5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

MURDER IN FLORIDA with me to look things over, he could let his nerves unkink a bit. My looking was a dead loss the next morning. Whatever footprints had been made in the sand had been blotted out by the wind. There was nothing in sight but the main highway down the center of the island,’“which varies from half a mile to two miles in width. The station was on a cross road, about halfway between the highway and Sun- set Beach. It was lonesome as hell at night and pretty desolate by day. Some- times, way off, I could see boats landing for beach parties, though most of the swimming was near the Saint Augustine end, where a bridge comes from the mainland to the island. That night, I made a prowl among the scattered cottages, looking for the place where the shaggy man camped. I didn’t expect to see him, though. ‘He already seemed too foxy. There wasn’t any chance of frisking Valeria’s house, either, because she was staying home. en I came back, Ryan was prac- tically sick. He just stood shaking and pointing. There was another busted yee and another slug in the window sill. “So it’s hide-and-seek, huh?” I asked quietly. “Shoot that scoundrel—” Ryan’s voice cracked. “Buddy, you'll have to wait till I catch him first.” pie job began to drive me so batty that I greased my car and Ryan’s and waxed them both. I started sorting out the junk, tools, old hose, lawn sprinklers, battered coffee urns, and the rest of the stuff that was stacked in the storeroom and in the wash stall. The garage floor was an inch deep in crankcase drippings and grease. If things got tense enough, I’d probably clean up even that mess. But to restore Ryan’s confidence, I had to spend some time tossing chili cans in the air and popping them with my double-action .88. When I got kicked off the Force and they called me Honest John, with a wink, I threw all my medals in the sewer. But a guy doesn’t forget how to shoot. Valeria came over to have her tires checked. 101 “It’s so lovely today, I think I'll go out to Summer Haven,” she chattered, pow- dering her nose and eying me over the rim of her compact mirror. “I love the solitude out there.” “Yeah, it’s nice down there, but I don’t like that toll bridge at Matanzas,” I chipped in, referring to the one at the south end of the island. I was thinking: “Nuts, madam. Do I look sappy?” It was just as well I didn’t frisk her house. She came back too quick, just like I’d had a hunch she would. She waved at me from the green convertible. That afternoon, a V-8 pulled in from the highway. It had enough horns for two jobs that size, so I charged from the patio in the back and made a dive for the windshield. “Where’s Ryan?” the sandy-haired guy at the wheel snapped at me like he owned the place. He wore tweeds and had a horse face. ~“Do you want gas or don’t you?” I asked suspiciously. The other guy was dark and roundish- faced, smooth and good-looking, with a little black mustache and an expensive green tie that went just right with his brown suit. I was willing to bet his socks matched his tie. They were both slick customers. They smelled of hair tonic, shaving lotion, and high-class soap. The dark fellow’s coat bulged a bit, and not from bum tailoring. I guess I didn’t like him because he reminded me of the boys at the club where I’d got cleaned out. “Listen, you smart hick,” the dark man gritted, sliding out of the seat, “we want Ryan. This is Ryan’s Last Stop Service Station, and we’ve made a stop.” He had long hands. One of them was making absent-minded brushing move- ments up and down his vest buttons. “Easy, Borda,” the horse-faced fellow said and left the wheel. When he passed around the back of the car, I half turned. Then Borda made a false move. I don’t think he wanted to shoot. He just wanted to sap someone. But he got a shock when my gun barrel clipped his knuckles and knocked his Colt to the gravel. I didn’t want to shoot,. either—not just then. “You dirty skunk!” he hollered. Then he looked at his buddy. “All right, Hale how do you like our pal’s new mug?” AMICLOOO GO iS (C(O)