10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

26——_____————————_10-STORY DETECTIVE to take care of. We’ll drive up there, crack the can and—” Kane laughed, shook his head. Lawler shouted: ‘‘What’s the mat- ter ?” “Sounds cuckoo,” said Kane. “Crazy. Too easy. Must be a catch somewhere.”’ Lawler grinned, looked relieved. “You gave me a start for a moment. I thought you wasn’t going through with it.” “T tell you it sounds cuckoo,” sdid Kane. AWLER shrugged impatiently. “But it isn’t, at all—once you know that Sanford dame. She’s nutty. All the time taking up some new fad or other. Running about from place to place. Flighty. Head in the clouds. Nothing solid about her. She forgot all about having the ice up there. And the old man’s too busy here in town to know what she’s doing half the time. “It’s perfect, I tell you. Just one of those things. A cuckoo dame walks out and leaves sixty thousand dollars’ worth of swag in a summer home— unprotected.” Kane, black brows knitted thought- fully, said: “That’s right, come to think of it. I remember that skirt now. She zs nuts! We’ll hop to it.” A thin grin writhed across Lawler’s plump face. “I knew you’d get it, big boy. Let’s get going.” Kane laid his cue on the table. They went out into the hall, took the eleva- tor to Kane’s room on the seventeenth floor. From the middle drawer of a dresser Kane took two clips of cart- ridges, slipped them into his pocket with his automatic. “How’re you fixed?” he asked. Lawler patted the bulge under his armpit. “Okay. But you know I ain’t no good with a gun. That ain’t my racket. The way you shot up those dicks at Carter’s—” For the first time, a grin settled over Kane’s somber features. ‘‘I hate dicks. And I never miss ’em.” He pointed to a cabinet. “Better grab yourself a bottle of that whisky.” Lawler opened the cabinet door, selected a flask, thrust it imto his pocket. Kane got an overcoat from the closet. “Tl take this heavy one,” he said. “Tt’ll be cold at the lake.” “Cold,” said Lawler. “I’ll bet the snow’s six feet deep there right now.” They went out into the hall, Kane locking the door behind him. They rode the elevator to the’ main floor. At a row of oak phone booths along © the wall between the elevator shaft and the clerk’s desk, Lawler halted. He said: “‘Wait a moment, I want to phone.” “Go ahead.” Lawler pushed into a booth, th-n came out a moment later. “What’s Fred’s new number? I’ve forgotten.” “What do you want of Fred?” said Kane, his voice metallic. “I’m calling him and Slats— Alicia, too—to go with us.” Kane’s reddish black eyes glittered angrily. “Save your nickel.” “Ym going to phone Fred,” said Lawler. He began going through the pages of the phone book chained to the booth. “TI told you to save your nickel.” Lawler looked up with flaring eyes. Then he turned back to the book; ran his plump, stubby finger down the column. “T’ve got it,” he said, and started into the booth again. Kane swung out his hand, grasped Lawler’s plump wrist, swung him about sharply. His eyes were snap- ping dangerously. “No cuts, Lawler. We’ll pull this job alone.” Lawler, eyes angrily agleam, jerked back. Kane held his wrist fast. “No cuts, Lawler. We’ll take it alone.” There was a metallic warn- ing in Kane’s voice. His face a sullen cloud, Lawler said reluctantly: “All right, then. No cuts. Slats and Fred are out. Alicia, too. But CO Giook CO