10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

60 ————_———_————10-STORY DETECTIVE —Devotedly, Your Lola. Dogra laughed. It was a sinister, almost in- human sound. And it chilled Vesey to the marrow. “You were saying—’ Dogra. But that laugh that came like the dank breath of the grave, filled the gangster with misgivings. It made him think of corpses—the morgue— and the terrible hour before a man is dragged to the electric chair. Vesey licked his lips. “Say, boss, ain’t there some other way besides croakin’ that Reynolds mug? Cripes! If he gets bumped off, this damn town will turn inside out to catch the killer. Jees, everytime he sneezes it’s on the front page. An’ ya gotta think of his old man. The old mug is president of the First National. Cripes! The police commissioner himself will go chas- in’ the guy what bumps young Reynolds!” Dogra nodded and that creepy smile slithered across his thin lips. ‘Yes, I know .... But he won’t have to look sets Vesey came out of his chair. Some- how, Dogra’s cold, utterly unemo- tional voice restored him to his for- mer frame of mind. He jerked his head in the general direction of Pete’s restaurant. “I got that kid you wanted down there. He’s as dumb as hell—” Vesey hesitated a moment. “Jees, boss, are ya sure there’s gonna be no slip-up? This Reynolds business is dynamite!” The gangster chief’s dull eyes fiicked to the photograph in the silver frame. His greasy, black head swayed from side to side, “No, Vesey, there’ll be no slip-ups on this job. No slip-ups. I’m attending to the last part of it— myself,” Vesey’s yellow teeth were bared in a hyena-like grin. He paused at the back of the chair, “Shall I bring the kid up, boss? Cripes! You’ll get a big laugh outa him. He thinks he’s gonna meet a king or somethin’—” Then Vesey felt the gang chief’s dead-cod eyes boring into him, ? prompted “Well, isn’t he?” asked Dogra soft- The lieutenant mumbled a hasty assurance and scurried from the sud- denly chilled room. ILLY followed Vesey into Dogra’s office. The lad walked with a quick, swinging stride that was to impress his energy and youthful- ness on the gang chief. He crossed the room and stood beside the chair at Dogra’s desk. Vesey nudged him, “Take a load off yer feet, kid.” Willy swallowed his nervousness in a supreme effort to impress the gang lord. He dropped into the chair and casually crossed his legs. Holding his middle finger by his thumb, he flicked his hat to the back of his head by snapping free his middle finger, He pulled a freshly-opened pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and offered it to Dogra. “Yes, thanks,” smiled Dogra. He took one and held a fancy desk lighter to light Willy’s cigarette. Then he held the flame to his own, Vesey looked at Dogra as if his eyes deceived him. He knew the chief despised cigarettes, 3 While Dogra was lighting his Lucky, Willy had a chance to take a close look at the notorious gangster who held a city in his grasp. And Willy felt a shiver race down his spine. Never had he seen such a cold, stony face. That white, slimy skin be- longed to a bloodless creature of the sea. It seemed to Willy that there couldn’t be a drop of warm blood in the man’s body, Vesey broke the silence with, “Say, boss, I found the kid chinnin’ with Halleran. Do ya think he spilled—” “Button up your lip,” snapped Dogra. “And if you and Halleran don’t get over your damn fool grouch —somebody’s going to get hurt.” Dogra turned slowly toward Willy. “You know Dan Halleran?” “Sure, Mister Dogra,” and Willy tried hard to smile at the shark-like comicbooks > 7 Cay +n. } e. - re x ee _ Sm . eT + a 7