15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

116. added a little trick of his own—a micro- phone and a recording machine. “Why don’t you let the cops in on this?” I urged. “Uh uh,” Bud wagged his head at me. “Tf I do that, my boy, you and I are dead ducks. Believe me, Johnny,” he said, look- ing thoughtful, “as long as I hold that record nothing is going to happen.” “Yeah,” I bit off suspiciously, ‘but what makes you think that now that Mad- den knows you have the record, he won't try to get it?” “He won't!” he insisted. - But I wasn’t at all convinced and said so. Bud made a wry face and continued, “Also, there’s the little matter of Ken Gavin. With Slip owning a piece of Gav- in’s band, he could be rough on me—but he won't be, ” he said with a tight smile. “Not now.’ | “Speaking of Ken,” I broke i in, “he just came in.” FEE “So what,” shrugged Bud, “it’s a free country.” I’d caught a glimpse of the tall, broad- shouldered band leader as he. came through the door of the restaurant, with Honey Smith hanging on to his arm as if she owned him. Ken | rubber-necked around the room looking for someone, and from the set of his jutting jaw and the slight list to port I knew he was also look- ing for trouble. He spotted us and broke away from the blonde dancer. Honey Smith trailed after him yanking at his sleeve and saying some- thing I couldn’t hear. Evidently Ken didn’t either because he kept right on com- ing. As he got to the table J started to get up, but he reached down and pushed me back into my chair and then lashing out with a long right slugged Bud right in his face. The disc jockey went over backwards pulling the table down on top of him with a crash. I reached up and grabbed Ken before anybody got to him and tried to rush him outside. But the 5 15: Story Detective singer clawed at me with both hands, try- ing to get past me and at the prone figure of the disc jockey on the floor. I held on to him tightly, edging him towards the door, but he was fighting mad and run- ning at the mouth like a lunatic. “TI kill him—so help, Vil kill him!” I’d never seen Gavin like that before so I yelled at him to shut up with that kind of talk, but he wouldn’t. Se with me on one side and Honey on the other, we man- aged to whisk him out of the restaurant. I glanced at Honey and there was a cold, disgusted look on her beautiful face. As we maneuvered the band leader to the sidewalk her lovely eyes found mine and once again I felt some of the old warmness returning. I searched her expression for what I’d found there BG, before Gavin, but my line of vision was blocked by Ken’s shoulder as he stumbled. When I looked again, her face was a mask. I steered Gavin toward a taxi at the curb and shoved him bodily inside. I growled impatiently at Honey, “He’s all yours, baby, get him away from here.” She didn’t answer but thanked me with her eyes as she climbed in beside the band leader. As the cab drove away I heard Ken telling her in a distorted voice: “T mean it, Honey, so help me, As sure as my name is Ken Gavin, I’ll kill that louse.” | oe By the time I got back inside, things had quieted down and Bud was sitting at his table with a queer look on his face. “The guy’s drunk,” I said slowly, “and he’s a fool, too.” “Yeah, drunk,’ Bud snarled, then added, bitterly, “I’m going to run that two bit singer right out of the business, John- ny, I won’t rest till he’s nothing but a— EAE “A policeman?” T heard a soft voice say at my elbow. I looked up. “Hey,. Willy Forbes, the Singing Cop,” I said. “Hi, Johnny,” he greeted me pleasantly, GEomichooks 2 - 2? a — —_ -- ws = 7, ST ee eee ee ae