15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

90 husband registered there my first night. “T think J get the picture. Laura has finally sold out, herself, this time—by her old man, who went for a walk to let the killer do the job they’d hang on me!” George dragged at his cigarette until the coal burned his fingers. He flipped the butt out of the window, swearing. He heard Marilyn sigh. “To coin a phrase,” she said, “you were framed. What're you going to do about it, George ?” Ball shook his head. “I don’t know— probably stooge around until the cops get me in a pocket.” “Know what I think you ought to do?” “T haven’t the foggiest idea.” “Let me put you up for a few until the heat’s off and you've chance to figure something more gent than just stooging around.” “You know what happens if I’m caught at your place?” “Let me worry about that,” she whis- pered. “Why should you?” He heard the empty bottle fall on the gravel beside the car. “Come here, George.” Her voice sounded thick. ““Come here—Marilyn will explain it to you.” days— had a intelli- 2 bh next morning, they spread the Los Angeles papers out in the living room of Marilyn’s Spanish villa. A comfortable little hide-out in the Hollywood Outpost section—twelve rooms, with a view of the city from every window. The view got a big play from George last night when he was walking the floor of his room, trying to beat the insomnia that closed in on him after Marilyn said good-night. He’d read every word written about Laura’s murder—the big, more or less conservative morning papers and the tab- loids. His picture was blown up to a quarter page in all of the papers. Fortu- nately, it had been taken when he went to Alcatraz seven years ago. A great many 15 Story Detective things had happened to George since then —none of them good. His face was lean- er now, mouth narrower, and he had gray hair over his ears. He could probably walk past any cop in Los Angeles without getting a tumble. George had a lot of ideas to try on Mari- lyn. ‘I think I understand the mechanics, now,’ he told her. She encouraged him with a smile. “Yes?” “Here’s Laura and her husband some- what on the lam. They’ve got enemies, with the cops and with some big-wheel hoodlums. So somebody comes up with a deal for Laura’s husband. They'll let him off if he delivers his wife to their exectitioner. The Parkers register at the hotel; then, according to structions, Laura’s old man takes a walk for himself. He’s no more than gone when this hood breaks into the room and, using his gun, persuades Laura she wants to talk to me. I buy—and the rest happens exactly as planned. Marilyn’s eyes were large. “There's just one point, George—the gun. You said after the killer shot Laura and made you lie on the floor, he threw the gun back into the room. Wasn’t he taking an un- necessary chance?” Ball snorted. “T stayed awake a couple hours last night worrying about the same thing. It’s cute, Marilyn; very cute. Sup- pose the killer wanted my fingerprints on the gun. Also, powder marks on my hands in case the cops picked me up at the scene of the crime. Wouldn’t it be the neatest trick of the week to load his gun with two dumdum shells for Laura and six blanks backing them up? “When he threw the gun back into the room, he knew I’d pick it up and follow him; that I’d fire until the magazine was empty, trying to stop him. He'd slow his getaway enough to insure that. Does it make sense to you now?” She nodded, EOPNIC OOOKS (E(0)