Читать книгу The Suicide Squad - Dead Or Alive - Emile C. Tepperman - Страница 3

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ON OCTOBER 1, John Stafford, mayor of Hill City, was shot and instantly killed by a dope-crazed assassin named Dill.

The next in line for the mayoral job was Lawrence Hall, president of the City Council. But, for some unaccountable reason, Hall refused the honor. In order to avoid becoming mayor, he resigned from the City Council and left at once for Florida, taking his wife and son with him.

It now became the duty of Judge Samuel Rotherwell, chief justice of the Superior Court, to appoint someone to fill the unexpired term of the mayoralty until the next election. There were a number of substantial business men and civic leaders in Hill City whom Justice Rotherwell might have chosen. But to the amazement and consternation of everyone, he named—Hugo Bledd.

That was how the Era of Terror came to Hill City.

Hugo Bledd owned the Hill City Race Track. He was a disbarred lawyer who had dipped his fingers in almost every form of shady activity. He had been disbarred for conspiracy to help a notorious racketeer client defraud the government of two million dollars in income taxes. And when his racketeer client went to jail, Bledd had continued to manage the vast sub rosa enterprises of the Big Shot. Disbarment meant nothing to him, as long as he was able to keep out of jail... And this was the man whom Justice Rotherwell appointed to be mayor of Hill City!

Naturally, there was a good deal of criticism. The editor of the morning Journal announced that he would ask the Governor to look into it. But that night, the editor of the Journal was accosted by a group of thugs, who beat him with a lead pipe and left him unconscious in the street. The same night, there where a dozen other assaults upon citizens who might have been expected to oppose the appointment.

Hugo Bledd was sworn in the next day. He demanded the immediate resignation of the police commissioner, as well as of all the other commissioners who had been appointed by the preceding mayor.

He also discharged a great number of the older policemen and detectives, claiming that the police department needed revamping.

Then there began an influx of strange and ugly looking men into Hill City. From all parts of the country they came—men with tight lips and killers' eyes, men with guns bulging under their armpits, men who had done time in all the major prisons. Before the city awoke to its peril, it was in the grip of as vicious a mob of storm troopers as had ever taken possession of a European land.

One of these new arrivals, a man named Rory Fenn, was appointed police commissioner. Fenn immediately swore in a hundred of the newly-arrived thugs as policemen and detectives, raising some of them to captains' and inspectors rank over the heads of the old-timers on the force.

The next day, at the meeting of the City Council, a contingent of these uniformed thugs was present in the meeting room. Significantly also, seven of the thirty-nine councilmen were absent. Two of the seven were dead. The other five were in the hospital, so badly injured that they would not be able to leave their beds for weeks.

Little wonder, then, that those councilmen present quickly voted to pass all the measures submitted by Mayor Hugo Bledd. A tax was imposed on all business transactions in the city, as well as on all pay checks. The money derived from this tax was to be placed in a relief fund, to be administered by the Mayor. In addition, Mayor Bledd was given the power to create five hundred new appointive positions on the police force and in other city departments, the salaries to be fixed by himself.

By the time the Council meeting was over, absolute dictatorial powers had been voted to Hugo Bledd. His thugs, wearing their brand new police uniforms, began making the rounds of all the retail stores in the city, selling tickets for a mythical police ball, at ten dollars each. No one refused to buy.

As if by magic, gambling houses opened over-night. Slot machines appeared in every store and hotel lobby. Bookmakers began to transact business openly. Night clubs advertised obscene burlesque entertainment. Beady-eyed, slick-haired men began to peddle marijuana cigarettes near the public schools.

A fortune began to pour into the private coffers of Hugo Bledd and Associates.

SOME few citizens still dared to voice an objection. Among these was Norton Gregg, district attorney of Hill County, who was not an appointee of the mayor, but was an elected State official. He drew up an indictment to present to the grand jury, but Judge Rotherwell refused to allow him to present it. He was blocked.

Angrily, he Ieft Judge Rotherwell's chambers and hurried to his office. He put through a long-distance call to Governor Daniel Elsing at the State capitol.

"Dan," he exclaimed hotly, "you've got to do something. It—it's fantastic, unbelievable. Bledd and his crew are looting the city. They're making it the crime headquarters of the whole country. You've got to stop it!"

