don’t hear anything up there,” Josh whispered. “Maybe there’s a way out.”
“Shut up!” whispered the man. “Wanta tip ’em off? Sure they’re up there. Wight, too. Between you an’ me, I think the thing the boss is after is up there. I think the fat boy was kinda sore he didn’t think to look here for it sooner.”
Josh improvised, speaking in an even lower tone, so as not to “tip off” the members of Justice, Inc., up the stairs.
“Who’d think they’d keep it right in their shop?” he hazarded.
“Yeah,” was the low whisper from the man at his elbow. “You’d think it’d be in a safe-deposit box.” He added, “The other cars oughta be here, by now.”
That was enough for Josh. He had to get back to Nellie and Smitty and tell them there were already too many down here to handle, and that “other cars” were on the way, right now, with even more.
He slid toward the stairs, and found that several men had gotten between him and them. He started to eel between them.
There was a sudden suspicious exclamation. And a flashlight sent its beam squarely in Josh’s dark face! He smacked it to the floor, where it instantly shattered and went out, but the damage was done.
Nobody yelled or shot because nobody wanted to draw police attention here. But there were snarled curses, no less fervent for being suppressed, and about six men jumped Josh.
The Negro could fight like a black tiger. He struck out like a windmill in the dark and had the pleasure of feeling a couple of satisfactorily jarring contacts with faces.
“Get out the fire escape!” he yelled to the two up the stairs. “There are too many—”
A fist caught him in the jaw, guided by sound, and he didn’t have a chance for more words. But he’d given a warning. Now, the two up there could get help.
Nellie and Smitty had no intention of getting out the fire escape or any other way. They took the stairs down two at a time. Josh was in trouble, and when one of the members of Justice, Inc., was in a mess, all the rest jumped to help him.
Fighting in the dark was precisely the kind of fighting the little blonde and her huge sidekick were best at. This was because they didn’t depend on blows, which need a seen target to be effective.
Smitty’s vast paw caught a shoulder. He squeezed. There was a hoarse but sustained screaming in answer. The screaming kept up after he released the shoulder. In fact, it went on till some of the man’s own gang swung gun or sap to stop it.
Smitty went happily on.
He felt an arm and yanked on it. The feel of it, and a grunt of agony, told him that the arm ended up by being effectively out of joint.
A head butted him in the stomach. He grunted at that, but the thick sheath of iron-hard muscles down there didn’t feel it much. He banged down hard on the head with the heel of his fist, as a hammer hits a nail!
A body collapsed around his feet, almost tripping him.
“This isn’t so bad,” he said to Nellie.
Nellie didn’t answer. She was too busy. Because she wore a dress, she was distinguishable as an enemy to every thug who happened to brush against her.
One man who had lunged for her was out of it. She’d caught his coat, yanked it down over his arms, and then put him out of his spirit of enterprise by bringing the edge of her firm little hand slashing hard against his Adam’s apple.
Hands got her by the throat. She drove her own hands and arms up between the clutching wrists and spread hard. The hands tore loose. She caught one of the wrists, bent down hard, and the body behind the wrist pin-wheeled over her slim shoulders to smack against the lobby floor.
No, it was not so bad. But in a moment, things changed. The door opened. None of the battlers heard that, above the other sounds. But then an extra powerful flashlight rayed out. They all saw that.
It froze the lot of them for an instant, and the poses were something that should have been photographed.
Nellie had a man by the hair,
“Shut up!” whispered the man. “Wanta tip ’em off? Sure they’re up there. Wight, too. Between you an’ me, I think the thing the boss is after is up there. I think the fat boy was kinda sore he didn’t think to look here for it sooner.”
Josh improvised, speaking in an even lower tone, so as not to “tip off” the members of Justice, Inc., up the stairs.
“Who’d think they’d keep it right in their shop?” he hazarded.
“Yeah,” was the low whisper from the man at his elbow. “You’d think it’d be in a safe-deposit box.” He added, “The other cars oughta be here, by now.”
That was enough for Josh. He had to get back to Nellie and Smitty and tell them there were already too many down here to handle, and that “other cars” were on the way, right now, with even more.
He slid toward the stairs, and found that several men had gotten between him and them. He started to eel between them.
There was a sudden suspicious exclamation. And a flashlight sent its beam squarely in Josh’s dark face! He smacked it to the floor, where it instantly shattered and went out, but the damage was done.
Nobody yelled or shot because nobody wanted to draw police attention here. But there were snarled curses, no less fervent for being suppressed, and about six men jumped Josh.
The Negro could fight like a black tiger. He struck out like a windmill in the dark and had the pleasure of feeling a couple of satisfactorily jarring contacts with faces.
“Get out the fire escape!” he yelled to the two up the stairs. “There are too many—”
A fist caught him in the jaw, guided by sound, and he didn’t have a chance for more words. But he’d given a warning. Now, the two up there could get help.
Nellie and Smitty had no intention of getting out the fire escape or any other way. They took the stairs down two at a time. Josh was in trouble, and when one of the members of Justice, Inc., was in a mess, all the rest jumped to help him.
Fighting in the dark was precisely the kind of fighting the little blonde and her huge sidekick were best at. This was because they didn’t depend on blows, which need a seen target to be effective.
Smitty’s vast paw caught a shoulder. He squeezed. There was a hoarse but sustained screaming in answer. The screaming kept up after he released the shoulder. In fact, it went on till some of the man’s own gang swung gun or sap to stop it.
Smitty went happily on.
He felt an arm and yanked on it. The feel of it, and a grunt of agony, told him that the arm ended up by being effectively out of joint.
A head butted him in the stomach. He grunted at that, but the thick sheath of iron-hard muscles down there didn’t feel it much. He banged down hard on the head with the heel of his fist, as a hammer hits a nail!
A body collapsed around his feet, almost tripping him.
“This isn’t so bad,” he said to Nellie.
Nellie didn’t answer. She was too busy. Because she wore a dress, she was distinguishable as an enemy to every thug who happened to brush against her.
One man who had lunged for her was out of it. She’d caught his coat, yanked it down over his arms, and then put him out of his spirit of enterprise by bringing the edge of her firm little hand slashing hard against his Adam’s apple.
Hands got her by the throat. She drove her own hands and arms up between the clutching wrists and spread hard. The hands tore loose. She caught one of the wrists, bent down hard, and the body behind the wrist pin-wheeled over her slim shoulders to smack against the lobby floor.
No, it was not so bad. But in a moment, things changed. The door opened. None of the battlers heard that, above the other sounds. But then an extra powerful flashlight rayed out. They all saw that.
It froze the lot of them for an instant, and the poses were something that should have been photographed.
Nellie had a man by the hair,
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