Pulp Fiction, 1950 · page 87 of 132
15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 87: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is **story prose** from a pulp crime or hardboiled detective magazine, appearing as page 87 of a story titled "You Only Die Twice." The visible text depicts a murder scene in a hotel. A character named Ball (apparently a detective or hotel employee) discovers a dead woman named Laura Palmer in Room 726 and is questioned by the house detective. Ball, who appears to have a compromising past connection to the victim, lies about why he was in her room, then forces the house detective into a closet at gunpoint and escapes the scene by posing as someone needing to fetch a doctor. The passage emphasizes Ball's desperation to avoid police suspicion and escape the hotel before authorities arrive.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
You Only Die Twice at the far erd of the corridor was just closing. He raced the length of the hall, opened the door. Several floors down, he made out a movement in the purple-red glow of the emergency lights. He fired, shouting. He could hear feet pounding on the metal steps. He emptied the magazine down the shaft. George listened. There was no sound. He took the steps two at a time, hoping one of his wild shots had dropped the hood. All the way to the bottom; through the metal door opening on an alley. Noth- ing. Ball dropped the gun in his pocket and charged into the lobby. Wilson had come back from his cup of coffee. He and Kenny were leaning over the desk, talking excitedly with Leroy Palmer. Ball saw the house detective at the elevator shaft. “What's going on up there?” he growled at Ball, as the elevator doors slid open in front of them. Ball pushed him into the cage, set it in motion again for the seventh floor. “A woman’s been shot,” he told the house man. “I was there when it happened.”’ The detective eyed George sourly. “Yeah? We'll see.” They ran down the hall, past doors that were beginning to open and spew curious guests into the corridor. Ball followed the house man as he elbowed through the mob gathering in front of Room 726. The detective advised everyone to go back to their rooms, wasn’t having much luck sell- ing the idea. They finally got inside and closed the door. The house dick looked at Laura lying on the rug, leaned over. “She’s dead,” he said, straightening. “Dumdums, from the look of the wounds. Know her name?” George nodded. “She and her husband registered tonight. I believe their name is Palmer. That was her husband at the desk.” 87 The hotise man squinted at him. “What were you doing up here, Ball?’ “Why—I—” The pieces were clicking together in Johnny’s brain. They made a picture he didn’t like, because it was a picture he couldn’t explain to this house dick—or any dick. “She called down and said she wanted to see me.” “Why?” the man repeated. “ You know her before ?”’ Ball knew all he had to say was, “Pretty well—she used to be my wife,” and this time it wouldn’t be a seven-year stretch on The Rock. It would be the little, ap- ple-green room at Quentin. He lied. “No. She said her husband had stepped out and someone was knock- ing on her door.” “Yeah?” said the house man. “‘Why didn’t you call me? That’s my depart- ment, isn’t it?” “T guess I didn’t think. I’m new at the job.” He edged himself toward the closed door. 3 “What's your hurry, Mac?” the de- tective leered. “I think we ought to go over your story again. You say the wom- an called you?” “That's right,’’ George said. His hand was gripping the empty rod in his coat pocket. He knew what he had to do; jerked the gun out and waved the house man to the closet. Ball shoved him the last step, turned the lock and told him to keep quiet; went to the door of the room, opened it, snapping the night lock on as he went. He pushed through the crowd, shout- ing, “Please—I’ve got to get a doctor!” A little guy in a flannel bathrobe said, “T’m a doctor.” Ball said, “Great. They need you in there,” and kept going. He heard the doc rattle the doorknob, cry “Why, the door’s locked !”’ George didn’t stop to say how sorry he Gomichbooks (E@)