10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

30- e And then he saw the figure stretched out on the floor nearby, with the medical examiner bending over it. The room was full of cops. SV did you do with the guns?” Lew Jensen said. “How did you get rid of them before you passed out from the slug in your shoulder ?” “TI don’t carry a gun,” Rhodes said hoarsely. He was looking at the corpse the M. E. was working on. All he could see were the feet sticking toward him, but that was enough. The shoes were blunt-toed and square. He knew that Hugh Rawlins, plastic den- tist, was dead. Rocky added weakly: “T_T haven’t carried a gun in years.” “Listen,” Jensen said, voice rising along with his color. “We’ve got the whole thing set, so lay off. You and Rawlins were up here alone. It don’t matter which of you pulled a gun first. You were both armed. You both fired almost at the same time, but your aim was better, Rocky. You got Rawlins right through the think- tank. You managed to chuck the guns out the window or something before you collapsed. But don’t worry about us finding them. We will.” Jensen fished out handcuffs. “Stick out your wrists, big shot.” “I—I can’t. My shoulder’s killing me,” Rhodes stalled. He felt for the wound, found a temporary dressing already in place. The ambulance sur- geon had been working on him before he regained consciousness. “Stop the stall,” Jensen said. “Get up, and put on these bracelets.” Falteringly, Rocky Rnodes stood up. If he went to the clink, too, he would be stopped from trying to clear Greg. That couldn’t happen. Greg was highly strung, emotional. No telling what he might do to himself, brood- ing in a cell. “What about the blackmail pic- tures?”’ Rocky said, abruptly, “You get them?” “What pictures?” narrowed. Jensen’s eyes 10-‘STORY DETECTIVE Rocky told him about finding the photos. “I’ve got ’em in my pocket now.” He hunched his wounded shoul- der lamely. “They’re in the jacket, this side. I can’t reach them account of the shoulder. You fish ’em out.” Lew Jensen stuck his hand into Rhodes’ pocket, his mouth screwed thoughtfully. Then he let out a howi of surprise as Rocky suddenly slammed his elbow down hard against his side, pinning Jensen’s hand in his pocket, and throwing him off balance. With his good hand Rocky shoved hard at the Homicide man’s chest, hurling him backward toward a group of cops. There was a ripping sound as Rocky’s pocket tore loose, but the thing worked. Jensen floundered back against the others and, by the time any of them recovered, Rocky Rhodes had slammed out the door, Rocky dove toward a small, nar- row door directly opposite. Yanking it open, he squeezed in fast between a clutter of mops and brooms. He pulled the door shut a fraction of a second before Jensen and his mob pounded noisily out into the hall. HILE the police covered roof, fire escapes and all regular means of exit, Rocky went to the rear of the narrow broom closet. He opened a tiny window, squeezed through and dropped to the roof of another building. From there he jumped to an alley on the far side. Then he had to stop and lean dizzily against the wall. He put his hand to the pad of bandages at his shoulder, found it sticky with blood. Another couple of hours and he’d be too weak even to stand. He had to work fast. Recov- ering a little from his dizziness, Rocky hustled to the back of the alley, over rear yard fences, and came out on Sunset Boulevard near Cahuenga. He hit for an all-night drug store, changed a ten-dollar bill into change. Rocky knew now that he’d been wrong. Rawlins wasn’t the only one in on this. The dentist hadn’t neces- OOO) (C(O) ANH o S (C(O) im