Pulp Fiction, 1939 · page 12 of 116
10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis: 10-Story Detective This page contains story prose from a hardboiled crime pulp magazine. The narrative follows a detective named Millard (referred to as "Chris" by a woman named May) on a pier, where he encounters May, who appears anxious and evasive. May, disguised with a scarf-mask, initially rejects his concern, eventually revealing frustration that he—as a private detective—is pursuing her brother Eddie, who has apparently escaped from prison or broken parole. The scene ends with Millard waiting outside a women's rest room, then realizing she may have used a rear exit, before his thoughts turn to suspicions about another man named Bonelli's intentions toward May.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
10 10-STORY DETECTIVE a scarf that was part of the hat was fixed so that it hung across the lower part of her face, like a mask. You couldn’t see anything but her large, long-lashed eyes, flashing nervously from side to side as she moved for- ward along the pier. But Millard would have known that trim little figure anywhere, that quick, sure way of swinging her slim legs as she walked. He took an involun- tary step to meet her and her glance crossed his, jerked back. Her eyes widened with an expression akin to despair and her stride faltered, slowed. He cut through the crowd to her side. “May! What are you doing here?” . Her eyes flicked about fearfully through the passersby and she spoke without looking at him, her voice low and vibrant with urgency. “‘Please— don’t stop me here, Chris!” Concern was like a shadow on his face. He took her arm, moved slowly toward a deserted entryway. “You didn’t come out here to meet Eddie? He isn’t—” “No.” Agitated breathing moved her breasts, stirred the linen of her suit. A bitterness was in her tone. “I didn’t come out to meet Eddie. How could I see him, with detectives hang- ing around my apartment like flies around a sugar bowl? Oh, Chris—why did he do it? Why did he break free?” “Tt don’t know,” he said tightly. “But you must have been followed here.” “No.” She flashed another nervous look back through the milling throngs. “1 think I shook them off.” He stopped her. ‘Shook who off? And why are you here, May?” “T had to come out to—” She looked up at him, and her eyes had hardened with sudden quick suspi- cion. “Why do you want to know?” “T’m only thinking of you,” he told her earnestly. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t want you to get in trouble. And I want you to know I’m sorry about Eddie, May. I’ve wanted to tell you that. He was a good guy in his way, but in the wrong business. He shouldn’t have made that break; he should have taken his medicine and started over again clean. It wasn’t a tough rap—only a few years.” She gave a short brittle laugh that ended in a half sob. ‘“You—you would- n’t understand. You’re like all the rest of them! You’re a private detective. You’re after him, too!” Hysteria was behind her words, but the bitterness and contempt in them stung him like a whiplash. Be- fore he could answer, she had spun away from him, darted into the entry- way they had approached and was gone. He cried, “May—!” and took one step after her, ! »oked up and stopped short with an oath as he saw the sign: Women’s Rest Room. As he swung away, his cheeks were burn- ing as if she had struck him. She’d told him off once before, sent him away. That was long before her brother’s trial. But he still couldn’t help being that way about her; there just wasn’t anyone else for him. Be- ing Eddie Fitz’ sister made no dif- ference as far as he was concerned— but it seemed to to her. 7k waited outside the rest room for ten minutes, hoping she’d come out, before abruptly remember- ing that there was a rear exit. Then he realized he was wasting his time and started plowing through the crowd looking for her or Lefty Reid and Bert Bonelli. The fact that she was out here on the pier the same time as Bonelli bothered him. Bonelli had been on the make for her once, had been warned off by her brother, but now that Eddie Fitz had been convicted, though tem- porarily free, Bonelli might be mak- ing another play. The very thought of Bonelli’s greasy paws touching May made Millard’s blood boil and a sort of red mist swim across his vision. He had CORDIC OOOKS COM