5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

MURDER IN FLORIDA wasn’t all in the bag. She was worried. “Mind if I sit down?” I asked. I BEGAN to see a way out. It was that look from the corner of her eyes, to- ward the window that faced the filling station. She was trying not to let watch- ing what I was doing split her attention. “Stay where you are,” she snapped. “Look here, if you’re going to plug me and make a good story, you better drill my chest and not my back. And don’t forget to muss up your hair a little.” She sniffed. “A burglar’s a burglar, even with his back turned.” “Listen, baby, I got flat feet. My dogs are killing me. How about sitting down or at least shifting my weight? Say, what’s wrong with Ryan. and what are you interested in him for?” “The dirty thief—’ She cut short. “So your feet are tired? Try walking a little. Go slowly to the hall.” She prodded me across the room. We went down the hall. When we got to her bedroom, I didn’t have a chance to look around. All I could see was that the rug was torn, and the dresser had old cigarette burns on it, and there were a lot of clothes in the closet. “Inside!”? Valeria had an expressive way of jabbing with a pistol. “Way in- side to the end.” There wasn’t a chance of turning. I walked until a lot of sweet-smelling clothes surrounded me. Suddenly the bar that the hangers were hung on flopped loose, and Valeria’s wardrobe half smothered me. Before I could tear all that chiffon and stuff off me, she’d slammed the door and locked it. I heard her pushing the dresser against the door just to make sure. “Now stay quiet,” she said. I didn’t make any moves until I heard her winding up that green car in the garage. Then I began giving that pdnel hell, but there wasn’t enough room for action. Some doors are easy to bust open, piece by piece, only this wasn’t one of them. I guess the contractor made a mistake and put in a good one. It got so hot inside that I began to choke, and my shoulder was hurting. Finally I wadded up a bunch of her clothes and made a buffer. That helped me hammer the door, but still I was 107 getting nowhere. I got up a heavy sweat, Just from wondering how things were moving outside. When the panel began cracking, I did a Houdini. I got my feet braced so I could use my shoulder for shoving. That didn’t do a bit of good for a while. Then everything let go, including the dresser in front. This was no time to phone the cops. I was sure of that the minute I broke loose. Before I got within jumping dis- tance of the station, my hunch worked out in a large way. Things were happening. What they | meant, though, I didn’t have the slight- est idea. Two guys were grappling near the gas pumps. One of them was big and lean. He wore overalls and had a beard that was dark and shaggy, hiding his face almost up to the cheek bones. The other fellow was Borda and he was getting the worst of it. I quit wondering where Ryan was when the shaggy man shook Borda loose. Neither had heard me pounding through the sand. He socked Borda a honey. The slick guy went limp and smashed against the ethyl pump. For a second he hung there, then slowly crumpled up. The shaggy man dusted his hands, grinned, and made a dive for the brown leather briefcase that lay on the crushed rock. The boys had been kicking it around during the scuffle. One of the straps had come loose. With the lights I'd left on, down below, it was easy to see. I made a dive for the bearded man. “Drop it, mug!” EF WAS no slouch. He didn’t break that scooping motion at all. I was ready to knock him ‘crosseyed, even if huge shoulders did fill that flannel shirt. But he just heaved the briefcase and smacked me in the face. The loose strap flicked my eye. For a split second I couldn’t see. So my swing missed just enough for me to rasp my knuckles on his beard. It was like a horse’s tail. He nearly took my head off. I knew he didn’t have a hammer in his hands, so it must have been his fist. I guess I could have pulled my gun but I didn’t like shooting after that Hale business. Any- ways this gent seemed to enjoy using his ukes. CORnAICLOO (”) S (C(O)