Terry Mack #2: Action! Action!

By Carroll John Daly

A chance meeting in the night brings together New York City’s roughest private eye Three Gun Terry and runt-of-a-millionaire John Rogo. Over a cup of coffee, Rogo relays a tale to Terry that is all too familiar, despite its setting. Twenty five years ago, Rogo, his brother, and their friends were in South Africa hunting when they discovered fields of diamonds. They all looked to become the next Morgan and Rockefeller. Then, they stuck him: killed his brother and left him for dead, leaving him the deed to an empty mine as a last, cruel joke. But, fate is twisted. Rogo’s mine churns out money by the boatload. The only problem? His newfound wealth attracts the attention of his former comrades, and now they’re pushing him for their share. Rogo needs Terry to find these men, and dispose of them, before he ends up face-down in a city street, a knife in his back. Terry doesn’t hesitate, and is only too eager to take on the challenge, and the cash. But with three men on his tail, and his name less than private, Three Gun Terry will have to shoot his way out before the end, if he wants to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Mask
• Release date: Dec 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9788829568437

Book preview

Action! Action!

Terry Mack book #2

A Black Mask Classic

by

Carroll John Daly

Black Mask

Copyright Information

© 2018 Steeger Properties, LLC. Published by arrangement with Steeger Properties, LLC, agent for the Estate of Carroll John Daly.

Publication History:

Action! Action! originally appeared in the January 1, 1924, issue of Black Mask magazine.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Action! Action!

Is it action you want? Well, you've got your wish. This story is action—barrels of it—from its title to its very last word. Start it and you won't have to worry about what to do with the next hour of your time.

TEN dollars doesn't go far in the big city but with the lid down tight it will buy one swell feed and that's just what I was doing with my last ten spot.

In a way it was like taking the final plunge, for my life had been quiet and uneventful of late. The ordinary business life was not for me. That very night I had decided not to settle down; back to the real living for me—what might be called the adventure stuff though I had gone into it on a business basis.

Tonight I'd go and see Devlin, park my noble person in the best hotels and live on the fat of the land. I think it was a South American scheme which he had on tap; he wanted me—needed me. I pull a mighty mean gat and down there a quick shooter and a quick thinker is worth a greaser army.

And then I looked up and saw the face at the window again.

He was a little runt and well plumed; there was money in his make-up but not in his face. He was new rich; you had only to lamp him once to know that. I was near the window and this was about the fifth time that his flat, red nose was screwed close to the glass. Those glims of his were on me; there was no getting away from that.

I half raised my coffee cup in salute, just to let him know that I was wise. Then I looked indifferently about the room. There was no danger from this bird. I have enemies, yes; plenty of them but people bent on vengeance don't spend the best part of the night watching you load up. No—there was no danger from the nose at the window. Hence the salute with the invitation in it.

I wasn't surprised a few minutes later when I saw him slide into the seat opposite me.

I’ll take the check—Mr.—Mr. Mack; isn't it?

His short, stubby fingers crawled across the table and fastened on the little pink slip which had enough figures on it to warrant the use of an adding machine.

No, you won't.

I just shot my hand out and plucked the pasteboard from his grasp.

You have the name right—Mack—Terry Mack—and he pays his own checks; at least at the start he does.

Not that I was touchy on these little matters of etiquette. Oh, I intended that he take the check alright. But I'd let him see the manner of man he was dealing with first. This lad had the look of business about him and he might as well know that he wasn't dealing with any second-story worker. That check would serve as complete college course to him later.

I hope you don't mind my sitting in with you like this.

Not at all, I nodded. It must have been cold outside. I turned the check over and looked at the addition.

Have a cup of coffee, I suggested.

I'd gamble two bits on this fellow anyway.

You have been recommended to me—highly recommended, Mr. Mack, he opened up when he took his face from the cup. I think that I can put a little money your way.

Little won't do! I shook my head. I'm off for South America very shortly.

But I understood from…

So did I, I helped him along. It was only tonight that I decided. The city has not been kind to me. No sir, it treats me like a step-child. It's a false alarm; the money isn't here.

And I was givin' him facts then. The lure of the old life was calling me; the life where a man's pockets were filled by the quickness of his trigger finger. Yep, it was pleasant to think of. I was going back.

It is final?

His voice was anxious as he leaned over the table and I caught the full reflection of his face in the light of the little table lamp. He was a squared-jawed important little fellow of about fifty and his diamond pin and larger finger rocks told of money—not class you know—just money.

No, it's not final.

I watched his nose ring the cup. But it's near it, mighty near it, and you'd have to talk real money. What’s the lay?

I suddenly decided not to waste more time. Anyway, I wasn't much interested.

He sat up straight when I put the question and then came suddenly forward again, his elbows on the table.

I have heard, Mr. Mack, that you are quick with the gun and—and in a good cause ready to use it. For such a man I will pay much money.

And that was the first time I noticed his foreign accent. I give him a quick glance. He looked enough like an American but I placed him as part Spanish; his eyes were dark and shifty, and his English was a bit off color at times.

What's the lay? I ask him again, lighting a butt.

You don't ask who I am, ehe?

And seeing that he expects an answer I give him one:

No, I don't, is the whole of my oratory.

I am John Rogo.

He raises his head and throws out his chest like he had handed me a knock-out. But I couldn't roll over and kick; the name meant nothing to me. He might be a boot-legger or a head waiter or any other well known character but I couldn't do a fade out. Still he was my guest; at least to the extent of a cup of coffee and I had to play the polite so I let him fall as easy as possible.

Mr. Rogo, I says, "I'm sorry. But your handle