10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

—— SECOND-HAND SUICIDE——————————_67 stepped forward and impulsively srasped his arm. | “Hurry up, kid,” she pleaded anxiously. Willy held back. “Yow re making a mistake—” “No, I’m not,” she all but pushed him into the cab. Willy had no sooner touched the seat when the driver was off like a shot from a gun. The lad silently locked at the blonde and found her dark eyes studying him. She was beautiful in an artificial way. Her eye- brows were thin, arched lines. Her eyelashes were caked with a dark cos- metic, And the glistening rouge on her lips could be scraped off with a shovel. An exotic perfume came from her person as if it had been squirted on with a hose. Willy drew a deep breath. This was the kind of a girl he had associated with mob high life. But after the night’s harrowing expe- riences, she held no charms for him. “Well,” he asked, “what’s it all about ?”’ She crossed her legs, generously cisplaying silken knees. Willy looked at them, then grunted. “Pull down the shades, blondie. No soap.” A tinkle of laughter greeted this. The girl drew the spangled wrap over her legs. She pursed her lips. “‘T’ll tell you what it’s all about, Mister Fresh Guy. I was sap enough to feel sorry fer you when you took that nose dive onto the sidewalk. That’s all.” She touched her breast with an ab- surdly red fingernail. “I’m—Lola.” “Thanks,” Willy murmured apolo- getically. “I’m feeling all right now and [ better be getting out. I have to see somebody.” The blonde leaned eloser. Her wavy, perfumed hair brushed his face. “Maybe Mike Dogra?’’ . she whispered. Willy straightened in the seat. ‘His jaw squared. “What do you know about him?” HE boy’s eyes narrowed. “I got you now. You’re the moll that two-timed—” Lola’s soft hand pushed the rest of the sentence back into his teeth with a resounding slap. The driver twisted around to see what was the matter. Lola saw him turning and slid her arms around Willy’s neck. Moving closer she kissed him full on the mouth. The driver turned back to his task with a big sigh. “Whata smack,” he told himself. “Some birds get all the breaks.” Then Lola laid her soft cheek against Willy’s, her lips close to his ear. “Keep your trap shut—you dumbbell!” she whispered cuttingty. Willy pushed her away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looking at his hand, he in turn wiped it on the leather seat of the cab. ““Lay off,” he muttered under his breath. Lola smiled. “Then keep still till we get to my apartment. I want. you to tell me about—” she lowered her voice—‘‘the framed murder charge that Dogra was yelling about. Maybe I can help you.” Willy’s heart filled with hope. What luck! Perhaps this girl could help him > fight the iron-clad evidence that hemmed him in on all sides. Perhaps with her help he could beat the damn- ing fingerprints on the death gun. What luck! Willy’s thoughts raced at express train speed. Perhaps— The cab swerved into the curb and drew up before a pretentious apart- ment house. Lola: paid the driver and they entered the iron-grilled doors. A colored boy took them up in the eleva- tor to the seventh floor. At apartment 7-D, Lola inserted a key in the lock and went in. Snapping on the lights, she threw her evening wrap over a chair. Willy was dazzled by the luxurious- ly furnished room. Compared to his dingy little sleeping cubby hole, it was a queen’s palace. And he was no less dazzled by Lola’s dangerously low- eut, backless gown. Her voice = in on his reverie: (Efe) ~comicbooks $4 = AC OR TREY Deh Rg Py) « hint di iis Te A, th 8 af * | orn | » > m)!