The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Coast Guard Cutter Forty-Nine’s base was at Corpus Christi, and it was towards there that Frost turned when he hopped off from Austin. He was at Cuero in fifty minutes, stopping only long enough to wire Jimmy O’Neill that he was on his way and to notify Hans Traub he again was temporarily in command of the Air Rangers.

“I’m riding alone on the Stevens case,” he telegraphed.

Two hours and fifty minutes after he had circled the dome of the state capitol, he dipped into the airport at Corpus Christi and taxied his battle plane into a hangar. He got O’Neill on the phone at the government docks.

“Coming right over, Jimmy.”

“Great,” said O’Neill. “Ox Clay is here. You’ll like him.”

Frost did like Ox Clay. That name ought to awaken memories of sporting page devotees because Ox Clay was pretty well known back in ’21 and ’22 when he was ripping football lines to shreds for the Middies: little, square-jawed, built like a bullet, and innumerable laugh wrinkles around his eyes. “Hello, Jerry,” he greeted the flyer. “I’ve heard so damn much about you I feel as if we’re old friends.”

“You’re no stranger yourself.” Frost returned. He said to O’Neilclass="underline" “Well, Jimmy, I’ve just left one of those high and mighty conferences. Believe you me, Missus Frost’s young son has got to do something and do it pronto. “What’s it all about?”

“Ox can tell you more than I can, Jerry. He was riding Forty-Nine himself.”

“I’ll say I was,” Clay retorted with a grimace. “And the way that baby slipped away from Forty-Nine was nobody’s business. We took a couple of shots — it wasn’t good target practice. We only scared her faster.”

“What about the woman?”

“I was getting to that. It’s that Stevens skirt — no two ways about it. They let us get pretty close — and then kidded us by pulling away. But nobody can tell me I didn’t see her during those first few minutes — brown suit, brown hair—”

“Right!” said Frost. “Sounds like my little playmate. What about the boat?”

“Well, she used to belong to the Singleton outfit. Name’s the Catherine B. Lately taken over by Thomas, and then his gang got it when you fellows rubbed him out. She’s the prize of the Gulf, can store about three thousand cases and make close to forty knots. We’ve never got her because she’s fast and then there are hundreds of little coves along the coast she ducks in when trouble appears. When we saw her she was heading to sea.”

“We’ve got plenty of dope on that outfit,” O’Neill said. “But so far it hasn’t done us any good. We know they load on the stuff at Tampico, Vera Cruz and God knows where else — and about a hundred miles out they transfer it to the launches.”

“I see,” Frost said. “The launches don’t dare get out farther than that?”

“Exactly,” Clay put in. “They work close to the Mexican side. There must be five hundred coves between here and the Laguna de la Madre.”

“If we could grab the Catherine B,” O’Neill said; “we’d stop a lot of the smuggling. What’s your idea about this, Jerry?”

“Well, I’m going to have a look for her,” Frost said quietly.

They thought he was kidding.

“Bring your bathing suit?” Clay asked.

“I’m serious,” Frost said.

“Really?” Incredulously.

“Hell, yes. Why not? I’ll get pontoons and try to take her. She can’t outrun my boat.”

“It’d be suicide,” said Clay, shaking his head.

Frost laughed. “Lissen, Ox — I admit it may seem funny to you, but it doesn’t to me. Besides, I’ve got to do it. How am I going to know when I see her?”

“Easy,” said Clay. “Brass taffrails. She’s ebony black all over but for her taffrails. You can see ’em rain or shine. She carries one funnel, looks perfect alow and aloft, has a heavy stern and her cutwater and bow lines are as pretty as I ever saw.”

Frost laughed. “I don’t get that conversation,” he said. “But I did understand about the brass. I don’t guess I can miss her.”

“You can’t,” O’Neill said.

“Definitely made up your mind to go it alone?” asked Clay.

“Yep. Would it be possible for me to requisition silencers?”

Ox Clay swung open a drawer and took out two pistols fitted with longish muzzles. “Presto!” he said. He handed them to Frost. “I’ll let you use mine.”

Frost stared at them curiously. “This,” he said, “is the first time I ever saw a silencer. Are they apt to jam?”

Clay grinned. “The first shots will be all right. After that you gamble. Hope they’ll do you, Jerry. They’re my contribution to your success.”