10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

44——__—_______10-STORY DETECTIVE Greasy flushed and a gleam of hatred stabbed from his black pools of eyes. “Go ahead,” he taunted, “wisecrack like you do in that lousy column of yours. It’ll be easy to fill that job of yours after you’re gone, Wonder who they’ll put on the column after to- morrow?” “I’m worried to death about it,” returned Lee and reached for another smoke. Then he added, “T’ll still be at the old stand.” “Yeah, but in a casket. You write too much in that column of yours and you tell too many things. But no more, see? You know too much.” “Like that Pulaski killing, for in- stance, eh?” Lee grinned tauntingly into Greasy’s face. The man paled. suddenly he nodded. “Yeah, like the Pulaski killing,” he said and his voice was ominously low. A thought came to Lee, ‘““Where’s Charlie?” Greasy grinned. “Aw, he’s seen too much, Guess he’ll have to tend bar in hell for a time.” Lee nodded, “I see. Old Charlie gets a ride, too, eh? Nice guy, you are, greaseball. You’re not even a decent hood.” Greasy’s fingers tightened around the automatic, Lee laughed. “You wouldn’t use that if you knew what I know. Say, greaseball, do you know what my pa- per is doing right now?” “TI don’t get you,” snarled Greasy. “You will in a minute, Well, I’ll tell you, The city editor is working on headlines, Greasy, headlines. They probably read something like this: ‘Famous Columnist Kidnaped. Greasy Nordile Known as the Kidnaper. Police Dragnet Out. Nordile Will Be Captured Soon Say Police.’ How do they sound?” Greasy laughed, but there was a note of nervous shrillness in it. “You make me laugh,’ he said. “Yeah, you'll laugh, all right. And, punk,” Lee’s voice took on a deadly seriousness which was not lost on Greasy, “those headlines will be writ- ten in red! Get me, written in red!” “W-w-w-what do you mean?” fal- tered Greasy, face working. Lee continued, “After the headlines are written, they send them to the composing room, Greasy. The lino- type machines are as complicated as hell, but it isn’t long before the story comes out in hot metal. I can just read it now, greaseball. It'll go about like this: “‘Hundreds of police and detec- tives are looking for Greasy Nordile, a cheap hood who thinks he’s a big shot. At an early hour this morning, Nordile and two of his men kidnaped Lee Ainsley, famed columnist of the Star, and Charlie Meeks, owner of a café. “ ‘It is known that Lee Ainsley and Charlie Meeks are being held captives by Nordile and his men because the former printed thinly veiled innuen- does’—there’s a ten-dollar word for you, Greasy — ‘saying that Nordile was soon to be questioned regarding the Pulaski murder mystery of a fort- night ago. It is said on most reliable information that Nordile will be in the hands of the police before noon today.’ “How’s it sound, punk?” Lee laugh- ingly taunted. Greasy winced. “Smart guy,” he said. “Well, just for that you go out now—” HERE was the sound of running steps in the hallway outside. A man rushed into the room. In his hand was a newspaper with screaming headlines, Headlines printed in red: “Look, boss,” he panted. “The pa- per is full of this kidnapin’! How’d the hell they find out about it? We’d better lam before the cops—” Greasy snatched the newspaper from the man’s hand. Lee saw ats was the Star and grinned, PEON — > Ss == ve Pm z a — _ =a ~~ ; = 9 et —— eS eS: eet = “ Pe, = = ~ ha * ae al - be atm = a