Pulp Fiction, 1950 · page 22 of 132
15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page 22 of "15 Story Detective" This is a text-only page of prose fiction from a hardboiled crime pulp magazine. The story, narrated by private investigator Clint Morgan, concerns a murder investigation involving a performer named Dawn. Morgan interviews a woman named Doris about a fight between Dawn and a countess over a performance spot, then meets with a detective named Mike who reveals the murder weapon was likely a steel dart fired from an air pistol. Mike produces a mysterious note written by the victim mentioning an incident from Detroit a year prior, though the note's text is incomplete. The page ends with Mike dismissing Morgan from the case.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
22 presence awakened her intuition, but I kept that to myself. “I’m a private in- vestigator. Name’s Morgan. Clint Mor- gan.” “T’m Doris,” she told me. “Private in- vestigator—that’s like a policeman, isn’t Seal “It’s better. Look, sweetheart. Skip this dumb act. If you know something that might help on this case, I’m listening. What else did the countess say?” |e emis wore a sober expression. “Nothing else—tonight.” She sighed. “T liked Dawn, even if she was. kind of funny, sometimes. She knew what she wanted, all right. She tried hard to get it, that’s all.” J “Sure. Maybe too hard. But—the countess ?” “Well,” Doris said slowly, “they had a fight—an argument, maybe that’s all it was. She and Dawn, a couple of nights ago... Maybe I shouldn’t say anything. But, golly, a murder and all—” “What was the fight about?” “Tt was so silly,” she answered, shak- ing her head. “The countess told Portola she should go on just before the finale. That’s the best spot in the show. She al- ways had seemed jealous of Dawn—and that was Dawn’s spot. Dawn lost her temper, I guess. And so did the countess. They said some awful things. Portola stopped it.” I nodded. “Thanks, Doris. [ll buy you a drink sometime.” She smiled. “A soft drink.” “Have it your way.” IT went into the kitchen, a small place, _not too clean, and watched the chef pour some hot and black into a cup. A little later Mike came in and sat down opposite me. I.waited. He took his time. ‘The medical examiner thinks it was some kind of a dart. He won’t know, for awhile.” “A blow-gun?” I asked, surprised. Mike shook his head. ‘He doesn’t think 15 Story Detectiv Oe so. He was in the war, you know. Travelled around a lot, in Europe. Says it might have been one of those steel darts, from a high-powered air pistol.” “Made in Germany,” I said reflectively. “Maybe. Why’d you say that?” “T’m impulsive.” “So maybe it was German,” he ad- mitted, after a pause. His keen eyes searched my face. ‘The old woman who plays the piano is German.” “Yeah.” I told him about the countess and Dawn having a fight. He tapped the table thoughtfully. “You were in the hall, all the time?” “The countess didn’t go into Dawn’s dressing room,” I said. “But her room is right next door. Maybe that dart was fired through the wall... Hey—did you find a note?” : He drank coffee slowly, eyes fixed on mine. He put down the cup, and pulled a sheet of writing paper from his pocket. _ You re gueesing pretty good—for a new man,’ He handed: me the paper. In a bold, feminine hand it read: “Chief of , Police “Los Angeles “Dear Sir: “T have an idea that something possibly may happen to me. If it does, a friend of mine will mail this to you. “You may remember that a year ago, in Detroit, several—” And that’s where it stopped. I handed it back. “What happened a year ago in Detroit?” Mike shrugged. “The sixty-four dol- lar question. I’ll have to find out.” “You holding anybody ?” “The countess. And Jake Left . for questions.” “T’d liké to know how you make out, Mike.” - | “From here on,” he advised, getting to his feet, ‘you keep out of it. Your as- signment has been completed.” . Just GoOmMmicbooks (E©)