Evening star. [volume], March 08, 1936, Page 4, Image 80

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
was on the boat now would be on it two hours
from now when it docked again at the
Battery. There was no shield on Sam Horne's
chest; he wasn't making arrests any more.
But there'd be an officer at the Battery who'd
be glad of the chance. Home smiled and
walked swiftly into the cabin.
Eddie McGuire was opening up his re
freshment stand. "You start the spiel," Horne
told him. “I’ll pick it up a little later.”
McGuire nodded. He liked to relieve Home
once in a while; it was more fun than peddling
guide books and candy. "Don’t feel so well?"
he asked.
“Friend on board. I want to chat a bit."
Home waited until Eddie began his chatter,
then he walked up behind the boy at the rail.
"Hello, Johnnie," he said quietly.
The boy started, then he turned slowly, and
his eyes met Sam Home's. “I guess you made
a mistake," he said.
Home smiled. “Not me. \ou made the
mistake.”
“Wait!" the boy whispered, and turned to
the girl beside him. ‘You find two seats," he
told her gently. “I won't be a minute.” He
smiled at her as she walked away. Then he
faced Sam Home.
The older man's hands shot forward, and
with practised skill moved over the boy’s
pockets and under his arms. "Remember me
now, Johnnie?” he said. "I used to come in
Vmeins place now anu again.
The boy at the rail slumped back against
it. All color had left his face. He looked at
Sam Home intently. “All right — I re
member," he said. "But you're not a cop any
more, are you?" His voice was low, and
eagerness made it tremble a little.
Home’s face hardened. “Once a cop, always
a cop,” he answered gruffly. “You were tied
up with that last job Vinelli pulled. You
drove the car.”
“That — that was four years ago,” the
boy said weakly.
“Four or forty, it’s all the same to me.”
The boy dropped his eyes. “What are you
going to do?” There was no tremor of hope
in his voice now.
“We dock in a couple of hours,” Home
answered. “I'll be seeing you then.”
They were passing under Brooklyn Bridge,
and Eddie McGuire, on the platform, was
going strong about Steve Brodie, who took a
cliance and made his famous leap many years
ago. Joim Durkin looked past Sam Home
and nodded at the girl. “She’s my wife,” he
explained softly. “She — she doesn’t know.”
“She’ll find out pretty soon then.”
“This is our honey moon."
“And you had to pick New York?”
“QKp it M
The grey-haired man chuckled. ‘‘One way
or another it’s always a dame that does it.”
Johnnie Durkin threw back his head and
his eyes met Home's defiantly. ‘‘Listen! I
worked for Vinelli because I needed a job.
I knew it was a speak, and maybe I guessed
what Vinelli did on the side. But I wasn't
mixed up in it. I worked on the door, and I
earned my thirty a week and that's all 1 got.”
“You drove the car that night." For this
boy in front of him Home felt nothing at all
except a cold, impersonal enmity. He had
schooled himself in this for thirty-five years.
“I didn’t know the set-up. It was late and
there was no one else around and Vinelli
said I had to drive; that he had to see a man
who was leaving town. That’s all I knew ’till
we drove off again and Vinelli made me step
on it. When we ditched the car up in the
Bronx, I knew it was something, but I didn’t
knew it was a shooting. I beat it because I
was scared. I didn’t stick with Vinelli because
I wanted to break clean. Anyway,” he added
defensively, “I was parked near Broadway.
I was half a block away when — when it
IldppCUCU. I
“Ten blocks away and it’s still first degree.
You drove the car for the getaway!”
“Wait a minute, Home! I’ve been working
hard the last four years out in Ohio. I’m
managing a store. People'll tell you if you
want to ask. I haven’t been in trouble, and
I'm on my feet —" He broke off, the words
jamming in his throat as he looked into Sam
Home’s eyes. “It’s God's truth! Can’t you
believe me?”
“It ain’t up to me,” Home answered
evenly, “to believe or not believe. All I know
is what’s on the books downtown.”
“Vinelli’s dead," the boy said.
"Sure. He burned for that job.”
“If you turn me in, I won’t have a
chance.”
“ "Maybe and maybe not. kid. 1 wouldn't!
• know about that."
They were nearing Williamsburg Bridge!
J now, and Kddie McGuire's talk was running
• down. "I got to get to work," Home said.
"Wait!"
"It's no good, kid. Once a cop, always
"Give me these two hours, then' Don’t
i tell her.”
