15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

loaded with dynamite, “f ain't pushing you around. This is just a friendly little visit, right?” “Friendly {” I snapped—then shut up as the big guy cracked me across the mouth with his open hand. I took the hint and Just listened. Slip looked once at me then turning to Bud went on. “All I want, Buddy boy,” his voice caressed, “is for you to lay off Ken Gavin.” ‘My mouth opened in surprise, then closed quickly as the big guy next to me ‘taoved his hand. “You must be nuts,” Bud shot at him. “T've already told you, nobody telis Bud ‘White what to do.” “Well, I’m telling you, Buddy boy, lay off. I wouldn’t like it if you don’t.” I watched Bud closely and he sure didn’t reflect any of the butterflies that were flapping their wings in my stomach. “Why?” he asked casually. “Ken a friend of yours?” “Uh uh,” Slip shook his head. “‘May- be I just like the way the guy sings.” “Why?” Bud insisted, Slip shrugged his shoulders, “Ail right, so I tell you. I just bought a piece of him and Slip Madden always protects his in- vestments, right?” Bud laughed in his face. “No, wrong,” he grinned. “This is one investment that isn’t going to pay off for you, Slip. I’ve got that singing goat on the big toboggan and I’m not quitting un- tii he hits bottom.” The big lug at my side moved his hands restlessly and Slip took a step forward with a menacing gesture. “T wouldn't,” said Bud evenly, and his eyes flashed a red light. “Let’s talk about your other interests instead, Slip, huh?” He spoke slowly and let his voice come to a point—‘Say, your tobacco business ?”’ Madden cursed in a loud voice and the big gunman reached over, grabbed Bud roughly by the tie and jerked him. “Cut it,” ae Slip. ~The big guy fet go of Bud's hand- painted cravat and stood there looking at his boss with a dumb expression on his flat face. LL, he had nothing on me, because LY" it was way over my head, too. I didn’t even know that Slip Maddea was in the tobacco racket and furthermore, I didn’t care. Except that I was curious as to his reaction. Then it hit me like one of the big guy’s heavy fists and my lips sounded off. “Marijuana!” T must have spoken aloud, because Slip whirled savagely and hissed, “Shut up!” And the big gunman cracked me across the mouth again—only this time his hand was closed. - Bud's voice bit out cold and sharp. “Leave him alone.” All of a sudden Slip Madden sounded like somebody had been dipping him in oil, “Look, Buddy boy,” he purred, “you kinda got it wrong, ain’t you?” But he couldn’t keep the question mark out of his voice. “Uh uh,” Bud answered coolly as he shook his head from side to side. “One of your boys spilled his guts to me, Slip. This, I got straight.” 6Sa2% “So, you see, it’s like I said,” Bud went on, with obvious relish, “you don’t teil: me to lay off.” Madden blinked his lids a couple of times but his lips didn’t move, so Bud kept talking. “You tend to your business and I'll stick to mine,” the disc jockey said. “If you don’t,”” he warned crisply, “I'll yap all over town some interesting details Conky Jacobs told me about your new racket.” “Conky Jacobs!” spat out the mobster, and for a moment I thought he was going to jump all over Bud, but he didn’t. Gomichboo @®