Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 66 of 148
10 Short Novels Magazine — page 66: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is story prose from *Ten Short Novels Magazine* (page 64). The visible text depicts a crime narrative involving a character named Flint pursuing a woman named Valencia through what appears to be a Mexican border town. The passage describes a violent confrontation at a nightclub called La Estrella Blanca, where Flint rescues Valencia from captivity, leading to a shootout with bouncers. The narrative then shifts to police interactions, with officers discussing Valencia's arrival at an airport and a suspect named Miguel Smith. The writing style and subject matter—organized crime, border intrigue, and noir-style action—are typical of hardboiled crime pulp fiction from the early-to-mid twentieth century.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
good his threat. “Understand ?” “Si,” breathed the Mexican. “?*Sta ’uenol” Flint’s clipped finality 7 was steel hard. He gestured for his prisoners to ad- vance from the wall, but as they moved, he was warned by the perceptible shift of the Mexican’s eyes. Instead of stepping into line with the door of Valencia’s bed- room, he jerked back and risked a glance to his left. The Chinaman who had trailed him from San Francisco was lunging from the doorway. As Flint whirled to drop the Chinaman, Guevara snatched a smoking stand and struck the pistol from his grasp. The American, sidestepping the highbinder’s charge, lashed out with his foot. The Chinaman tripped, crashing headlong against the leg of a table. HAT gave Guevara time to close in with his smoking stand. The weapon smashed down on Flint’s shoulder as he turned, but it landed an instant too late. Though momentarily paralyzed with pain, he had weight behind his fist. The impact froze the Mexican in his tracks. Valencia, scrambling for Flint’s pistol, reached it as Guevara’s legs sagged. But before she could jerk the weapon into ‘line, Flint booted the Mexican against her. They pitched over the threshold and into the bedroom. Flint followed through. Valencia was knocked breathless by the impact. Guevara was out cold, but the blank-faced Chinaman was stirring. And then the front door crashed open. Two bouncers from La Estrella Blanca bound- ed into the room. Flint’s pistol cracked twice. One dropped kicking, the other was howling for help. Guevara was too heavy to haul; and Valencia seemed more important than the highbinder. Before she recovered her breath, Flint rolled her up in a blanket, caught her in both arms, and dashed to- ward the-back door. | A crowd was pouring from the side entrance of La Estrella, but being direct- ed by the shouts of the bouncer who had escaped Flint’s fire, they did not perceive his direction until he was close.to the International fence. One arm squeezed his slender captive into submission as he halted and leveled - his pistol. His erratically spattering slugs — checked the pursuit long enough for him to slide his captive through the wire and dive after her. He made it, with a length to spare. And once in a dry creek bed, he was out of sight. The customs guards on both sides, now aroused by the riot, would ef- fectively block any pursuit. Flint gagged his prisoner with a strip of his shirt, snapped a pair of handcuffs about her ankles, and left her where the dirt road dipped into the arroyo. That done, he dashed back to get his parked car. Forty-five minutes later, Flint pulled up at the police station with his captive; but a patrol car had arrived just ahead of him. Two men in uniform were drag- ging a Mexican out of the wagon and car- rying him to the desk. He was far beyond walking under his own power—dead drunk. McDonald, still on the job, watched them search the prisoner. “What have you got there?” Flint greeted. “Too much sotol,” explained a patrol- man. “Making a good job of ganging up on the town and then it paralyzed him.” “Miguel Smith’s the name,” announced the other patrolman, digging a crumpled letter, a handful of change, and a pint bottle from the half breed’s pockets. “You’ll like it here,” Flint -jibed as he saw Valencia’s perceptible moué. “Better change your mind and talk.” “At that, it’s better than your com- pany!” she flared. Finally they booked Valencia on sus- picion. “Last chance,” Flint reminded her. UT the slam of the cell door drowned her retort. Flint turned to McDonald and gave his account of the raid. “Tf I knew when she got here from ’Frisco,” Flint concluded, “I might dope out how she figures in this jam. But—” “T’ve already covered that,” interrupt- ed McDonald. “We’ve been checking up the trains, bus stations, and airport while you were in San Cristobal. Just to find out how much more of Chinatown trav- eled south. “A girl checking up with Valencia’s description landed at the airport about one A. M.—about four hours after the Gomichbooks (C@)