Home shrugged. "As long as you don't
start something ” He ended abruptly. The
1 girl was coming toward them.
Johnnie Durkin smiled. "I 1 met an old
friend, dear," he said. I didn't recognize him
2 at first. This is my wife. Mr. Home."
Her smile was quick and friendly. "Why,
what luck! John told me he'd lost track of all
i his old friends. And here he runs into you!"
Sam Home's lip curled. "It's lucky, all
right,” he said. "Ain't it. Johnnie?"
"It's a shame we didn't meet you sooner,"
{ the girl went on. "We're going home tonight,
• after dinner." She placed her hand on the ,
• boy’s arm. "Couldn't Mr. Horne have dinner
J with us tonight?"
The grey-liaired man gave an angry start,
i "1 couldn’t make it," he asserted shortly.
"Seeyoulater,"he said thentojohn Durkin.
Horne walked swiftly across the deck to his
i platform, and young McGuire grinned and
J stepped down gladly enough. Sam Home'
• cleared his throat. He knew his piece well; he
1 was glib with facts and figures about the mid
J town skyline. It was familiar stuff; he talked
■ rapidly, hardly thinking of what he was
■ saying. His glance moved ceaselessly over his
2 audience, but occasionally his small hard eyes
lingered on the stooped figure of Johnnie
I Durkin in the last row.
I he steamer ploughed on through the
drizzle that had set in. It came abreast of
i Welfare Island and passed by, and cut down
i speed at Hell Hate to turn into the Harlem
• river. Sam Home stepped down from his
i stand. This was intermission time. Home lit
! a cigarette and stood a little toone side, where
he could keep an eye on Johnnie Durkin,
i He smoked the cigarette down to the end,
a and thought about Durkin. The girl was nest
ling quite close to him, and. though Home
■ couldn’t see, he knew she was holding his
( hand. Durkin was a dumb kid, Sam Horne
■ thought. He would have been safe for the rest
i of his life if he hadn't come to New York to
i show a pretty country girl the big town.
Home frowned at the thought of the girl,
i Johnnie wasn't talking much; he couldn't be
( telling her, preparing her for what was going
* to happen when the gangplank went down at d
i the Battery'. Sam Home didn't like it. *1
i Women who wept and begged and clung to
you only messed up a job that should be
■ ruiiolz onrl elaon nil inf 1 w Hnnn
The steamer passed Spuyten Duvvil and
nosed into the Hudson. Usually, at this
i point, he took up his megaphone again to
i show them the sweep of Palisades across the
river and the towering apartments of upper
i Riverside. But there was no need now to go
■ back to the job. The fog had swallowed the
* skyline; there was nothing left to see. They
* were drifting through a muggy world of grey
* over waters dark as slate. Somewhere ahead
i was George Washington bridge, but its mas
sive towers and sweeping cables were blotted
■ out. Captain Kane had cut down speed. It
i would be sticky going from now on; they
* would be late in docking. The fust doleful
wail of the steamer's siren sounded from
i the bridge. * i
Home threw away one cigarette and pulled
out another. The wind caught his first match,
and his second. When he finally looked up,
J his eyes widened in alarm. Johnnie’s girl was
sitting alone, and Johnnie was gone.
Horne walked rapidly to the bow and
i pushed his way through the groups of pas
* stngers, his eyes searching. Then he went into
« the cabin, and so to the lower deck. Johnnie
* Durkin was standing by the unwired part of
J the rail. Sam Home, quickening his stride,
* reached him and touched his shoulder. ‘ 'Going
i some place?” he demanded sharply.
The boy turned slowly. ‘‘No, I’ve changed
* my mind.”
Home grinned. “It's a tough current.
J You’d have to be a good swimmer.”
“I’m good enough. But I wasn't thinking
i of swimming.”
"Don’t lie a sap. Nothing’s ever that bad.”
“She’ll know,” young Durkin said simply.
“What of it? She may believe you.”
“She ll believe me. But oh, can’t you
* see? I’m somebody in the town where I live.
■ I’ve got a job waiting, and we've furnished
m (Continued on pane II)
The Cjfabulous Valley
A lost land where diamonds can be picked up off the
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They gambled everything, even their lives, on the chance
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The story of their adventures begins next week, in one
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Dennis Wheatley, the author, has written many success
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next week’s issue and read another behind-the-headlines
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THE FABULOUS VALLEY, by Dennis Wheatley.