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.

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