10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

down the counter. “Grab your roast biff and come over to my table.” Willy turned away, glad for a mo- ment’s time to pull himself together. Dan Halleran coming up like that had taken his breath for a moment. When the boy slid into the chair op- posite the Irishman, he was prepared to follow Vesey’s instructions of “tell- in’ nothin’ to nobody.” 7) i shi itive , y PSO ‘ “How’s the job coming along, ae Willy?” Halleran’s teeth flashed in a a Willy speared a French fry with =" his fork. “Job’s not so bad, Dan. Might get a raise on the first. The head shipper said—” = “Cut the comedy, youngster. You’re ag not kidding anybody.” Halleran studied the boy’s face. “What’s up, Willy? You can tell me—you know that.” The French fries went down whole. “Why nothing, Dan—” _ Halleran laid down his knife. “Lis- ten, you,” he said slowly, “be a smart lad—and don’t get mixed up in any- . thing with Vesey. He’d double-cross = himself if he could think up a way to do it. Lay off that bozo. He’s rotten = from his yellow streak out.” * Willy squirmed in his chair. “Gee, Dan, we’ve always been good pals. The last thing in the world I want to happen is—be on the outs with you. Gosh, you know I want to get in with the mob. I’m sick of punching a time clock while all the fellers I know are buying cars and taking girls on big parties. Gosh, I’m human.” - Halleran cut off a slice of lamb but didn’t eat it. “Listen, Willy, ’m not gonna preach to you. You have a head of your own—use it. There’s lots of = ways of being human—as you call it = —without getting mixed up with a mob.” = Willy knew what was coming, and -— ihe: Chad his age-old question ready. “Tf the mob’s such a lousy idea, why are you in it?” _ Htalleran pushed his now cold lamb Ss aside. “Willy, nobody gave a damn = qt I did. Pcs Ts ve 2 been in it long al enough to know that it’s no place for. a nice kid like you. Get wise to ent self,” HEN Vesey left his sedan, he went into a doorway next to Pete’s place and up a flight of stairs to Mike Dogra’s hideout. His pimply face split in a yellow-tooth grin as he walked up to the big shot’s desk. Dogra, neat as a pin in a tatlored blue suit, patent leather shoes and spats, looked up at Vesey’s approach. His thin, sharp features showed ab- - solutely no expression. His coal black eyes were as dull as those in a dead fish. “Well?” the word crawled around the cigar between his straight, color- less lips. “Nothin’ to it, boss. The sap thinks he’s gonna polish his shoes with grand bills. He’s ripe fer pluckin’.” Dogra said nothing. Vesey sudden- ly felt ill at ease and looked around awkwardly for a chair. The nearest one was beside Dogra’s desk. He slid into it. After several moments of silence, he found his voice: “I did some slick work all around on this job, eh, boss?” - Dogra looked at him and a strange, half-sneering smile twisted his lips. “You did.” , Vesey stabbed a nicotine-stained forefinger at an elaborate silver pic- ture frame standing on Dogra’s desk. “IT was leery of that broad of yours fer a long time, boss. An’ when I sees her steppin’ out with that society guy, Reynolds, I got hep that there was monkey business goin’ on. Then when I waits four hours fer her to come outa his apartment—I knows damn well there was.’ Dogra’s eyes were fastened on a photograph resting in the big silver frame. Looking straight at him was the soft oval face of a strikingly pret- ty blonde, Her cosmetic-darkened eyes held a seductive lure. And her | rouge-glistening, artificial lips were curled in a provocative smile. Under that — —_ was BS euserigres = a e » - — ae = ~ Ee Se es, a i ae as =~ SECOND HAND ee ae Sa oe