F.B.I. Suicide Squad Series

One for all, and all for one—even in death—was the fighting creed of the three wildest, gun-swinging law aces of the F.B.I.! For years there have been rumors around Washington that the F.B.I. has a Suicide Squad—a group of men who have no regular duties, but who wait for the one inevitable assignment from which there will be no return. People have wondered just what kind of men comprise this Suicide Squad—and why. Six months ago there had been five of them. Two months ago there were four. Now there were only three—Kerrigan and Murdoch and Klaw. Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers.

Rumors said that the gang Ieaders of a dozen large cities had been bludgeoned into joining the Army of Death – controlled by a men calling himself the General. He stumbled forward, and a last burst escaped from the machine-gun. One shot nicked Johnny Kerrigan along the ribs, another caught him in the thigh. Then the rest of the hail swept down lower and riddled Russ Kimber, where he cowered on the floor. Johnny Kerrigan was sent staggering sideways against the wall. He steadied his revolver against his elbow, and emptied it into the doorway, where a second man had appeared. This one dropped, and a third stepped into his place, also with a machine-gun. He raised it. Johnny Kerrigan’s gun was empty. He could not retreat, because of his injured leg. He could not charge, either. He shrugged. “Okay, mug,” he said. “I can take it!”  * * *  Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers.

Once again, the F.B.I.'s elite manhunt trio confronts the underworld. Battling through treacherous paths, they're resolute to dismantle the empire of a malevolent crime-czar, who has mercilessly declared death upon all G-men, offering lucrative rewards for their lifeless bodies. It's a perilous journey of valor, vengeance, and vendetta, where every step could be their last, but justice is an unyielding pursuit. "Boss! This is Pim," he said. "I was watching outside of Powers' place like you told me. Kerrigan and Murdoch and Klaw came, with the Roche dame, like you figured. Klaw went in alone. They got Roche out, and they got the evidence, too. Kerrigan and Murdoch is taking the eleven o'clock train to Washington, and Klaw is gonna take Roche and his wife up to their house."  At the other end of that telephone line, a tall thin man listened carefully to every word. At the end of the report he said softly, "All right, Pim. I didn't expect that Powers would be able to take those three hellions. Now I'll use my own plan. Did Powers get away?"  "Yes, Boss. I guess he's gone to the other hideout."  "Very well," said the other man. "Go there at once. Tell him to take every available man he has up to Riverdale where Roche lives. I'll meet him there, and bring more men of my own. We must have everything set before Klaw gets up there!"  "But what about Kerrigan and Murdoch, Boss? They'll be on the way to Washington with the evidence—"  "No they won't, Pim—not when I've got this thing arranged. Pim, this is going to be the Suicide Squad's last mile!"   * * *  Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers. More information on https://fbi-suicide-squad.com

The name of Dunstan Vardis had become almost legendary in the underworld since his escape from prison five years ago. In some secret and mysterious way he had developed a sure-fire method of hiding wanted criminals. Every killer in the underworld came to Dunstan Vardis for protection. “Just a minute, Mr. Klaw!” a photographer begged. “Stand still for a second, will you?” The man raised a bulky camera to his eye and sighted through the periscope. He had his finger on the lever to click it down. Before he could do so, Stephen Klaw took his right hand from his pocket. There was an automatic in it. Without wasting a fraction of an inch of motion, Klaw fired from the hip. The shot echoed and re-echoed like thunder in the vaulted train-shed. The slug smashed square into the camera, driving through the box and embedding itself in the photographer’s skull.  * * *  Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers.

Miami becomes the epicenter of a deadly showdown. As terror grips the city, the black sheep of the F.B.I. takes on a formidable gang bent on eliminating all G-men. With ambitions to dominate Miami's gambling and slot-machine underworld, the gang's ruthless tactics escalate tensions.  "Your bet, mister. Want to buy more?" The dealer asked Steve. He pushed his chair back a little. His hands were dug deep in his jacket pockets. His slate-grey eyes were absolutely without expression. But there was a hard smile at his lips. "No," he said, speaking very loud, so that his voice carried above the hubbub at the dice tables. "I'm not buying any more chips. This is a clip joint. You dealt that last round of cards off the bottom of the deck!" There was a sudden deadly hush in the huge room. Even the rattle of the dice ceased. The dealer snarled, "Why, you little punk! You say I dealt crooked? I'll push your teeth in—" He stopped, looking at the big, flabby figure of Sammy Lax, who had come up to the table. Behind Sammy Lax, the four or five gunmen-guards were converging on the table. Steve Klaw stood up, keeping his hands in his pockets. Sammy Lax looked at him with a hurt expression. "Now, mister, I'm sure you know better than to come here looking for trouble. If that's what you're after, we can give it to you." "Trouble," said Stephen Klaw, "is exactly what I'm after."  * * *  Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers. More information on https://fbi-suicide-squad.com

Hill City faces a dire crisis under the corrupt rule of Mayor Hugo Bledd. His reign of terror, backed by brutal henchmen, has compromised the police and judiciary, creating a climate of fear and oppression. The city's last hope lies with District Attorney Norton Gregg, who courageously reaches out to the FBI for assistance. This call for help brings the F.B.I.'s Suicide Squad - Kerrigan, Murdoch, and Klaw - to the fore. These three agents embark on a perilous mission to dismantle Bledd's empire, facing ruthless gangsters and corrupt officials. Their journey through the city's dark underbelly reveals the true cost of power and the unyielding spirit of justice.  * * *  Tepperman was one of the high-output pulp author of the 1930s, able to deliver readable, action-packed fiction stories like clockwork, securing his place in the hall of fame of pulp writers. More information on https://fbi-suicide-squad.com