10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

¥2 for a killing. Slawter doubted if anyone would hear the shot, “Get set for it,” the cab driver warned. He was letting the gun’s snout rest on the back of the seat. His eyes said he was blood crazy. Slawter thought, This will be tough on Vale. Life sure ts kicking her plenty. “Anything you want to say?” the eabby asked. Slawter said, “How much they paying you for this?” 2 “More than you’re worth,” the cabby said. “More than anybody’s worth.” Then he said a screwy thing, eonsider- ing. “Why the hell do you want to live? Why does anybody?” He was nuts, of course, but that didn’t make a bullet from his gun less lethal. “It’s a habit that the human race has got into,” Slawter said. “A rotten habit,” said the cabby, his voice slipping to a whisper. He was nervous, sick with nervous- ness. Suddenly the detective’s capacity for hope went on the increase. He might have a chance if he could keep the guy talking. Someone might come along, something might happen. So he said, “Sergeant Treckess won’t like it, you spoiling his meat like this. He’s out to arrest me for murder, you know.” “Sergeant Treckess?” said the cabby, surprised. “Why, ain’t you a cop?” “I’m a private detective, not a cop. -Treckess wants me for the Rodney Pell killing.” “Rodney Pell.” The little man mused over the name, “Why, he ain’t dead. He lost his nerve. He muffed the Useman bump-off, Didn’t you know that? So did Georgie Stawse.” Slawter said, “Pell’s over at the morgue. He died from eating poison.” The cabby laughed. “Hell, you don’t know nothing. The stiff over at the morgue is what’s left of Lola Ownmond’s Jatest boy friend. Where you been all your life?” “T’ve been busy trying to help a kid named Betty Romine.” It was all the detective could think to say. He had to keep on talking. The truth, he knew, was that he’d been busy trying to help out a heel named Tommy Slawter, who, sometimes, had believed himself a smart detective, “You working for Betty?” asked the 10-STORY DETECTIVE — cabby. He asked it fast. For a second his twisty eyes lost some of their in- sanity. Slawter nodded. “Her father’s in jail charged with murder, but you know all about that.” “Yeah, I know all about that. Jake Romine didn’t poison anybody.” He slipped off the safety catch on his gun. Slawter stiffened to catch the hot wad, said, “Betty Romine identified the body at the morgue. She said it belonged to Rodney Pell.” Somehow that was the payoff. The cabby stared at him for a moment, then his little napkin-ring mouth broke into a sickly grin. “What a cute trick,” he said, grinning on. He didn’t stop grin- ning as he licked his lips once, all the way around. “Why—” he said, pausing a long time afterwards, “to hell with the doctor.” | With that he whipped up the gun, pressed its lips against his right ear, and jerked the trigger. @LAWTER took time to push the sui- cide’s bloody head down onto the seat, so anyone passing wouldn’t be likely to see it, then hurried away from the cab. Two blocks away he hailed another cab, directed it to the Pell address, He didn’t believe Masser Fane had planted this one. The Pell home was behind a number in the middle of a brick row. The houses were ancient and fronted with vestibule entrances. A big man, wearing a dark caracul overcoat and carrying a cane, was ringing the Pells’ doorbell as he paid off the cab. He was slow in getting response and turned to face Slawter as he mounted the steps. | His face was broad, heavy and fat, with eyes that were smothered by thick- lensed glasses. : “Tt seems no one is at home,” he com- mented, smiling at the detective. - §lawter instantly knew he’d heard the man’s voice before. “Should be,” he said, He went on and thumbed the bell, The door opened, and a thin-faced young man peered out. Slawter glanced back at the big man, saw an expression of extreme discomfort on his face. “Come in, Dr. Merryway,” said the youth. He looked at Slawter question- ingly, “Well, what do you want?” ComiclooolkX © Af