“SHOO FLY” MULLIGAN, the exterminator, slumped in his chair wishing that the working day was over so he could go fishing. He played idly with the handle of his squirt gun that was worn thin with thousands of plunges that had chased bugs out of their cozy little corners in pantries, rugs and what-not. Bumps, the boss, kicked open the door and walked in muttering to himself, then caught sight of Shoo Fly.
“You, Mulligan! What are you sitting around here for when there’s work to be done?”
“Aw, boss, me squirt gun’s empty.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake, go get it filled, and hop over to the Wentworth Apartments. The super is complaining that the walls are crawling with your little six legged friends that are making themselves at home in somebody’s kitchen!”
Mulligan yawned and got up, dragging his squirter behind him.
“O.K., boss. I was thinkin’ that maybe I could go fishing today, but I guess it’s no go!”
So saying, Shoo Fly ambled down the corridor to the supply room where he loaded his gun with the most powerful stuff he could find. No use making two trips when he felt so lazy, he figured; so, use only the best. Downstairs, he cranked his old jalopy and tut-tutted at the condition of the tires. The rubber was gone, the cording, was gone, and after ten more miles it would be running on the inner tubes. Daggone the enemy!
WITH a weird banging like a washing machine full of tin cans, the jalopy pulled away and wheezed up the street. Twenty minutes later Mulligan stopped behind a row of limousines in front of the Wentworth Apartments, and accepted the grins of the populace on the street with a scowl. He shouldered his squirt gun like a rifle … and marched to the super’s office. First, he rapped on the door, then stalked in.
“You the drooper … I mean, super?”
The fat boy behind the desk nodded behind his flowing whiskers.
“Where’s all these bugs I’m supposed to smear?” Shoo Fly asked.
“They’re upstairs in 6D. An old man lives in there. He went out a few days ago, and hasn’t come back. The blooming little bugs have been crawling out from under the door like an army on the march, and invading all the other apartments. The tenants are complaining something awful. You’d better get busy right away!”
“Pronto! Shoo Fly Mulligan, they call me. I am death on bugs. In one hour all you will have will be insect corpses. Give me the pass key and I’ll get going.”
The super passed over the key and Mulligan went out to the elevator. On the sixth floor he stepped out and went to apartment D.
“HOLY SMOKES!” he let out. “Is this place a menagerie?” The roaches came tearing out from under the door sill, scampering around the hall like they owned the place. Most of them changed their minds when they saw that there was nothing to eat in the corridor and shot back again. Mulligan stamped out a horde of them with his number twelves, inserted the pass key and went inside.
It was one of those three room affairs, but you would never know it. Tin cans and bread wrappers littered the place, and were the bugs having a swell time! Shoo Fly took one look around at the walls that were walking away and groaned. “What did I do to deserve this? Some mess, I’ll say!”
So, Mulligan unlimbered his squirt gun and began the extermination. The little creatures flopped off the walls to the floor, gave a couple of kicks and went on to the happy hunting grounds of the insects, where all is bread crumbs and honey.
Finally, Shoo Fly Mulligan had the walls cleared and poked around the place looking for more victims. He went into the side room that was supposed to be used for a bedroom … and almost fell over! Instead of a bed was the wildest batch of equipment he had ever seen. All nice shiny gadgets, wires and dials. It looked a lot like those fancy radio sets you see in the movies. His curiosity got the better of him, and Mulligan began to fiddle around with the switches.
SUDDENLY … a low hum rattled out of the stuff. Mulligan hopped back and his fingers sought desperately for the doodad that turned the thing on. No matter what he hit, the hum continued.
“Now how in blazes did that happen? Why am I always doin’ somethin’ like that?” Idly, he flipped another switch and instead of a hum this time, he got a voice.
“Yes,” it said. “What do you want?”
Shoo Fly’s eyebrows raised up to his hairline.
“Huh?”
“Who is this!” the voice demanded.
“This is Shoo Fly Mulligan. Who’re you?”
“I am Von Rittmeister, the head of the Gestapo. Speak, stupid, what is it!”
Mulligan wasn’t very smart, but at that he suddenly caught the idea. This place must be the headquarters of the spy ring! And with this radio, they were in constant touch with Germany! As fast as he could, Mulligan put his brain to work, then recognizing what was a microphone, picked it up.
