Pulp Fiction, 1941 · page 58 of 116
10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 58: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is story prose from a hardboiled crime pulp magazine titled "10-Story Detective." The narrative follows a detective narrator who has disguised himself in a woman's clothing and used a decoy to lure a criminal gang. The page shows the narrator escaping after his ruse is discovered—he ditches the disguise, attempts to slip away through an alley, but is cornered by armed mobsters led by someone named Nick Canalli. The narrator fights one attacker and flees toward open fields, only to find himself surrounded by five additional adversaries. The passage exemplifies the action-packed, fast-paced style typical of early 20th-century crime pulp fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
70 “T know,” I said. “You win.” Audrey McHale’s coat was tight across my shoulders and the hat I selected came down over my ears. But the coat had a fur collar and the hat a wide floppy brim and a ribbon tie. I’d pass, even if I did feel foolish in the getup. Her blue roadster would help. Park and Russell was way out on the east side in a thinly populated sec- tion. There were subdivisions, bare of homes, and real estate signs and white corner markers and field office shacks standing lonesome here and there, but little else. A few one- and two-story buildings clustered at the intersection of Park and Russell. A sign on a two-story building a short distance from the corner read: HONEYSUCKLE HILLS Lots, Homes, Choice Business Plots EASY PAYMENTS When I spotted the sign, I knew my guess about the voice was solid. A small, thin guy wearing a black- and-gray checked cap stood before a sleepy joint that looked like a combi- nation pool room, delicatessen and beer stube. It was not open. His face “was pinched, his nostrils hairy. He stepped quickly to the curb when I pulled up. Keeping my head down, I fumbled at the sack, stalling until I saw a car coming. I had an idea. “Come on, floosie,” the mug said in nervously hoarse tones. “Gimme!” I pretended to drop the bag, caught it clumsily. The auto drew nearer. I placed the bag in the man’s out- stretched hand. He snatched it, dart- ed toward an opening between build- ings. V UNNING the motor, I swung out and backed into Russell, like I was turning to go back the way I had come. As the auto passed on Park, I clashed my gears, then let the engine roar with the clutch pedal down. I 10-STORY DETECTIVE shut off the ignition quickly, hoping the gag would hold for a while any- how. If they didn’t look too closely, the passing car might be taken for the roadster. Checked-cap was being let in the rear door of the real estate building, when I reached the alley behind the pool hall. The door closed behind him. I hurried to it, tried the knob cau- tiously, but the door was bolted. I looked up at the building, saw no pos- sible way of entering. Shedding the girl’s coat and hat, I stepped around to the side. Almost in- stantly, I heard the bolt pulled inside, and pressed against the wall. Someone came out and the door shut. I peeped around my corner. It was one of the men who had tried to snatch Audrey McHale. I recog- nized him by his walk. He was follow- ing a faint path across lots. The path apparently ended at one of the field office shacks a block or two away. Then, before I could make up my mind to follow him or remain crouched against the wall, somebody inside began bellowing. The door burst open and the mob poured out into the alley. I wasn’t surprised to see Nick Canalli in the lead. His voice was the one I had recognized. “Hey, China,” Canalli yelled. “Come back. Bobo says the dame didn’t drive off. She’s still around somewhere.” Canalli cursed until the man re- turned, then barked: “Two of you find her car and cover it. The rest spread out and find her. She can’t be far away!” He began cursing again. I heard the hoodiums starting their search, kept my head away from the corner and tried to push the brick wall over. But it wasn’t my day. A broad mug with green eyes and no forehead popped around the build- ing, running smack into me. I socked him with all I had and stepped on his stomach as I went over him, sprint- ing for open fields. That didn’t pan out, either. There were five of them, counting Canalli COPNICOOO KS (E@)