10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

ee ee ee en es ee ete a : face before him. Dogra made no com- ment. So Willy went on, “Dan’s regu- lar, but he’s old-fashioned. He said I should keep away from mobs—” A grow] rumbled in Vesey’s throat. He took a step forward. ‘“‘There ya are, boss! I told ya that mick was phoney. I—” Dogra raised his eyes to the gang- ster. His words came slowly, softly- spoken, “Get out of this room—be- fore I blow you out.” Vesey got out fast, mouthing dire oaths under his breath. “Now,” Dogra smiled at the boy, “tell me Halleran’s objections to—er —my mob.” Willy read a menace to his friend in that sneering smile of Dogra’s. “Gee, Mister Dogra, you mustn’t hold that against Dan. He’s on the level with the mob. He hasn’t any objec- tions. Gee, you gotta believe me. Dan only meant that I was too much of a kid for the big game. That’s all he meant—honest!”’ “Of course,’ Dogra raised his slim hand in an understanding gesture. “Don’t worry about Halleran. He’s one of my best men.” The gangster looked at the ash on Willy’s cigarette and pushed a bronze receiver toward him. Willy grinned his thanks, Then Dogra leaned back in his swivel chair. “So you want to join my boys, eh?” “Yes, sir!”’ Willy uncrossed his legs and pushed himself to the edge of the chair. “I keep my eyes open—and my mouth shut.” Dogra smiled knowingly. ‘You'll make a name for yourself in this town —before long.” The gangster picked up his French phone and called a num- ber. “Hello, Pete? .... Yes, me.... Vesey there? .... No, I don’t want to talk to him. Tell him to get Joe and bring my car around front.” Dogra hung up. Leaving his desk, he took up his snap-brim gray hat and gloves from a nearby table, Carefully adjusting the hat on his pomaded head, he drew on his gloves. He smiled at Willy. ee, ft on a ee ee ee ee ee ee a eg a ~— 4 > = oS —— ~ ua ~ SECOND-HAND SUICIDE—————————————_61 “Well, boy, ’m going to take you along tonight and show you where to collect. You’ve got the right stuff in_ you. I’l] take a chance on you coming through.” Willy bounded out of the chair. “Gee, Mister Dogra, you won’t be taking a chance on me. I'll come through O.K.” Willy punehed his fist into his open palm, “Gee, this a big night for me!” Dogra smiled. ‘Yes, it’s going to be.” Then his gaze flicked to the se- ductive-eyed gir] in the silver frame. A hollow, chilling laugh escaped his twisted lips. And Willy suddenly felt his collar grow tight. He ran his forefinger under it, but it was still tight. Cold beads of perspiration studded his forehead. Silently, he left the office. Dogra followed, snapping off the lights. c SEEMED to Willy, as they rode along a dimly-lighted street, that Mike Dogra could afford a much bet- ter car than the one he was using to- night. A dull, nondescript paint job was not the car he, Willy, would pick, if he were gang lord of a big city. And he’d have a classy chauffeur, Not the bull-necked Joe who now crouched over the wheel in the front seat. So absorbed was Willy in the thoughts of what he would have, that he did not notice the tense, strained manner of the pasty-faced Vesey on his left. On his right was Dogra, silent and as cold as ever. Dogra leaned across Willy to Vesey. “Let me see your rod, Vesey,” he asked casually. Vesey’s gloved hand darted to his shoulder holster and jerked out a .38 automatic. He passed it over to Dogra without a word. The gang ehief made sure of the safety catch, then looked at Willy. “Bet you never held a rod in your hand,” he smiled. Willy sat up. “Oh, yeah? Say, Mis- ter Dogra, a cannon and me are twins.” cbool co