"What do you want me to do, Norton?" Governor Elsing asked.

"Declare martial law in Hill City!" District Attorney Gregg exploded. "Send in the troops—"

"You know I can't do that," the governor interrupted, "unless the request comes from the mayor."

"Well—well—" Gregg fumbled for ideas—"call a special session of the Legislature to appoint an investigating committee."

"Sorry, Norton, I can't do that either. You forget that this State has home rule. The demand for a special session has to come from the local authorities."

District Attorney Gregg gripped the phone blindly. He ran his free hand through his fast-graying hair. "Good Lord, Dan, there must be something we can do. The law is being violated every minute. And Rotherwell—I don't know what's come over him. He's as honest a judge as I've known, yet he blocks my every move!"

"Why don't you call the F.B.I.?" Governor Elsing suggested. "Perhaps they can find a way."

District Attorney Gregg's hands were trembling as he hung up. For a long time he sat staring blankly into space. Then he picked up the phone once more and said harshly, "National—5303!"

In a moment, he was talking with the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, of the United States Department of Justice.

He talked for twenty-five minutes. At the end of that time he sighed and said, "Then there's no legal way in which you can send Federal agents here to break this up?"

"I'm sorry," he heard the director say. "There is no evidence of violation of a federal law. But wait. There's one thing I may be able to do. I have three men in the department who work independently, on a roving assignment. I'll ask them if they'd be willing to accept a furlough and go into Hill City as private individuals. I'm almost sure they'd accept—they're that kind..."

District Attorney Gregg interrupted: "Good Lord, are you mad? Three men! What can three men do—"

He stopped as he heard the director's voice in bleak amusement. "You don't know these, three men, Gregg. If they accept, they'll arrive in Hill City tomorrow, and contact you. Their names? Kerrigan, Murdoch and Klaw!"

SLIGHTLY bewildered, Attorney Gregg put down the phone. He didn't know what to think. The names the F. B. I. director had mentioned meant nothing to him. He felt tired, beaten, let down. There was no place he could turn for help. Still, he'd keep on fighting....

The door of his office was thrust violently open, and four men entered. Their leader was a big, bull-necked man with a flat nose and a pair of mean and vicious eyes which looked out from under bushy, unkempt eyebrows. Gregg recognized him as Rory Fenn, the new police Commissioner. The other three were in plain clothes, but they were wearing new badges pinned to the lapels of their coats. They were no more prepossessing than their commissioner. They were three of the thugs who had been appointed to police posts—Hugo Bledd's storm troopers.

None of the four said a word. But there was something ominous in the way they stared at District Attorney Gregg.

Slowly, Rory Fenn crossed the room to the desk. One of his men remained at the door. The other two came around the desk and stationed themselves on either side of Gregg's chair.

A little line of perspiration appeared upon Gregg's forehead.

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely, looking up across the desk at Rory Fenn.

Fenn didn't reply at once. He glanced around the office, then his gaze returned to the gray-haired district attorney.

"Get up!" he said.

"See here, Fenn," Norton Gregg exclaimed indignantly, "you have no right to come in here with your bullies—"

Fenn said, "Shut up!"

He leaned across the desk, and a big, hairy hand came up in a swift, open-handed blow to the side of Gregg's face The slap sounded like the crack of a whip.

Gregg was thrown sideways, almost off his chair, but the two thugs standing alongside him caught him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. They dragged him to the middle of the room, facing Fenn.

"You've been making a nuisance of yourself, Gregg," Fenn told him, in that cold, toneless voice of his. "Your switchboard operator just tipped us off that you called the boss G-man in Washington. Now we'll show you what we do with guys who make trouble for us."

He drove his fist into District Attorney Gregg's face. All the power of his beefy body was packed behind the blow.

Gregg's breath escaped in a rush as his head was snapped back. His nose began to bleed. He would have sagged to the floor but for the support of the two thugs.

Fenn reached out and took a grip on Gregg's gray hair with one hand, pulling his head up, then drove his fist once more into the hapless man's face. This time he split both the upper and the lower lip.

