15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

You Only Die Twice this character if I staged:a little fight with Dick,” he said. Casle said. “Who was he?” “He’s the boy who shot Laura,” George explained, watching Marilyn. “And I imagine he fed Parker a lethal dose of sleeping pills with an ammonia chaser. But you'd better check with my girl friend. How about it, honey ?” “T—I—don’t know—”’ George pulled her up, dumped her on the bed beside Parker. “Don’t give us that. It’s time you talked straight. Tell Dick how you pitched Laura’s old man into selling her out; how your boy, here, went to Laura’s room at the Rodney Villa and made her call me up from the desk, shot her, then tossed his gun loaded with blanks back into the room. Tell Dick you and this hood waited in your car outside the hotel to see the cops bring me out. “Only they didn’t. You saw me come out of the alley and beat my way down the street. For a second, maybe, you were worried that something had gone wrong. Then you got another idea. You saw how you could use me to get Parker out of your pretty red hair, too. You left your boy to pick up Parker and sit on hint until you were ready, then drove after me. A sweet parlay, honey—too bad you ran out of the money.” “You're crazy, George!” she screamed. Dick had come over. “Marilyn picked me up on Spring Street after Laura was shot,” George told him. “Said she just happened to be driv- ing by. A lucky break for Ball—like meeting her at your apartment. She took me to her place. She was sweet, Dick— sympathetic as hell about my being framed. I'll admit I bought it, at first. Everything pointed to you. she wailed. “Everything except her motive for be- ing so tender with an ex-con she’d never seen before yesterday. I'd like to think 95 so, but IT know I don’t affect women that way. I had time to turn it over—she was gone all day today ; supposed to be locating Parker for me. When we got up here, he was dying. “His vocal cords were burnt out with ammonia, so he didn’t talk.” Ball grinned at Marilyn huddled on the edge of the bed—no glamour there now, but raw terror. “Parker didn’t have to talk, Marilyn. It was too slick. This time [ knew who’d led me into the trap.” “That's nothing but conversation, Dick,’’ snapped Marilyn. George ignored her, went on. “So I could run some more—until she set me up for the cops.” “Yeah,” Casle nodded, ‘but letting her lift my gun, George, I—” “T had to make it look good, didn’t I? Besides, I wanted her to feel on top of the situation, Dick. I knew she’d wait to see how our fight came out. If you won, she’d hand the gun to you; and if [ really started to take you, she’d shoot me.” Casle looked at him blankly, said: “No— But look, George—what was it all about? What was Marilyn after?” Ball shrugged. “That’s your headache.” He grinned at Casle. “It might turn out our little redhead stood to lose a bundle if Laura got together with the Grand Jury. You'd been talking me up around town, how Laura had given me a bum deal and you were going to bring me back for a fresh start. Marilyn’s smart enough to know what to do with a break like that when it’s tossed in her lap.” Marilyn flew off the edge of Parker’s bed and lashed the side of Ball’s face with her open hand. She must’ve turned her solitaire before she moved because he felt the diamond rake his cheek. George Ball touched his face and his fingers came away red. “Thanks, honey,” he said. “I wanted something to remem- ber you by!” Gomichooks (E@)