10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

VENGEANCE ON THE WATERFRONT them had remained. Then the Louis Kelzeck indictment had thrown them together for a spell again. Steve’s mind back-tracked two weeks as he stood looking down at the huddled figure. The rotten build- ings racket had come to a head when a nearly completed public structure, under the personal supervision of Louis Kelzeck, who had been award- ed the contract, had collapsed. Several bystanders and workmen were killed. Kelzeck had built up a reputable standing as a contractor in the city. He was indicted by a grand jury for the deliberate substitution of cheap building material in the construction of the public building, and was re- leased on a $50,000 bond. Kelzeck, white-lipped and nervous, had pleaded guilty. He hinted of an organization behind him that had forced him to the use of the inferior material. In the meantime, Lance Boardman had been hired by Kelzeck, for pro- tection. Since the grand jury hearing the contractor had been afraid for his life. Kelzeck was to have appeared at a special hearing, two weeks later. But he had been mysteriously killed, on the corner of Cedar and Court streets, as he was about to cross. Lance had been with him that bleak afternoon Kelzeck had died—and had seen nothing. Nothing save Kelzeck suddenly crumpling up, gasping, with three bullet holes in his chest. But for the presence of other bystanders, who had witnessed the strange death of the beefy contractor, Lance would - have been held by Homicide for the killing. Steve Cronin thought of this as he straightened, his lips pulled hard against his teeth. Kelzeck had been killed to keep him from talking at the hearing. Now Lance— He had found no trace of a memo book on the body. Keene came off his toes when Steve muttered the infor- mation. The Assistant D.A.’s eyes were cold, a little puzzled. — 103 He said: “Maybe it was a phony tip at that, Steve. Looks like we came out on a wild—” Steve faced Keene. His shoulders were tight against his coat, and his eyes were hard and dangerous. “Somebody didn’t think it was a phony tip!’ he snapped. “Whoever it was, he shot Lance just as we got here!” Keene shrugged. The wind was whistling along the avenue with a cold thin wailing. The D.A. man stamped his feet to break the chill that bit at his toes. He said: “I thought I saw him say something to you just before he died, Steve. Maybe—” Steve nodded, frowning. “Some- thing about a Redtop taxi— Holy hell!’ he suddenly growled. “I must be getting thick. That’s it, Keene! That’s where he hid Kelzeck’s memo! He was riding in a Redtop to my apartment when Massity’s hoods cut him off. He must have hidden the evidence in the cab, before making a break for it. It’s got to add up that way, Keene!” The Assistant D.A. said: ‘Well, it’s a lead. Go ahead, follow it up. I’ll take care of things here. I’ll have to call Stearn into it, of course. If you want to get in touch with me tonight, call at Homicide. I'll be in the office, wait- ing for your report.” Steve nodded. He looked down at Lance’s stiffening body. The lump in his throat made it hard for him to swallow. “They’ll pay, Lance,” he said harshly. “All of them!” HE Redtop Garage was a big, dirty brick building on Cove, in the north end of town. Snow was banked along the front, except at the entrance, where a wiry, coveralled man was shoveling the driveway clear. Steve got out of the taxi, swung with long strides toward the garage entrance. The wiry man looked up as he said: “I’m looking for the night | -man around here, buddy ?”’ The other looked him over slowly. ‘See Jim. He’s in the office.” Conn NOOK (©