The Suicide Squad Reports For Death

Johnny Kerrigan blinked at him owlishly. "Jus' as a private citizen,
Kimber ol' boy. My friend Frank Robbins told me you eloped with his
kid daughter, Selma. Now she found out what kind of guy you are, she
wants to go home, but you won't let her. So I'm here to sort of
convince you."

Kimber's little eyes were sharper than ever. "Take a tip from me.
Kerrigan. Forget about the whole thing. Believe me, there's too much
involved for me to give Selma up."

"Sure, sure. I know," Johnny said. "You figure to get Frank Robbins
knocked off, so Selma will inherit the estate. Then you'll take it
from her."

The other stared.

Johnny Kerrigan shook his head ponderously. "'Tisn' right, Kimber. I'm
making you a friendly prop--proposition--let Selma come home with
me. And give her a divorce."

A shrewd gleam came into Russ Kimber's eyes. He moved closer along the
bar, and dropped his voice. "You don't make much salary with the
F.B.I., Johnny. How can you live on the salary they pay you?"

Johnny seemed to think that over for a little while. Then he nodded
ponderously. "'Swhat I always ask myself, Kimber ol' boy. How can I
live on my salary?"

"Would you like to make some real dough?"

"How, much real dough?"

"Say, ten grand."

Johnny grinned fatuously. "What must I do?"

"Nothing much. Just walk out of here and go home," Kimber said. "You
can tell Frank Robbins that he hasn't got a leg to stand on. I didn't
violate any law when I married Selma. Tell him it's okay, and you make
ten grand!"

"Nix," said Johnny Kerrigan. "I came here to find Selma and take her
home. Won't go without her. I'll take this joint apart to find her."

Russ Kimber scowled. "Don't be a sap, Kerrigan. She's not here. I sent
her away."

"Then--" Johnny grinned with the shrewdness of the true drunk--"why
you wanna pay me ten grand to go away?"

"Because we don't want trouble with you," Kimber said. "You got a
reputation. The boss doesn't want to tangle with you--if possible."

"What boss?"

"My boss."

"Who's your boss?" and now Johnny's eyes narrowed.

KIMBER hesitated. He looked around the room. Kimber's Bar and Grill
was well-filled tonight. There were thirty or forty people at the bar
and tables, mostly men. Kimber exchanged glances with several of them.
These were his plug-uglies, toughs he could rely on to see to it that
Johnny Kerrigan never left this place alive if he learned too much.
There were only two men whom Kimber didn't know. They were sitting at
a corner table, drinking beer. One was dark-haired anal dark-eyed,
slim and handsome. The other was smaller, wiry-looking, but hardly
more than a kid--or so Kimber thought. If anything started, those two
would have to be taken care of, too--so there'd be no witness to tell
what had happened to the big drunken G-man.

Kimber grinned thinly, and turned back to Johnny. "You've heard of--
the 'General'?"

Johnny Kerrigan whistled. "So you work for the General?"

"Yes. Now you know. The General offers you ten grand to step out of
the picture right now. Lay off. Go home. It'll be healthier for you--
and more profitable."

Johnny Kerrigan peered bleary-eyed at Kimber. "Ten grand is a lot of
dough. That girl--Selma Robbins--must be here. Otherwise you
wouldn't offer me all that dough."

"Okay," Kimber snarled. "Have it your way. Selma is here. She's
upstairs, guarded by machine-guns. Neither you nor the whole F.B.I.
could get to her. Now, do you take the ten grand and lay off? Or do we
have to get tough with you?"

Suddenly Johnny Kerrigan started to laugh. He put out one huge paw and
wrapped his fingers around Russ Kimber's neck.

"Get tough!" he said.

Kimber's face grew red as the circulation of blood was choked off by
that terrible grip. He pawed at his shoulder holster and dragged out
an automatic.