10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

————-SATAN’S PAYROLL 66 ELL, Latch is a _ big-time crook,”’ the girl told him. “TI was with him for a while. He got me before I was old enough to know what it was all about. I ain’t trying to alibi myself, but I never had folks to put me right. But I got wise—and then I quit him!” Little John nodded. He said: “You are still only a child. And there are bad people in the world.” “You bet there are! Latch is one of the worst. But I kept out of his way. Then he got my brother Jim mixed up with him—and Jim got croaked. I got sore then and went to the cops with some stuff I had on Latch. He was pinched on a murder rap.” “That,”’ Little John said solemn- ly, ‘was a good thing.”’ “Sure. But he made a getaway.” “He escaped from the police?” She nodded her thick reddish hair briskly. ‘‘You see the setup now? This place here is a hide-out for Latch’s crowd. I ain’t never been here before — didn’t know just where it was. They nabbed me and brought me here to meet Latch. He’ll be showing up—maybe com- ing up the coast in a boat. He—”’ The door opened suddenly. A man was standing in the doorway. He was strongly built, but a little too fat. His eyes were dark and hard. The brow over the left eye seemed to be pulled so far down as to almost conceal it. The right eye was open wide, as if to take in everything there was to see. He was looking at the girl stead- ily. “Okay, Latch,” said the girl cheerily. “I’m here!” Latch’s thin-lipped mouth shaped in a humorless grin. “Yeah,” he said. “And you ain’t gonna like it!” He entered, snappetl the door shut behind him. Slowly, he ap- proached the girl. She did not re- treat. Latch’s hand shot out, grasped her wrist, twisted it. —29 “You dirty little double-crosser,” he said. “I’ve got you—” Little John’s left hand descend- ed on his shoulder, spun him around like a top. Latch stared at him for a moment, then his hand went for his shoulder holster. Little John’s right fist jerked forward, crashed against Latch’s jaw, sent him sail- ing backwards against the wall. For a moment he lay stunned. Little John stood in the center of the room, staring at him in dull anger. “Look out!” the girl cried at Lit- tle John. Latch was moving again, his hand sneaking for his gun. But Little John did not move. The girl ran between them, shielding Little John. Latch cursed her thickly. “Get the hell out of the way,” he snarled, “or I'll get you right now !”’ The girl laughed. “I’m not afraid of you! Go ahead and—” The door was flung open again. The others rushed in, Daconi first. Latch hesitated, struggled to his feet, stood uncertainly. Latch’s wide-open right eye looked murderous. Blood was streaking down his face. Then, sud- denly, he grinned. “I almost made a mistake,” he said. “There ain’t gonna be any stiffs for the cops to find this time!” Little John gazed at him unwav- eringly. “You are a madman,” he said, Latch roared. “Sure. I’m crazy— crazy like a fox! Why did I get knocked off on that last job? Be- cause I was fool enough to leave the stiff right in plain sight, right where I croaked him! I always done it like that—thought I was being smart. Well, no more!”’ Tyson cackled from the doorway. “You’re right, Latch,” he said. “Never let ’em find the body!” ATCH was glaring at the girl again. “You doubled on me— CO lOOOLK C©