Gregg squirmed, trying to break loose from the two ruffians who held him, but he was like a child in their hands. They laughed at his feeble efforts, and held him up while Rory Fenn smashed blow after blow into his face, gashing his cheek, lacerating his lips, loosening teeth, flattening his nose. Soon, Gregg's face was unrecognizable, bloody and battered. Twice they stopped and threw water on him to revive him, then continued.

At last, Rory Fenn's lips twisted in a smile of satisfaction. Gregg was hanging limp between the two gunmen, and blood was dripping over his clothes, down to the floor. He was moaning feebly.

"All right," said Rory Fenn.

The two thugs dragged their victim back behind the desk, and plumped him into the chair. Fenn got more water from the cooler, and splashed it across his face.

GREGG raised his head groggily. His eyes were puffed. "You devils!" he muttered. "You'll go to jail for this!"

Fenn laughed. "What jail, Gregg? We run the jail—like we run the rest of the town. Nobody goes in that we don't put in. Get wise to yourself. You can't buck Hugo Bledd. What you just got is only a sample. You play ball with us, or we'll really go to work on you."

"Never!" exclaimed Gregg, through swollen lips. "You'd better kill me now. Because if you don't, I swear I'll get every one of you—"

Fenn's laughter shook the room. "You got a daughter, haven't you, Gregg?"

The district attorney's pain-wracked body stiffened.

"Susan! What—what about her?"

"How'd you like her to get a dose of what you just got?"

"No! God, no! You couldn't—"

"She's in jail, Gregg. We had her picked up on a charge of reckless driving. There's two of my boys outside her cell right now. All I have to do is pick up the phone and say one word—and they go to work on her!"

"You devil!" Gregg shouted, and sprang up.

Fenn laughed and, with an open-handed blow, smashed him back into the chair. Grinning, Fenn reached for the phone.

"Wait!" Gregg screamed.

Fenn stopped, with his hand on the phone. "Well?"

The district attorney's face was ghastly, clotted with blood, and torn with anguish. "Don't—don't hurt her. I—I'll do anything you ask."

"That's better!" grunted Fenn. "You'll write an article for the paper, saying that you had no right to draw up that indictment. You'll say that Hugo Bledd is a fine mayor for Hill City, and you'll urge everybody to get behind him and support him. You'll say that hereafter, as district attorney, you will vigorously prosecute anyone who attempts to oppose Mayor Bledd... And you'll write it now."

Slowly, with trembling hands, District Attorney Norton Gregg took paper and pen and began to write. He was a beaten and broken man.

"You—you'll not hurt Susan?" he begged.

"Not if you do what you're told," Fenn assured him.

When Gregg had finished, Fenn took the paper and put it in his pocket.

"Now," he said, "pick up that phone and call the F. B. I. Tell 'em to forget the whole thing. Tell 'em you were talking through your hat."

Gregg obeyed. In a moment he was talking once more with the director of the F. B. I. He spoke for only a short while, and then he hung up, lifting a battered face to Fenn.

"It's too late," he said. "Those three men have just left. They took the train for Hill City. They'll arrive at 7:40 tonight."

"Three men?" Fenn asked, puzzled.

"Yes. They're coming unofficially."

"Ah, so!" said Fenn, his eyes glittering under the thick brows. "And their names?"

"Kerrigan, Murdoch and Klaw."

Fenn repeated the names thoughtfully. "Kerrigan and Murdoch and Klaw, eh? Well, we'll handle them. They shouldn't be any trouble at all. As for you, Gregg, go home and stay there till your face gets better. And watch your step!"

"My daughter—"

"Your daughter stays in jail. We'll cook up a couple more charges to hold her on. And in case we should become dissatisfied with the way you work for us, why—" to emphasize what he meant, he smashed his right fist into the palm of his left hand—"whack!" He winked. "Get the idea, Gregg?"

He turned and motioned to the gunman at the door. "You stay with Mister Gregg, Patsy. Go home with him. You'll be a sort of—er—bodyguard for him, in case he gets any notions. I'll send someone to relieve you at night."

Patsy grinned. "A pleasure, Mister Commissioner!" he said.

Rory Fenn went out, followed by the other two thugs.

"Kerrigan, Murdoch and Klaw!" he was saying amusingly as he walked down the hall. "Three guys who think they can work wonders! Well, well! We'll have to give them a little idea of what it's all about!"