10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

44——-—_ look like meat, and dispose of it a piece at a time. Jig shuddered. The big cuts of meat hanging on the hooks had been blood red and moistly fresh-looking when first he’d come in here. Now the meat looked darker, frozen. Jig touched a finger to a piece and found it as hard as iron. Adkins had turned the refrigerator on as cold as he could. Flapping his arms and stamping his feet, Jig kept going—to the door, back to the far end, to the door, to the far end. He was so weak and cold now, so overcome with the monotony of the short narrow path he had to walk, that every time he had to turn to re- trace his steps, the effort dizzied and nearly overcame him. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. He felt that he couldn’t keep it up another minute. But he thought of Vinson, and what he would be able to do for Vinson if only he got out of here, and he kept moving. HE door opened and the sleek, dapper Zieman gestured fiercely for him to come out, motioning for silence. Jig stumbled out. There was a coffee pot steaming on the huge stove. Jig poured a soup bow! full, and drank down the coffee black and scald- ing hot. It hit his stomach like a bomb- shell. “Come, come!” Zieman ordered. “We must get out. If they could catch us, they would kill us!” Zieman drew a gun from his waistband, and held it loosely, nervously watching the door from the restaurant. Jig’s hands were blue with cold. His face felt wooden. He tried to speak and could only mumble. ‘‘Where did you get the gun?” “From the cigar counter,” Zieman whispered. ‘“‘Reuwer kept it always there in case of stickup men.” Adkins burst into the kitchen. He saw Jig and let out a roar that shook the room. Zieman centered the gun on him, and pulled the trigger, as Jig dove and knocked his arm up. ——10-STORY DETECTIVE “You should not hold me!” Zieman screamed. “You must let go!” “You better give up, Zieman!” Jig growled. 3 Zieman fought in earnest, like a cat. He was strong, and he was tricky. Jig realized that half frozen as he was, he would be no match for this opponent. He tried to hold on, and keep Zieman from using the gun. The fight ended abruptly, and with- out being a contest of strength. Jig stepped into a pool of something slip- pery, and crashed to the floor, drag- ging Zieman with him. Instantly, Zie- man gave him a knee hard in the face. Breaking loose, Zieman went loping away in a running plunge, in a straight line for the alley door. As he passed the meat chopping block, Ad- kins popped up and nicked him heavily in the back of the head with the flat side of a cleaver. Zieman hit the floor with a slap like. that of a huge fish thrown down. Groggy, half blinded, Jig weaved over and stamped on Zieman’s hand till he let go of the gun. Grabbing it up, Jig faced Adkins, who stopped cursing long enough to say: “The dirty louse! Tried to frame it on me and kill me!” “You went looking for it!’ Jig re- torted. “The minute you saw I had Reuwer’s lucky nickel, you went and threatened. Zieman. You saw him put that coin in the phono this morning. So you tried to shake him down about it.” “The hell with you!”’ Adkins cursed some more. “And Zieman came and let me out so it would look as if he was my friend, and when you came, he had the gun ready. He could have killeo you and he would have been defending: me and himself. No one would ever think you hadn’t murdered Reuwer.” “Well, I didn’t!” Adkins snar!ed, “Zieman told me he had the money he took from Reuwer hidden out here. He came to get it for me—said for me to wait one minute and then come cCOmiclbool CO