10-Story Detective, November 1942 — 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 And when he returned to the city at the end of a job, usually with about three months’ wages in his pocket, it might take him three days to get robbed of his money; three days, but not more. For the last three days he had been trying to get a job in a ship- building plant, but he was always asked for his birth certificate. It bewildered him. Anyhow, that created too big a problem for Little John, since even the name of the little village in the middle of Europe where he had been born had been long lost to his memory. “Okay, big boy,” Daconi said heartily. “I can fix you up with a good job right now.” Little John hesitated a moment. Then, silently, he moved along with Daconi. They walked to: Fourth Street, and down Fourth Street sev- eral blocks until they came to an old two-story building. A stairway led directly up from the sidewalk to the second floor. Here was a small corridor, off which were three rooms. Daconi led Little John into one of the rooms. Behind a desk was a very plump, fat-faced man with small sharp eyes. The fat of his face wrinkled in a complacent smile as he saw Little John. The younger man, Louis, was not present. “This,” Daconi said to Little John, “is Mr. Tyson.” “Mr. Tyson,” Little John repeat- ed very respectfully. Tyson said: ‘‘What’s your name, my man?” ; ‘People call me Little John. I am put down on the payroll as John Jack. My name was long—very long—so I am just put down as—” “That’s very good,” Tyson said, beaming. “You belong here in San Francisco?” “I belong—anywhere,” said Lit- tle John. 7 “But do you have folks here, or friends?”’ “No people of my own,” Little John said sadly, ‘“‘aanywhere.”’ “That’s too bad,” Tyson said with great sympathy. His gaze was run- ning up and down Little John’s giant frame with peculiar satisfac- tion. “Well, we have a very good job for you, Little John.” “I like to work,” Little John said. “Nothing hard about this,” Tyson assured him. “‘And we’ll have a big feed for you later!” “I would like to eat,”’ Little John requested, ‘‘before starting.”’ | “No time for that now,” said Ty- son. “But a swell feed later—and twenty bucks a day!” Little John said nothing. And, for a moment, the others said nothing either. Tyson and Daconi were look- ing at each other, as if to say: “Perfect! Very big, very strong— and very, very dumb!” “You can start right in,’’ Tyson went on. ‘‘Take Little John to the plant,” he said to Daconi. Daconi took Little John out to the corridor. There were stairs running down to the back of the building. They went down and came out on a rear yard, which was adjacent to many other rear yards. The yards were littered with old boxes and refuse. They pushed through gaps in ancient fences and presently came to the back entrance of a building similar to the one they had left. ‘S$ DACONI § glanced about quickly, he saw that there was no one in sight. It was dusk now, almost dark. They could hear the traffic on the street on which the building faced, but no one could see Little John stood waiting pa- tiently. Daconi snapped his’ knuckles against the door three times. In a few moments footsteps slurred to- ward the door from the inside, and it was opened, carefully. Louis was standing just inside. He CO IOOOLK C©