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Page 55 text:
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June,1946 THE TECHALOGUE 23 t'Hey, you're .... Shut up! snapped Chuck, recognized only now by Mike. Mike quivered. I know. You guys are gangsters. Iyve been making your dope con- tacts. You're on the spot and you want me out of tne way because you're afraid l'll squeal .... and I will! I will! Another thud! More misery! More unconscious repose. The car was two hundred miles past city limits before Mike re- vived. He saw the whole thing before him. Death seemed imminent. The past whirred and blurred. Things, current and past, swam. about him. He was wrongg Clancey was right. He had gained Paper Money -transformed from pennies for paper to paper money for .... crime! He was a criminal! With a desperate lunge, he grabbed the wheel and turned. The car swerved into the ditchg end over end it rolled and finally banged against a solid tree. State troopers found the wreckage. There were five dead: four recognized gunmen wanted for dope peddling and an unknown boy. Back in Manhattan, Clancey missed IVlike. In desperation he turned over his problem to the Desk Sergeant. Files were combed. Every imaginable lost or found boy was seen. Then a link was volunteered. Gangsters had wrecked a car and had an unknown hostage. There was his picture. Perspiration dotted Clancey's brow. It was Mike! Next day Sing Loo was arrested. From him Clancey got all details. Poor kid! was his only comment. -WALLY STEWART, 4B. .ii-gl-. A DUPE OF FASHION I used to wear a great fur cap, . Pulled down and held with woolen wrap, ln winter time. I drew it down below my eyes, And ventured forth, quite ostrich wise, In sweet contentg Until one day I chanced to see The black cap which a chickadee Wore different. His cap, worn high and carelessly, Was all he wished that I should see, It now appears. 'Tis certain he was duping me, For when I set mine Jauntily, l froze my ears. -R. F. MEADOWS.
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Page 54 text:
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22 THE TECHALOGUE June,1946 But they would have been amazed had they followed the car to the cheap tenement on Forty-fifth Street where it stopped at the curb. Four men piled out, entered the building and climbed rickety stairs to a top-storey room. Safely inside their dimly lighted room, the door locked in the following scene, the time when crime leaders divide their spoil. Good night for a contact, Chuck, spoke the young leader. Affirmative grunts and nods were combined. Dripping from exposure to the harbour city's weather, the four crowded around the table as Chuck pulled the carefully folded paper from an inner pocket, unfolded it and exposed the contents below. Good, exclaimed Chuck. L'It's working fine! That kid was a good bet. On the table lay the evening's prize, obtained through the cun- ning of experience and trained gangsteria : Dope! Chuck pulled a fat wad from his wallet and split 86,000 with his three companions. Not bad for an evening! Yes, this crime business was paying! No work, easy money and lots of it: a perfect set-up! Undetectable crime! The four departed with warnings of non-association for safety's sake. Four miles of tenements lead us to Mike Itano's dingy room. Tumbling, tired, tousled, he pushed his door open and under twenty- five watts of dimness counted the money for the evening: 5 dimes, 20 nickels, and a crisp S20 bill. Maybe it wasn't right to sell those packages in a paper to the stranger for Sing Loo on the corner, but it paid very well. Three days later Mike got another little package carefully placed in a marked paper, made his contact, gained another 320. Things started to brighten up. Mike began to appear on the street in better clothes. He began to watch shiny autos with a new glintg he began to window-shop with a new glory and gleam in the grey eyes. Yes, things were brighter. Mike felt more secure-or did he? If he could only stop those infernal voices telling him it was wrong. No one would ever know -and then he would have all the things he ever wanted. Things were running smoothly-too smoothly. Weeeks passed, then, Wham! It happened! Mike was on his corner, peddling was good. It paid well. Suddenly a black sedan screeched around a corner. In a moment it stopped, a young man jumped out and pulled Mike into the car with him. The car wheeled into the setting sun. Out to the west: out to the open highway. Powerful hands clamped Mike's mouth shutg he tried to cry out but could hardly breathe. Suddenly his squirming ceased as a thud of revolver butt banged his head. When Mike awoke the car was speeding along the highway. From the front seat he could see side-brush whiz by. Where are we . . . going? he stammered. No one answered. He turned to a captor.
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