15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

«él Murder Spins the Disc he came over and sat down beside me. “TE you tell the police about that record, Johnny,” he summed up thoughtfully, “they're going to want to hear it.” “But I don’t have it,”’ [ insisted, “That's all right,” Willy said. “If they know about it, they’ll get it.” “and so will I,” I finished for him, “like Bud” He agreed with me by moving his chin up and down. “And if they don’t know about the record?” I queried anxiously, “Slip will probably keep hands off you.” “You mean the way he did with Bud?” I almost yelled. Willy didn’t answer but just sat there slowly wagging his head from side to side, and after a few seconds I caught on to what he was driving at. The gangster hadn’t been the killer—it was someone else. “Strangling is hardly in Slip’s line, keed,”’ Willy suggested, ‘“‘a bullet in the back is his signature.”’ “Then who?” He shrugged his shoulders, “That's something for the boys downtown to worry about, Johnny—what do you want from me?” “T want you to find out who killed Bud.” “Why?” “Tf Slip did it, then I might just as well turn the record over to the police and try to get some sort of protection.” “T thought you didn’t have the wax?” he cut in and his eyes danced queerly, “T haven't,” I said. “But I can find it.” “and if somebody else knocked him off,’”’ Willy’s soft voice nudged, “you can keep your mouth shut about Conky Jacobs and maybe put the bee on Madden for a big wad of dough, huh?’ I knocked over the chair in my haste to get at him. I swung a hard right at his long, angular jaw, but he reached up aud easily blocked it with his left hand. Then he shoved me down in his chair and growled: “I was just asking, no need to blow your top.” I took a couple of deep breaths while he looked me over. I was sore and showed it. Instead of the guy helping me he was only getting in my hair. “Any minute,” he was saying, “some- body is going to walk in there and find Bud White’s body—there’s nothing I can do, keed.”’ “They won’t find him until he doesn’t show up for the broadcast tonight,” I ar- gued. “And that’s not until midnight,” “Nothing doing, Johnny. [ want no part of this.” There was no doubt about it, Willy meant it. I offered him a handful of green- backs but I got nowhere. Willy Forbes wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole— I was strictly on my own. CHAPTER THREE The Silk Necktie INDING the Conky Jacobs platter was easier than I had anticipated. It took me about two hours patient culling of Bud White’s private record li- brary at the radio station. After I had played the record back and listened to Conky spill his guts and Madden’s apple- cart, I got an idea of what Willy Forbes had meant when he'd said the disc was worth a big wad of dough. Madden was up to his thick ears in marijuana and Conky had named names and places— enough, I figured, to put Slip away for a long time. It wasn’t tough to add up that the mobster would probably pay plenty to prevent it from getting to the authorities. But on the other hand, that’s not the way I play ball, although I must admit, I jug- gled it mentally for a good five minutes before I got straightened away. Besides, I wanted to live a while longer, 119 Gomichbooks Eon