10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

106 ——____—_-—_—10- STORY DETECTIVE— Steve opened the door without a word. The raging wind tore into the car, pushed against the door so that he had to exert strength to keep it open. He lifted his big frame off the cushions, started through. His back muscles were tight, prickly, with the grim expectancy of the slug he knew was coming. Up in front Morrison was sliding eut, cursing the cold wind. He was turned partially away from Steve, his gun loose in his right hand. Steve snapped his big body around in a swift, desperate move. His left el- bow slammed against the sedan door. The foree of it combined with the pressure of the howling wind drove it back, hard, into Limpy’s face just as he came forward, ducking his head to follow Steve through, The gun in his fist went off convulsively as he fell back, his nose streaming blood, his head whirling. The slug whined off the steel panel, -geraped a raw gash along Steve’s left ribs. But the D.A. dick was moving fast for the startled Morrison, who swung around too late. Steve’s big hand clamped like a vise on Morrison’s gun wrist. A pained gasp issued from the beady- eyed gunster’s lips. He dropped the gun on the planking. And Steve hit him, with the same pivoting motion. Hit him with all the shocking power ‘of his brawny shoulders behind a en eross up to Morrison’s pointed chin. Morrison went back on staggering legs. Then he seemed to vanish, drop down out of sight. A small splash came back to Steve, bending swiftly for the gun Morrison had dropped. He straightened with it just as Limpy appeared in the rear doorway of the sedan. He shot twice, his body braced against the buffeting, icy wind, his lips pulled thin and hard against his teeth. Limpy jerked like a rag doll. Then he fell forward, out of the car. He moved a little on the icy planks, before he stiffened. ty Steve turned slowly, went to the edge of the pier. He was breathing harshly. He looked down into the dark, tossing waters where Morrison had dropped. There was nothing save the lapping of the waves against the posts. The high thin wailing of the storm seemed an epitaph to a pair of gunsters who had taken their last ride. ARD-FACED, Steve dumped Limpy’s body into the back of the blue sedan. He got in under the wheel, backed the car off the pier through the narrow alley. Out on Vesey he turned, sent it rolling up- town, for the 44 Club. 3 His face was grim in the soft glow of the dashlight. His side burned with painful insistency. But he had no time to stop, have the bullet gash attended to He had to get back to the 44 Club. Get to Massity before the big gang boss could destroy that black memo book Lance Boardman had died for. The Kelzeck memo that would break the back of the crooked organization behind the buildings racket—drag into the open the higher city officials with whose sanction and graft the racket had operated. Steve made the 44 Club at 11.04. He noted the time on the dash clock as he pulled up the handbrake. And he had a moment of wonder that but two hours had passed since he had left his apartment to see Lance die. He parked the big sedan around the corner, in foot-high eurb snow. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes, hitched up his coat collar. His right hand was gripped about the Luger he had retrieved from Limpy’s body as he went up the short stone steps to the 44 Club. The hat-eheek girl eyed him curi- ously. Her gaze lingered on the hard slant of his jaw, the way his right hand was bunched in his coat pocket. At the entrance to the dining room a dinner-jacketed, powerful looking man turned a pug face toward him. CONnniCMOOkKS.GOnn