BLUE BOOK COP

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXIX, Issue 13233, 8 January 1941, Page 3

BLUE BOOK COP

BY ROIIY GIBBONS

'THE EVENING STORY-

It was quiet in Macy's Gas Hut on Mill road at the outskirts of Henrytown. Frank Macy. working on the night shift in his uncle's gas station, noticed he had only 2 5 minutes until closing at 1 o'clock. These days, when he was devoting every extra minute to study of a blue, top-heavy volume in preparation for the rookie" policemen's examination a week away, he welcomed the quiet. He hoped there wouldn't be any more customers that night. "Henrytown City Code, JLaws and Statutes Simplified for Citizens" was the title of the volume that dogged his days and nights. But it had been dubbed "the blue book" by Mickey Shane. Shane had caught Frank deep in it one night after honking from the squad car three times before the latter came out to the pump. "Say, Shane had bellowed, "if you want to be a copper you have to be

able to hear a horn. You get only a few extra points in the exam for the law .you're casing. With your build you won't need that. Why be a 'blue-book' cop? Forget that stuff." Every time Shane pulled in thereafter he would say, "Fill 'er up, Mr. Bluebook," or "Give me 10, counsellor." Frank didn't mind the kidding. He knew it came be cause Mickey already half accepted him as one of the department. But Mickey's banter for the last two weeks had taken on a sour note. Since Frank had muffed the stifikup 1

other soul in it had gone in terror of him, doing his bidding unquestioningly, accepting his right to rule as something inevitable. Danny had been no exception. Like the others, he had obeyed whenever Carrick cracked the whip, and now, when his manhood cried upon him to think -of Carrick as something less than superhuman, as something which, menacing Ruth as it did, was to be fought to the last ditch —he found he could not summon the spirit to fight. Carrick had ruled the roost so long that it had left Danny without the essential of any self-respecting man—the courage to put up a struggle to protect someone he loved. Fiercely, Danny tried to get a grip on himself. His too-ready imagination pictured the actual reality of setting himself up. against Carrick: the glare of those jungle eyes lighting up with fury—'the crouching of that huge figure as the great muscles bunched to strike —the stunning impact of those iron fists. . . His resolution wilted before, the mental picture. He knew that — worst of all —he would not be able to conceal his fear, if Carrick turned on him. It was that, mere than the mere prospect of physical pain, that daunted him—the fear of his own fear. If only it had been any other man in the world but Carrick . . . . It seemed to him that the darkness setting over the valley was the embodiment of its communal fear for King Carrick. You could not live here without feeling it. Even the wild Miller tribe up at the head of the valley there would stop short in their bragging and bullying at the mere sight of the boss. Even Joe Mcßann and Bat Culver, the two cowboys-cum-gunmen who lived in their master's ranch house, quailed at his anger. Old Man Nelson's terror of his landlord was little short of lunacy, and Seth Seaton. more cunning and self-reliant, took care not to cross the almighty King. Danny groaned in despair. When none of these dared to defy Carrick, what chance had he, the youngest and weakest of them, of summoning the resolution to do it? The night had set sheer now, and the darkness was intense. Miserably, he began stumbling back to old Seth's shack. (To be continued)

at the Hut. He had been studying late one night when suddenly a voice close to his ear had said: "Listen, you. get in the washroom. Don't get wise or I'll cool you. Wait until you hear us go before you break out. or else." The Saturday night till had been cleaned when Frank finally smashed through the washroom door. The car had gone from second to high and was speeding out of sight as he ran ■to the 'phone. He had sounded silly to himself as well as to the sergeant on the night desk. No accurate description of the car, no description of the bandits, nothing. Mickey the next day had nursed a hard look in his eye. "I suppose you know there are only eight vacancies for rookies and about a hundred candidates. I've

"Get back in the washroom, you." been building you up to Lt. Owens. He's on the examining board. But he was in the station last night when you turned in the stickup." Frank looked up now at the clock and gritted his teeth at the remembrance. He would have to be nearly perfect in his exam, he reflected, to whitewash that memory in the mind of Lt. Owens.

A horn boomed outside. Frank arose and slipped his .3 8 into a side pocket of his dungarees. It was only a cab. But it was on the far side of the far pump. He couldn't see the driver's face. What the hell, he was getting a case of nerves. The cab driver was young.

"Give me 10," he said. Frank caught a glimpse of a young couple cuddled in a corner of the back seat. Just kids. He was reaching for the hose when he felt a piece of steel in his back "Get back in your washroom, you dummy. I hope you have as much dough as you' did the last time.'' Frank froze at the voice. It was the same one. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the girl climb into the front seat. Maybe he could make it! Raising his hands, he. swung the gas hose over his head and bolted for the patch of bushes bordering the near side of the gravel area. Two bullets whistled over Franks's shoulder as the gunman-cab driver cursed Tlie snarl of hose he had inherited. A parting volley was delivered into bushes as the bandit straightened out in the big green cab. Frank, concealed in the miscellaneous sea of shrubbery, managed to get off two shots of his own with what he hoped was expert markmanship. He loped dejectedly back to the Hut. What a mess! The bandits hadn't been able to rob him this time. But he hadn't been able to handle them. In a desperate last look from the shrubbery he had noticed the cab carried no license plates. He wondered if he had' seen enough in that look to make a last try. The 'phone was bot in his hand. He decided to risk it. With dread in his heart Frank had been waiting at the station house for 10 minutes when, like a sun setting grandly after a storm, Mickey Shane walked in with the cab bandits in tow. Lt. Owens came out of his office snorting fire as Mickey and Frank converged on the desk sergeant. "These are the three punks," an nouncd Mickey. "Picked 'em up on Mill road four miles from Macy's place. State police had'just broadcast your emergency message, lieutenant. Spotted the license plates you asked for on a coupe. A stolen green cab they had just changed from was down the road a way. Found a rod and a stage taxi hat on this guy here." The lieutenant's face was a study in contrasts. "Fine work, Shane. But I'm look-

ing for the impostor who used my name to send out a three-state message. The state police, say I called them and I never even heard of the Stickup until the sergeant said Macy called.* 1 Frank fumbled for words. "Lieutenant, I'm Frank Macy. I faked your voice and sent out the message through the state police. Then I tailed here to report the stick-up. It was the quickest way. I'm up for the rookie exam next week. If these three got away again to night I would have looked like a monkey to you." Mickey was curious on one point

"There were no license plates oa that cab, Frank. How did yotf send ..." . . Frank couldn't help smiling. "Section 4, article 4 of statute 1(1 of the city code says. V. i public. vehicle or taxieab must carry on its right front door the last four numbers of the state license issued to the vehicle. This is an invariable! regulation." I got a flying look from,' the bushes."