“This is your American agent.” His eyes hit a map on the wall and picked out a spot. “There’s a fleet of transports going out. They’re meeting forty-five longitude and thirty latitude in a week. Signing off.”
Mulligan didn’t know what longitude or latitude meant, but it was on the map, so it must mean something! He flipped off a switch before the other guy could answer back, but still couldn’t find the one that caused the hum.
Oh well, now he could call the police. But then the door creaked open! He turned … and WHAM! Something heavy landed on his head and the lights went out! When he came to, he was sitting in a corner of a room. He tried to rub his head, but his arms were tied behind his back! Mulligan couldn’t help it … he groaned. Immediately, two men stepped into the room. One was old and short. The other was a big bruiser with thick lips and a gleam in his eye that wasn’t pretty to look at. The little man spoke up.
“So, you are awake, eh? Enjoy yourself, for you won’t be awake long! What were you doing here?”
“I’m the exterminator, that’s what. How come I’m tied up like this?”
The pair exchanged glances.
“Why did you fool with my radio set?”
“Aw,” Mulligan answered. “I like gadgets, that’s all. Let me up.”
The old boy nodded and the bruiser helped Shoo Fly to his feet. Then … BLAM! The bruiser’s fist plopped on his jaw, and Mulligan went down! Again and again he was jerked up and knocked down. At last the little fellow called off the strongarm fellow, and both reentered the room with the radio.
BY this time Shoo Fly Mulligan was mad … very mad! And that tussle did something for him at least. It had so strained his bonds that he could move his hands. Mulligan wasn’t a little man by any means, and the size of his biceps was covered by his shirt. He gave the ropes a healthy pull and they loosened some more. A few more times and they were off. Quickly, he bent down and untied his feet, then stretched himself, pulled up his pants, and spit on his hands. He had some spies to mop up!
For all his ungainly size, Shoo Fly could move quickly. He went to the front door, knocked twice, and ran behind the door of the other room. When the old guy came out to open the door, a heavy hand grabbed him by his scrawny neck and choked off an outcry. Mulligan held his feet off the ground a while, took a deep breath, then socked! The old boy sailed across the room!
But he had been heard! The bruiser came on the run, took in the business with a glance of his weasel eyes, and ripped into Shoo Fly. Immediately the place was a bedlam of sound. They tripped over the furniture and got up swinging. A chair smashed to smithereens and a vase crashed on the floor. The bruiser landed one on Mulligan’s jaw that made him see stars, but Shoo Fly come back with a right cross that had the guy spitting teeth all over the place.
But the awful punishment Mulligan had taken a little earlier was beginning to take effect. His arms were as heavy as lead, and his dome felt like a balloon. The bruiser didn’t seem to be bothered a bit so far except for the loss of his teeth. Both circled each other like pair of lions on the kill … then the Nazi leaped! The charge carried him into Mulligan and they both went down in a heap! Shoo Fly squirmed like mad, got one hand loose and slugged. The big boy rolled off.
With an agile movement, the Nazi grabbed Mulligan’s hair and slammed it against the floor. As for poor Shoo Fly … the lights just blinked on and off. The other ran to a drawer and yanked it open. His hand snatched up a gun, but Mulligan wasn’t that far gone. The only chance he had, he took. The squirt gun lay on the floor nearby. With a sweeping movement, he scooped it up and pushed the plunger … A great gust of foul-smelling stuff shot into the Nazi’s eyes!
“HIMMEL! My eyes, my eyes … I’m blind!”
Mulligan grinned. This was going to be fun. He aimed … then swung … and the Nazi went down for the count.
Suddenly the door burst open … Men with guns ripped into the place. Shoo Fly thought they were more flies and got ready to fight, but they turned out to be G-men who had intercepted that seemingly harmless hum from the radio and traced it here. When the shouting finally died down, and the two were led off to the clink, while a batch of newshawks took pictures, and a G-man was contacting the Navy to contact the enemy submarines that were supposed to contact American transports that Mulligan reported to the Nazis about, a reporter asked Mulligan how come he managed to get into all this. Shoo Fly smiled broadly.
“All on account of some bugs,” he answered, “all on account of some bugs!”
***