15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

82 how larger, knottier; his eyes sunken and dark. He looked like a just-sprung con— the cheap suit and cap, stiff shoes. Seven years ago he’d watched The Rock grow out of the Bay and. swallow. him; now it was the City. He didn’t know which was worse. He’d had some idea what to expect on The Rock. But what happens to an ex-special investigator with a record? Where does he make his buck? George Ball had never been anything but a cop. He fought his way out of the stuffy cabin, stood.on. the open deck and let the cold wind and-spray blow on his face. He felt better, but no braver. The skipper brought the launch along- side the dock, lines were made fast and George walked down the gangplank. He had a queer minute when the rough planks under him seemed to heave like the deck of the launch; his knees trembled. But that passed and he moved slowly toward the gate. . “George Ball!” Someone was shouting his name. A man in a soft, gray snap-brim hat: and a sharp gray worsted suit waved at him from the gate, met him halfway, smiling, “You know me, don’t you, George?” Ball nodded. ‘Sure, Dick—I just didn’t expect a welcoming committee.” Dick Casle was shaking his hand, beaming. “It’s good to see you, boy.” Casle’s tailor-made shirt was immacu- late, a blue bow tie snug against its collar. Ball was uncomfortable, aware of his own seedy outfit. He. eyed. Casle suspiciously. He'd known Dick .casually for several years down in Los Angeles—a police lieu- tenant. “TI hope this reception isn’t official, Dick,’ he said. The detective’s grin faded. “No, this is strictly my own idea. I wanted to talk to you. Look, I've got a cab waiting. Suppose we let him drop us someplace where we can get a good breakfast—lI’'ll tell you about it.” 15 Story Detective “T.don’t know, Dick, FE... .” “Hey,” Casle grinned. “I came four hundred miles to see you. You’re not go- ing to brush me off?” He already had Ball by the arm drag- ging him toward the waiting cab. George shrugged. “Okay, Dick, I'll take you up on that breakfast.” Dick had plenty to say over their ham and eggs, but nothing worth a trip to San Francisco to get off his chest. He filled Ball in on the latest political gossip around L. A. Who was looting the city treasury ; that sort of thing. He let the waitress bring their second cup: of coffee before he turned the record over. “George,” he said, grinning across the table, “this probably isn’t the thing to say, but you look swell!” “Have you had your eyes checked late- ly, Dick?” “No, I mean it. I~” “All right, Dick,” said George quietly. I won’t argue about it. The Rock is a great little rest home—beautiful climate, sea breezes, regular meals and no worries. So let’s drop it and you tell me what’s on your mind.” Casle offered him a@ cigarette and a lighter. The detective’s face set in a sol- emn, Slavic mask. “I always thought you got a rotten shake, George,” he said. “TI didn’t have any better luck proving it than you did at your trial, so I kept still. I knew it was tough enough on you doing time, without someone. om the outside building up false hopes.” Thanks.” p'«* lighted his own cigarette, toyed with the lighter. “I don’t imagine you've heard from Laura?” he ventured. “Not since they served me with the di- vorce papers.” “T’ve run into her occasionally—she’s doing all right for herself.’’ “That figures,” Ball said bitterly. “How do you feel about Laura?” COMIC OOO <SEiGO