10-Story Detective, June 1945 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

18——_—_—__—__—__——__10. STORY DETECTIVE tng to me, Billy Watson. My hoér tw go- ing grey ‘with waiting for a chance wt a Hollywood bit part, omd when it comes t's a phony . Liscomb, a rangy, black-haired movie cowboy, sat down on the edge of the bed and sucked on his reefer until it glowed. His big, steely fingers folded my copy of Vartety into a paper strap an inch wide. “So you’re an actor?” he chuckled. The folded paper cut through the air, licked along my neck like a hot lash. “Damn you!” I whispered. “An actor, huh?” Liscomb licked his lips. “You’re a shill—a come-on man for a cheap carnival pitch. That’s what I found you doing, ain’t it?’ I winced. “That’s only while I’m wait- ing for a break.” Liscomb wasn’t grinning now. I could see little green flickers deep in his eyes, He forked greasy marijuana smoke: out of his nostrils, “An actor, only you won’t act,” he sneered, “For old times’ sake I offer you a bit part when you been in town less’n an hour, An’ you turn up your nose.” He leaned down and blew reefer smoke into my face until I gagged. Then - he jammed that high-heeled boot into me and kicked, hard. A cold, black breeze seemed to blow over me, When I woke up I just lay there, look- ing at him. I was remembering the car- nival circuit rumors about how Liscomb had killed a railroad dick by red-lighting him off a show train in the Mojave. An- other time he’d thumbed an eyeball out of a small town cop’s skull. The scales wavered. My self-respect hung on one side, All I knew about Lis- comb hung on the other. He showed a pure killer streak when he’d been on one of these reefer rodeos, I hoisted the white — “OK” I said. ‘TH play ball.” Gq GOT to my feet slowly, dusted off my suit of banker’s stripe and straight- ened my tie. I stand a little under five feet. The words I’d just said seemed to shrink that by a foot. Liscomb sat there grinning, “Where'd I tell you this guy Melton is staying?” eo Arms,” I said. “Apartment My throat felt dry and tight. Well, I'd run Liscomb’s dirty errand, then ‘lam out of town without touching a dime of the money. — Liscomb tossed the rest of the setup at me. “Here's all you need to know. — James Melton is a broker from back East. Never been out here to the Coast be- fore. He’s loaded, dirty with moola. My partner’s got him all softened up for the touch.” “What do I have to do?” The movie cowboy leaned forward, his eyes cold as a barracuda’s. “The deal was for me to go to Melton’s apartment for the payoff this afternoon. But I’m ad-libbing in a frill of my own.” “You mean I haul in the hay for you, collect the blackmail payoff?" _“No. You go to Melton’s apartment in- stead of me, but act scared of hidden mikes and cops.” “That much is easy, anyway,” I told him bitterly. -Liscomb ran a red tongue over his ‘lips. “Even if he offers to pay off, you don’t take it. You say for him to bring the dough along where he’s goin’ this afternoon. Tell him to give it to a messen- ger, the cowboy singer in the white som- brero, That’s me.” ¢ ou = cts “He don’t know it yet, but we’re gonna meet. That’s all.” Sure, I thought. That's all. If the law crashes in, I’m the principal, and you're only a pee-wee accomplice. ‘What name do I use?” I asked aloud. “You don’t. You use a time.” “Come again?” “You use a time, stupid!” Liscomb snarled. “We figured that out, me and my partner. You ring Melton’s bell in the foyer of the Glenshiel at exactly four twenty-eight this afternoon. Not thirty seconds sooner or later, At four twenty- eight. That’s so he knows who it is. The door will buzz and you go up in the ele- vator. Apartment 224 is first on the right on the second floor. The door is unlocked. You don’t knock. Walk in.” “That all?” I asked. “Gimme your leather.” I handed him my wallet and he signed out the selective service registration card. “You know how long you’d last on any carnival lot without a draft card,” he grunted, tossing me the wallet. “Yes, I know,” I sighed. My ears were singing. A funny, tight, twisted feeling had set up housekeep- ing right behind my eyes. But it was no use. I learned a long time ago I couldn't tear big guys to pieces with my bare hands. You've got to fight with the weapons you’re born with. In my case it’s acting. - Liseomb let up another Mary Warner and reached for his guitar. “After the blow-off you get your draft card back. toe > (oy pniiicel sxoxo) <