10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

53——______————- 10-STORY,. DETECTIVE - a coalbin at midnight. In short, she is a pip. I hear Louie Garfunkle breathe in deeply, then stop. He clutches at the skirt of my herringbone and hangs on, “Alvin, she—” “You’re tellin’ me?” I ask. Chitney says. “I am glad you have come, Miss Mafia. It was awful. I came down and found the master lyin’ there, I—” “Okay,” Noonan says, his derby wob- bling atop his big fat head. “Where was you last night late, sister?” “Should 1 answer this person, Chit- ney ?” the cupcake asks in a huff. “He is a policeman, Maria.” “Incredible!” the delicious dish ex- claims. I wonder why Louie does not laugh. I look at him. He still hangs on to a piece of my coat. His lower jaw is swinging loose like an oriole’s nest in a March gale. “What ails you, Louie?” I ask. “Even she is not that glamorous. Look, you’ve seen swell-lookin’ broads before—” “Huh? Yeah, Alvin. An’ only a lousy break stopped me from seein’—let’s get out of here, or ’H) lose my good conduct ribbon. Ha! It is the battle fatigue gits me at times, I guess, Alvin. I got to go out and walk around.” “Well, Hambone,” I says. “Excuse us for a while, Me and Louie’ll be back be- fore long. We have to feed our armadil— I mean our faces. Shall we bring you a hamburger?” “You are as funny as a typhoid shot,” Noonan pee “Awright, I can handle this.” TAKE Louie out. Three blocks away he says for us to go into a tavern for a snort. We sit down and order the pick- up elixir. I see that Louie still shakes a little even after polishing off his jolt, “It ain’t possible, Alvin?” “What ain’t?” “What I just seen, Alvin. But they said rocket ships wasn’t, too. An’ automic bombs come in when nobody believed or expected they would, huh? It’s a small world when you come from seein’ a lot of it. Goerin’ stole all the paintin’s he could glom onto, so why woe other citizens?” “Make sense, Louie,” I says. “Look, I should take you right home.” “Alvin, it could happen. Three months after I won eight bucks at casino I was helpin’ attack a town named Cassino. Then there was a town named Casablanca I helped take. A year to the very day after, I went to a pitcher show in Italy and saw the pitcher of the same name, So why should I tell myself things don’t happen like they just did back in that creepy place. Look, Alvin, we must go now and follow that babe.” “Tt is ‘the doll my pal, Doozie, showed me the pitcher of. Who I was to go on a double date with, only she up and went A.W.O.L. to the Riviera. The babe is a B.T.O. like we used to say over ‘there, Alvin. A big time operator.” “Look, Louie, just let Alvin do what he knows is best, huh? I will see you to your house an’—” “You follow me, Alvin Hinkey!” Lonie says. “I will show you whether I am nuts or not.” “T don’t need proof, Louie. Please—” “I am glad I lugged this Nazi P-33 over with me, Alvin,” Louie says. “Let’s go.” I do, as you have to humor citizens at times. This was one time, I was quite sure. “I’m with you, pal,” } says. “In times like these, I should give you un- derstandin’ and help in every way. Where are we goin’ if I may ask?” “At the moment I have no idea,” Louie says. “It is where this Latin lollipop de- cides to go. It is amazin’ how much comes out of bein’ in a war, Alvin,” “J am afraid so,” 1 gulp, and follow Louie Garfunkle out into the street, He hurries back toward the old brownstone ghost playground and pulls me into the doorway of a house across the street. “T hope she is still there,” Lonie says. “We will wait and see, Alvin.” “This is fantastic,” I says. “That is an understatement,” Louie snaps. We wait about twenty minutes. This Miss Mafia comes prancing out of the brownstone and heads south. Me and Louie shadow the doll, Not three blocks away she enters a very ordinary-looking apartment house. “Why, she lives quite near the murder scene,” I says. * Alvin,” Louie says a little impatiently. “Tf you was a wolf and was casin’ a sheep pen in Wyomin’, would you sleep in a den in Idaho?” “Tt would be quite Mogical,” I admit. ComicooOoks (CO