The Omaha guide. (Omaha, Neb.) 1927-19??, September 03, 1932, ILLUSTRATED FEATURE SECTION, Page 4, Image 8

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    thinks he's the world's hardest de
“You don't understand him,” Sal
1? protested, experiencing a de
lightful feeling in the realization of
the fact that she was talking for
and upholding the man she loved.
“All Pete's life has btten a hard
one He told me that his father
left aim in a children’s home, when
his mother died, and he has been
on his iwn hook ever since.”
"Aw, he's just trying to play on
your sympathy I know his type,”
Carlson said, lighting a cigar.
"No!" Sally protested. “He’s not
like that. He just has a bitter out
look on life, because his father left
him in tl *•» children’s home in
“What?” Carlson asken, leaning
forward on the table, a strange look
in his eyes “What did you say
that place was named?”
Why. Mr. Carlson* “illy asked,
astonished at the expression on his
face, ' What s the matter?”
“What about that place, where
was it?"
“Sanford” replied, “San
ford, Virginia.”
Carlson slumped for-’ard on the
table, a sickly pallor on his face.
"What's wrong, Mr. Carlson?”
Sally asked now, thoroughly alarm
ed at the loot on the man’s face.
“Want me to call a doctor?”
“No, no, I'm all right,” he pro
, tested. “Are you sure that what you
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were telling me is the truth?"
“Of course, that’s what Pete told
me. Why do you ask?”
“Listen, Sally,” Carlson went on,
leaning toward her. “You love Pete,
don't you?”
“Yes, I do,” Sally replied blush
“Well, he’s down in the cellar
now all tied up waiting to get shot
as soon as Smith gets back with
Red's gun.”
Sally stifled a little cry of alarm
“Don’t worry,” Carlson said sud
denly. “I’m going dc vn there and
untie him If I don’t let back,
you’ll know that I at least did my
best for him. Now you stay here
and don’t move. I’ll send Pete up
to you.”
He left her and went down to
the cellar.
“Did you bring my milk, Carl
son?” Pete askc* him lightly, as
the man entered the room.
Carlson didn’t answer. Instead, he
walked ove to Pete and stood look
ing intently in his face.
“Looking for something?” Pete
asked sarcastically.
“Wilson wasn’t your father’s
name, ,vas it?” Carlson asked sud
why do you ask me that? And
furthermore, what Lusiness is it of
yours what my father was named?”
“None, I suppose; only I thought
you might not mind telling me.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Pete said
bitterly. “I ain’t at all proud of
it, because the old man didn’t give
me an even .ance in life. He left
me to be brought up in a regular
hell! No, there's no reason why I
shouldn’t tell you. His name was
Carlson’s shoulders slumped and
he leaned heavily on a box.
“What the hell,” Pete inquired.
“Did your old man leave you like
that, too?”
Carlson pulled himself together
with an effort
“Listen, Wilson,” he said, cutting
the ropes that bound Pete’s hands
and feet. “I’m turning you loose,
see? But the others will be here
in a few minutes and we’ll have
to fight our way out. And don’t
ask me why I let you loose.”
Pete looked at him slightly as
tonished. “Suit yourself, Carlson,”
he replied. “But I’m telling you
now. I got the goods on you and
your gang. And don’t get the idea
that I'm going to let up on you
just because you turned me lcose.
I'm going to clean you fellers out
if it's the last damn thing I ever
“Shut up!” Carlson hissed, shov
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He is a printer by trade, a
sportsman by choice.
ing a gun in Pete’s hand. “Here
they come down the steps!”
He and Carlson hid behind sepa
rate boxes and waited for the door
to open.
Smith was the first to come in
the room. Jones and the little
dark man followed him.
“Put ’em up, mugs!” Pete com
manded, rising from his place be
hind the box.
The three men froze in their
“What th' hell!" Jones exclaimed.
“This just means that I got you
cold,” Pete went on. “And for keeps,
too,” he added. Out of the cor
ner of his eye he could see Carl
son rising from behind his box.
The others saw him, too, and a
full realization of the thing dawned
upon them.
“Why, you damned dirty, double
crossing bastard!” Smith hissed.
And before Pete could prevent it,
he pulled his gun and fired straight
at Carlson.
Carlson also fired straight at
Smith. Jones and the little dark
man pulled their guns.
As luck would have it, they were
facing him, so it was comparatively
easy at that short distance to shoot
both in their arms.
Carlson lay on the floor, a hole
through his forehead. Smith was
shot through the neck, and Jones
and the little dark man were shot
through the arms.
Pete tied these latter two up and
went upstairs in the big room. The
orchestra was playing and people
were dancing, drinking, and laugh
ing, all unaware of the tragedy
that had occurred in the cellar be
neath them.
When he wr. half way across the
room, he saw Sally coming to meet
“Pete!" she greeted him with a
cry of relief. “Are you all right?
What happened?"
The concern in her voice sent a
2_arm glow of happiness through
Pete. He took her arm and led
her out into the hall.
“Listen, i ve got to telephone for
an ambulance. Carisen and Smith
are dead, and there are two other
men down stairs wounded.”
“Oh!” Sally stifled a little cry of
"Wait right here,” Pete instruct
ed, and went to fir.d a telephone.
In a few minutes he returned
and led her to a table. “I wonder
what came over Carlson,” he said
suddenly, after he told her what
had happened. “He came down
stairs when I was tied up and asked
me about my father. And when I
told him he turned me loose. I
got the goods on him. He was deal
ing in dope; the oily rascal!”
“Oh, Pete!” Sally cried sudden
ly, tears swelling up in her eyes
and running down her cheeks.
“You shouldn’t say thrt; you must
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m kind of glad he went like
that,” Sally replied, dabbing fierce
ly at her eyes. “Rather than have
you send him to jail.”
“What are you talking about?”
Pete asked her ,mystifiedly.
But Sally never told him.
That morning a telegram was
sent to the chief of the Interna
tional Detective Agency in Wash
ington, D.C. It read:
Everything cleaned out as or
dered Stop Racket was dope
WILSON. next aiternoon a low, racy
roadster roared out of the town of
Fairview, bearing a rumble seat
full of bags and a very, very happy
Mr. and Mrs. Pete Wilson—very,
very close together on the front
Here are thrills a plenty in
this detective story through
which the trail of true love
Pete Wilson is sent out by
headquarters to round up a gang
of racketeers single handed.
But the gang were on to him
and gave Pete a warm recep
* ♦ ♦
By Nick Lewis
A new love serial in which an
evangelist uses gangster
methods to run racketeers out
of Harlem.
You can't afford to miss a " -
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fiction is unique in weekly -
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Don't Miss It
A sizzling new short story.
Blue ribbon AFRO stories. c
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If you have often heard of the per
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