Free Mouthpiece by L. Ron Hubbard

the door which led to the gangsters was the only
other entrance. And to cross the room to the stairs meant discovery.
    Running a numb hand
across his forehead impatiently, he turned back to the radios. Again he caught
sight of the open switch, the unattached mike leads. On tiptoe he crossed the
room, and drew the two microphones from his pocket and laid them on the table.
He snatched up his coat and drew the coils of wire from it. His hands were
stiff and clumsy, but they quickly wrapped the leads together.
    He cursed his lack of
pliers as he attempted to cut the excess wire which hung to the tiny
microphone, but even though the wire was small, it hung stubbornly together.
    Failing in this, he
was forced to join the leads with the twenty-foot strips which composed the
coils. He was about to throw the switch down when a sudden hunch took hold of
him.
    Taking the other small
mike, he lashed it to the receiving set beside the broadcaster. It was the work
of half a minute.
    Then pulling out the
long wires so that they would not short, he laid the two mikes side by side on
the table top. Deftly he tuned the broadcasting set by its numbered dials. His
hand swept out toward the switch. At that instant he heard a chair scrape in
the outer room. His heart seemed to stop beating and his hand stopped in
midair. With a sob he threw on the switch. He whirled to the receiver and
clicked on its juice. A footstep rang against boards in the other room.
    The footsteps were
coming closer. Collins swept the two small mikes into his pocket, and darted
back to his chair. With a jerk of his arm he threw all four wires back along
the wall, almost out of sight.
    Just as his hand came
back alongside the chair, Tascori stepped through the open door. He noticed
nothing unusual at first. In fact he hardly glanced at the radioman. He paused
in the middle of the room to light a cigarette.
    The slam of a door
crashed through the house. Tascori started violently and he stared with his one
eye fixed on the door he had just stepped through.
    A heavy footfall
followed the slamming of the door.
    The sound came from
the back of the house. Tascori spun about and whipped an automatic from his
pocket. Holding it by the barrel, he darted to Collins. It was not until then
that he noticed the absence of the bonds and the telltale cloth on the floor.
    With an oath he
brought the butt of the automatic against the radioman’s head with a terrific
smash. Collins tried to dodge, but too late, and he caught the full force of
the blow over his ear. Darkness crashed down upon him.
    Tascori grabbed at the
radioman’s shirtfront and half-dragged, half-pitched him through the open
closet door. Collins sank down, to all appearances dead. A new trickle of blood
was flowing onto the closet floor. Tascori closed the closet and thrust the gun
back in his pocket. Quickly assuming a nonchalant air, he walked to the
entrance of the room. A tall figure was approaching him.
    Suddenly Tascori swore
and his eye kindled. “What do you mean bursting in here like that! Get this,
Giovanni, you’ll walk softly while you’re in my gang or you’ll be taking a
little ride!”
    Giovanni stopped and
looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Tascori. But I was in a hurry to tell you
the news.”
    â€œAll right,” snapped Tascori.
“What is it?”
    Tony and the three
other gangsters came up beside him.
    â€œListen!” said
Giovanni. “It ain’t healthy to stick around here no longer.”
    Tascori stepped
forward. “What do you mean?”
    â€œJust this,” Giovanni
replied, “I saw a squad car parked a block down the street and I don’t like
it!”
    Tony’s jaw dropped. “A
squad car! Maybe they know where to look for us!” He was tense with fear.
    â€œTwo blocks from here,
eh?” Tascori’s face was a calm mask. “Maybe you’re right, Giovanni.” He walked
to the chair which had held