Read Online Tales of the Red Panda: The Crime Cabal by Gregg Taylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregg Taylor
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the
heat–”
“You let me worry about the police, Simon. You just worry about me,”
Malcolm clipped angrily. It would be impossible for him to impose discipline on
the loose assembly in the darkness beyond if he were contradicted by his own
men.
“Yes sir,” the voice called, and with a clunk, the lights sputtered and
buzzed back to life, revealing a crowd of fifty thugs in the great hall of the
High-Hat Club.
It had only been two weeks since the capture of Big Joe Tennutti, but
they had not been kind to the once-opulent Club. Little was left intact following
the police raids and subsequent searches. Tables were smashed and overturned,
and the long bar had been broken apart by police sledgehammers, supposedly
searching for hidden panels. The club had been seized, boarded up and put on
the market at once. But even with the dearth of gangland leaders left at large,
few in the city would have dared to purchase and occupy the former stronghold.
Scroungers had been the next wave through, stripping anything portable
that might have value, however slight. There weren’t more than a half dozen
working lights left in the place, and they only remained because they were far
out of reach. But it was enough to illuminate the crowd of low-level soldiers
and unaffiliated goons.
Malcolm smiled. He had been an underworld leader for too long not to
have accepted the one great truth of the criminal class: they were cowards to a
man. Even now, he felt sure they would scarcely dare to defy him openly in the
light. The impatient rhubarb faded at once, and Malcolm continued.
“There was a time,” he said with a mock-gentle tone, “when there was
more than enough to go around in this city. When independent operations could
compete, stay strong and still make a pretty penny. Those days are, for the
moment, behind us.”
Another murmur rose from the crowd. Malcolm ignored it.
“Just look around you. Can anyone here see more than half a dozen men
he counted among his allies a year ago?”
There was silence in the hall.
“We kept our independence, our own interests, our old grudges. We kept
working to take each other out of the game like there wasn’t something new at
our heels. The Red Panda exploited those rivalries and used them to destroy us.
Those of us who are left must stand together, or we won’t stand at all!”
Malcolm was hitting his stride now. “One city, one gang, and profit enough for
all!”
“What about the Golden Claw?” called a voice from the hall.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Malcolm looked up in anger to see that
the call had come from “Hook” Henderson, once a soldier for the underworld
queen who had taken the name “Golden Claw.” Henderson strode forward into the
open space before the stage, addressing the crowd of hoods and the man on the
stage equally.
“You all remember the Claw. She tied all the rackets in town under one
big operation. The gangs she didn’t take over outright all paid her tribute to
keep their operations running. Even the Sclareli mob,” Henderson said with a
sneer towards the stage. “It was the biggest, the most organized mob this
city’s ever seen–”
“Even if you do say so yourself,” Malcolm interjected wryly, to the
amusement of some in the crowd.
“Laugh it up if you want, Mister Malcolm. But in her day, when the
Golden Claw said jump, you jumped. Just like every Man-Jack here. And where is
she now?” Hook Henderson called to the crowd. “In a federal pen, that’s where.
An’ word is she’ll grow old an’ die there, all because of the man in the mask.
If the Golden Claw’s outfit couldn’t stand up to the Red Panda, what chance
does this bunch have?”
The crowd was becoming agitated. They obviously agreed with Henderson.
Malcolm would have to do something unexpected.
“Mister Henderson is right,” he called. The crowd fell silent, baffled.
“The Golden Claw built the best organization I’ve ever seen in a lifetime in
the rackets. But
heat–”
“You let me worry about the police, Simon. You just worry about me,”
Malcolm clipped angrily. It would be impossible for him to impose discipline on
the loose assembly in the darkness beyond if he were contradicted by his own
men.
“Yes sir,” the voice called, and with a clunk, the lights sputtered and
buzzed back to life, revealing a crowd of fifty thugs in the great hall of the
High-Hat Club.
It had only been two weeks since the capture of Big Joe Tennutti, but
they had not been kind to the once-opulent Club. Little was left intact following
the police raids and subsequent searches. Tables were smashed and overturned,
and the long bar had been broken apart by police sledgehammers, supposedly
searching for hidden panels. The club had been seized, boarded up and put on
the market at once. But even with the dearth of gangland leaders left at large,
few in the city would have dared to purchase and occupy the former stronghold.
Scroungers had been the next wave through, stripping anything portable
that might have value, however slight. There weren’t more than a half dozen
working lights left in the place, and they only remained because they were far
out of reach. But it was enough to illuminate the crowd of low-level soldiers
and unaffiliated goons.
Malcolm smiled. He had been an underworld leader for too long not to
have accepted the one great truth of the criminal class: they were cowards to a
man. Even now, he felt sure they would scarcely dare to defy him openly in the
light. The impatient rhubarb faded at once, and Malcolm continued.
“There was a time,” he said with a mock-gentle tone, “when there was
more than enough to go around in this city. When independent operations could
compete, stay strong and still make a pretty penny. Those days are, for the
moment, behind us.”
Another murmur rose from the crowd. Malcolm ignored it.
“Just look around you. Can anyone here see more than half a dozen men
he counted among his allies a year ago?”
There was silence in the hall.
“We kept our independence, our own interests, our old grudges. We kept
working to take each other out of the game like there wasn’t something new at
our heels. The Red Panda exploited those rivalries and used them to destroy us.
Those of us who are left must stand together, or we won’t stand at all!”
Malcolm was hitting his stride now. “One city, one gang, and profit enough for
all!”
“What about the Golden Claw?” called a voice from the hall.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Malcolm looked up in anger to see that
the call had come from “Hook” Henderson, once a soldier for the underworld
queen who had taken the name “Golden Claw.” Henderson strode forward into the
open space before the stage, addressing the crowd of hoods and the man on the
stage equally.
“You all remember the Claw. She tied all the rackets in town under one
big operation. The gangs she didn’t take over outright all paid her tribute to
keep their operations running. Even the Sclareli mob,” Henderson said with a
sneer towards the stage. “It was the biggest, the most organized mob this
city’s ever seen–”
“Even if you do say so yourself,” Malcolm interjected wryly, to the
amusement of some in the crowd.
“Laugh it up if you want, Mister Malcolm. But in her day, when the
Golden Claw said jump, you jumped. Just like every Man-Jack here. And where is
she now?” Hook Henderson called to the crowd. “In a federal pen, that’s where.
An’ word is she’ll grow old an’ die there, all because of the man in the mask.
If the Golden Claw’s outfit couldn’t stand up to the Red Panda, what chance
does this bunch have?”
The crowd was becoming agitated. They obviously agreed with Henderson.
Malcolm would have to do something unexpected.
“Mister Henderson is right,” he called. The crowd fell silent, baffled.
“The Golden Claw built the best organization I’ve ever seen in a lifetime in
the rackets. But
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