Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 118, No. 2, March 19, 1938
- Автор: Clark Dale, 12627 Convict
- Год: 1938
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 118, No. 2, March 19, 1938». Краткое содержание книги:
“You won’t lose anything by helping me,” said the deputy. “However, all I can do is make recommendations to the warden, but any time a man does anything for me which I believe deserves a return favor I’ll go to the front for him until he is rewarded. You have, as you say, been a good man for me, but still you haven’t done anything that warrants me trying to get your time reduced.”
“You’re right, Deputy,” said Mickey “Yes, sir, you’re exactly right, but what I’ve been doing is using my head. I’ve been gaining the confidence of the desperate characters in the prison. What would you say if I told you that three of the worst men you have here are planning to escape and if it had not been for me you would not have known anything about it until after they were gone?”
“Who are they?” asked the deputy, trying to conceal his eagerness.
“I’m going to tell you that,” said Mickey, “but, first you realize that if these men had succeeded in getting away the newspapers would have put you and the warden on the pan for it. Now I think that I deserve some credit for stopping this escape, for I am now in a position to do exactly that. I realize that I have a bad past record and that I haven’t been here long but if you will go to the warden I believe he will recommend to the governor that my time be cut so that I can get out in about two years.”
“If I find that your story is based on facts,” said the deputy, “and if your information enables me to prevent an escape I will see that you are properly rewarded.”
“Okay,” said Mickey. “I know your word is good.”
Mickey told of all the details being planned for the escape Saturday night, and of the hacksaw blades already hidden in the kitchen. The deputy listened with interest.
“Now,” ended Mickey, “there’s one more thing to be considered. These guys expect me to go with them, and in order to throw off suspicion I’ll have to pretend that I am going along. They will have a long rope with a hook on it to use in climbing the wall, and you can tell your guards that I will be the fourth one to go over so they won’t shoot at me. In that way it won’t get spread over the prison that I stooled on these fellows. If you want to, you can keep me in the dungeon a few days to make it look on the level.”
The deputy agreed to the plan and promised that the men would not escape.
“Of course,” he said, “I could put them in solitary confinement before they tried to escape, but if I did that I wouldn’t have any evidence on them except your story and the chances are the warden wouldn’t stand for them being kept in solitary on that alone, so I’ll let them go through with the escape and have enough guards planted outside the wall to stop them if they have to mow them down to do it.”
Mickey was well pleased with himself and began to plan on enjoying his liberty within two years instead of the twenty-five years the judge had given him, but to his companions he talked of the stolen liberty which he said would be theirs within a few days.
Mickey found himself unable to sleep on the Friday preceding the day set for the escape. He wondered if his companions would halt when commanded by the guards or if they would be shot. After all, he was interested only in his freedom. These men meant nothing to him. They were only a means to an end.
Friday night after the last of the late work lines had been fed and sent to their cells Red McCarthy approached Mickey.
“Mickey,” he said, “we have decided that we should show our appreciation of your putting us in a position to lam tomorrow night, so we’re going to put on a big feed for you. This is one night when you can sit around and take it easy. We’re going to do all the cooking and at midnight we’ll have a spread for you. In the meantime, you go in the back, get yourself a magazine and read, or take a nap if you want to. After tomorrow night we’ll have to split up for a while and there’s no telling when we will get together again.”
“Well,” said Doolin, “I appreciate you fellows doing this for me, but you must remember that I am getting just as much benefit from it as you are. Anyway, I’ll enjoy the feed, so you fellows go to it.”
It is possible Mickey Doolin suffered some pangs of conscience as he waited for his pals to prepare the big feed. They, he must have thought, probably considered him a swell guy.
It was just past midnight when Mickey was called back to the kitchen to find the table loaded with good food, most of which had been stolen from the prison storeroom.
“This is what we might call a farewell dinner,” said Red. “That is, it’s farewell to this joint for us. This time tomorrow night we’ll be getting ready to climb that wall and get on our way back to the bright lights.”
When the meal was over Mickey leaned back and stretched.
“That sure was a swell feed,” he said, “and we’re going to have lots more of them in the outside world. We’ll pull some big jobs, too, when they get tired of looking for us. Well, I guess we had better clean up these dishes and get them out of the way before the night captain comes in. Gosh, but I’m sleepy. Guess I might have eaten too much.”
“We’ll take care of cleaning up,” said Red. “You go on back and lay down if you want to. We’ll wake you up in time to start the main line breakfast.”
Mickey went to the back room and stretched out on a bench. In a few minutes he was snoring loudly. His three companions stood over him and smiled.
“He’ll be out for at least two or three hours,” said Red. “That stuff I got from the nurse in the hospital is sure strong. Well, we’d better start to work on those bars in the basement. It’s almost one o’clock and the captain comes through about three.”
Mickey was still snoring lustily when the three men completed the sawing of the bars which would give them access to the prison yard and with but one more barrier between them and the outside world, a thirty-foot stone wall. From a hiding place in the kitchen storeroom they brought forth a long rope to the end of which was fastened a large iron hook. Hastily they discarded their prison uniforms and slipped into unnumbered overalls.
“Well,” said Red, “I guess we’re all set. All we have to do now is keep an eye on the guard in the corner tower. He’s not likely to see us in the dark and once we hit the ground we’ll be in the clear. Won’t Mickey be surprised when he wakes up?”
It was shortly after three o’clock in the morning when the night captain entered the kitchen for his usual cup of coffee. Seeing none of the prisoners about the range he tiptoed back to an alcove where he knew they often played cards which was against the rules. He found no prisoners there. Quickening his step he went to the back room. There he found Mickey sprawled on a bench. He shook the prisoner several times before Doolin opened his eyes.
“Where’s the other boys?” asked the captain.
“Eh?” said Mickey, still groggy from the dope his three companions had given him. “Why, they are cleaning up the table.”
“Table?” repeated the captain. “What are you talking about? I believe you’re drunk.”
“No,” muttered Mickey. “Just too much — farewell dinner.” He sank back on the bench and closed his eyes again.
When the deputy warden made his appearance, having been summoned by the captain, he found a way to rouse Mickey thoroughly.
“Where are they?” he demanded. “You might as well come clean. You tricked me into this to have us off guard so these men could escape. God help you if they are gone.”
Mickey’s remonstrations were of no avail. The deputy refused to believe that the prisoner had been sincere in acting as an informer and he sent him to the dungeon.
It was almost two years before the last of the trio of escaped convicts were apprehended and returned to prison, and when they had completed their terms in solitary confinement and again appeared in the prison yard they merely laughed when Mickey asked them to tell the deputy that they had doped him, but they did tell all their friends of his informing on the men with the contraband food, and at last reports, Mickey Doolin, distrusted by prison officials and hated by his fellow convicts, walks alone in a crowded prison, knowing not when a knife will be slipped between his ribs, and doubtless as he contemplates the long years in front of him he doesn’t care when and if the end comes.