot nor Director Borman can break it up。 But it's gambling； isn't it？〃
Cassley nodded。
〃Agreed；〃 added Maclare。 〃Therefore； it's a sure bet that Lance Gillick is behind it。 He's the big…shot in this town。〃
〃Say！〃 exclaimed Cassley。 〃If you could hook all that on to Lance…〃
〃It wouldn't do a bit of good；〃 interposed Maclare。 〃But I tell you what we can do。 Since the rackets belong to Lance； all those fellows who collect on the machines and numbers must be working for him。〃
〃That's sure enough；〃 agreed Cassley。 〃They stick together； too。 They all hang out down at the old Mississippi Hotel； near the railroad terminal。 That hotel is running wide open； even though it's got no license。〃
〃That's just it；〃 chuckled Maclare。 〃So we're going to raid it； tonight。
We'll make a round…up and bring in that whole bunch of hoodlums。 The only fellow who could spring them will be Lance Gillick； and he won't dare do it； because it would show that he was behind the rackets。〃
Sergeant Cassley arose； grinning broadly。 He queried：
〃How soon do we start？〃
〃Get the squad ready；〃 ordered Maclare； briskly。 〃Have the wagons e along with us。 We'll go out the back way； keeping off the main streets。 No one will know where we're bound until we get there。〃
As Cassley turned toward the door； Maclare picked up the telephone。 He made a brief remark； before he lifted the receiver。
〃It's a straight precinct job；〃 asserted Maclare； 〃but we mustn't forget standing orders。 I'm calling Director Borman； to let him know that we're starting out。 He wants it that way； so he can have the Flying Squadron cover up afterward。〃
SERGEANT CASSLEY went out into the patrol room； closing the lieutenant's door behind him。 He snapped orders to a group of bluecoats； paraded them and sent word to bring out the patrol wagons。 Lieutenant Maclare arrived from his office； surveyed the dozen men who were standing at attention。
〃We're raiding the Mississippi Hotel；〃 announced Maclare。 〃Sergeant Cassley will enter from the front； with a detail of four men。 We'll let them think it's a minor raid； whoever es out by the back doors will find our main force。
〃We'll have the wagons with us； to gather up the lot of them when they reach the back street。 I'll be in charge of the main squad。 Further orders when we're on the ground。 All right； men。 Ready for inspection。〃
Soon the entire squad was marching from the station house； Maclare； at the head； was leading the advance through dingy； poorly lighted alleys that had been neglected in Westford's campaign of bigger and brighter lights。 As they reached a corner； Maclare gave the mand to halt。 Sergeant Cassley told of his four…man detail。 Lieutenant Maclare gave him final orders。
〃Don't get far inside the front door； Cassley；〃 Maclare advised。 〃We want them to e through the back。 Director Borman is sending the Flying Squadron。
They'll show up about ten minutes after we strike。 The Flying Squadron will roll up on the front street。 After that； you can let anybody go out through the front door。 Remember： put up a big show。 We've got a right to arrest anyone who es out the back while you're inside。 We'll charge them with resisting arrest。〃
Cassley and his men marched away。 Maclare moved the remainder through an alleyway； then along an ill…paved street that was flanked on the right by coal yards； with the railway tracks beyond。 As he and his men stationed themselves in back of the decrepit Mississippi Hotel； two darkened patrol wagons coasted into view。 Officers opened the doors of the black Marias； stood beside them； ready for the surge that was to e。
Tense minutes passed。 A police whistle shrilled from the front street。
motion began within the old hotel。 Until that moment； it had been a quiet…looking frame structure； its
