The Washington times., 1930-10-25

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Big Joe Gleason had taken up
the work that Kinky King had
left unfinished when KnKy
King was left finished. They
called Gleason the Secretary"
because he was so handy with
the typewriter. And his type
writer was the make that wrote
is words the minute and every
word was cruel, leaden and pen
etrating. The patron muse OF
Secretary Gleason's typewriter
was Death.
He had learned to operate the
"mill" overseas in a machine.
gun unit. The work fascinated
him. He had been drafted into
it. But when he came back he
adopted it as his profession.
Right-hand man to KlnKy
himself he had become. And
when they found his chief laid
out in an undignified and u1-
graceful lump on the rug OF his
own rococo apartment, beside
him a gilt magazine revolver
and a lipstick, Secretary Glea.
son took over the mantle OF
President King.
He was a large man, with q
flat nose and square jaw. Open
ViciousnesS shot from his pale
gray eyes. No cunning, no
treachery; here was q butcher.
He affected no uppity ways and
had little traffic with women.
He lived in a small room in the
businesses Of his West Side do
main, where his landlady
thought him a hard-working day
laborer-often, working nights.
Early Life
Born under a dock, he had
early gone to sea. He deserted
ship in New York and drifted
West, leaving his scars on New
ark and Pittsburgh and other
centers where his trade-mur-
der-drew a living wage. He
had learned hard ways from
hard men, before the mast and
behind the rod. His post-grad-
uate degree had been won in
stir. On the fields of Flanders
he had absorbed the insignifi-
canoe of nanslaughter. So
when he went into the liquor
racket, the lowest avocation
that deluded fanatics had ever
pressed into the brow of a
defenseless people, he had no
more conscience than a hyena.
The day the newspapers
threw spasms over the latest
gangster atrocity, the raid Of
the Gorio gang on Central De-
tail and the abduction Of
Polack Annie, Secretary Glea-
son called a council Of his
blacklegs in the foul, smelly
cellar of one Of the gangs cut
ting plants. Rarely was seen
a tougher congregation than
this Sanhedrin of Kinky Kings
survivors. Man for man, they
measured up with the best
product of prohibition.
Pete Ferrone and Pinky Sha-
piro we have already met; they
have been sent forth to cop the
Edgewater Kid. With them sat
Yiddles Moscowich "a rotund,
ruddy, pleasant-faced little Ga
lician fellow, with tWinkling
brown eyes in his head and
black murder in his heart. And
Ratface Charlie, whose sharp
beak and bloodless lips desig-
mated him q scavenger IN his
heart. And Fats Ryan, a Grim
son-cheeked Trishman, who
scorned the gats Of his time for
q lead pipe wrapped in news
paper, q shameful improvement
on the honest shillalah Of his
forebears. And Niger Sam
Jenkins, a giant ex-yegg with
gorilla arms and paws. Scar
nose Mike, a Portuguese hill ban
dit, who had served his hitch
among his own and had fled
here from the bloody vengeance
of the brethren he had betrayed.
Greeks, wops, micks, klkes,
Czechs-a score Of them-as tlr1-
'godly a crew as ever spat.
They made their own laws and
lived by them. Their laws were
primitive and simple. A decent