10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

82 ward me and actually took hold of my hand. ‘Don’t try to shield me,” she said pitifully. “I’m going to the police and tell them.” The miserable little woman turned, trying hard to control her feelings, and picked up a small round hat, one that looked like a tiny bird’s nest. Jugvale was still staring at each of us by turns when an authoritative rap sounded on the hall door. Jugvale hesitated a moment, then opened it and the two cops, Riley and Carlson, came in. I guess they must have been watching the place. They saw Jugvale come in and likely al- ready knew I was inside. Riley’s glance came to rest on me. “Maybe,” he said, “we were a little hard on you, bum. After all, it’s our duty to check on things like the story you told us.” Before I could answer, Mrs. Jug- vale moved very quietly toward the door, her lips set tight together, her features drawn and pale. But her voice, though it was awful low, was firm and mighty determined. “There is nothing to check, officer. I killed a man. I’m willing to go with you and tell you about it.” I don’t know who was more sur- prised—Jugvale, the cops, or me. They took her, of course, and me and Jugvale, too, as material witnesses. The next day, after a lot of ques- tions and legal red tape like you never get in the collection business, they got enough dope on me to make sure I’d be around for the trial. I called on Robberns and gave him his half of the $10.80. “This is the first time I ever collected a bill for the gas that killed a guy,” I told him. “Even with all the burners of a gas stove turned on full blast from seven P.M. till eight in the morning your rates must be a lot too high when it costs that much to croak yourself.” Robberns looked at me with dis- belief in his rat-like eyes. ““You mean you actually collected that gas bill?” “Uhuh,” I admitted, “and now I want some more accounts. I got a new system of collecting money.” 10-STORY DETECTIVE He seemed to have a hard time believing I’d actually got that money. “‘What’s your new system?” he asked. I was surprised at myself again right then. I start preaching at that hard-faced, heartless bill-grabber. ““Everybody’s got some good in them,”’ I said, “if a collector would only make an effort to bring it out and give the other guy a break.” FOUND myself talking about that Same way as a witness at Mrs. Jugvale’s trial. Her attorney, the one the state ap- pointed to defend her, proved the gangster she’d killed was wanted for three murders himself and that there had been a reward for him. The at- torney got the charge against her reduced somehow to second degree murder because he said the way she’d been blackmailed and had her happi- ness stolen caused her to kill him in self-defense. Nobody even objected to that. We all wished she’d go free. Of course, that couldn’t happen. But it almost did. They gave her some kind of sentence with a parole recom- mendation. I saw her last just as the ‘trial ended. Jugvale had his arm around her, telling her he understood, that he’d wait for her, and save some money and they’d start over again. Riley overheard their conversation and told Jugvale, ‘She'll be back al- most right away, fellow.” Then the big officer turned to me and grinned, “You got enough in wit- ness fees for that ticket to Los An- geles, didn’t you, bum?” “T made a lot more than that on collections while I was waiting,” I told him. “I got a new system.” And, that’s right. I have a new system of living. The good that came out in that little woman, and seeing her get a fair trial like she did, had an effect on me, I guess. I never threaten to sock anybody any more. And I collect more money than I ever did before. Robberns can’t understand it. cConmiclboool (C©