5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

32 did, because when he did come out again, he signaled, and two men came walking rapidly from the north corner of the block. They would have spotted me if I’d so much as stuck my nose out. They followed Galey into the build- ing. I took a very careful look around and decided Galey had brought only two men. Then I ran across the street, tried the door of Galey’s car, and found it unlocked. I opened the door, got in, crawled into the back, and crouched down. If Galey came out with his two friends and I was discovered, there was going to be a swift and brutal finish to a sucker who wouldn’t let somebody else take a homicide rap for him. Galey came out alone. Apparently his two stooges had been left inside to wait for me, believing I’d show up shortly. Therefore, Galey was in a ‘hurry to get out of there. The car moved away, with me crouching in the back, and soon stopped in front of a private dwelling just around the corner from Park Ave- nue. It was one of those few remaining private homes in midtown and while it didn’t front on the avenue, it had an avenue address which was supposed to mean something or other. I let him shut off the motor before I hauled myself up and wound an arm around his neck. I had to work fast be- fore some pedestrian came along and decided to call a cop. Galey couldn’t make a sound as I dragged him into the back seat and pushed him in a corner. Then I pulled back my right fist and slugged him in the belly. I put all the steam the limited quarters would allow into that punch, and it must have hurt like hell because his face went deathly white and then a pale green and he gasped for breath. “Maybe you have a few more bills you'd like me to collect, you lousy lar,” I said. “Or should I go to see Sydney Ward to get some new business?” He said, “You—you—son of a—” I walloped him smack on his nose. I felt bone squash and crumple, and Galey let out a muffled yell of pain. I hit him a couple more times in the midsection. Knowing that his nose must be as sore as a boil, I concentrated on that to put over my points. I wasn’t peeved at him —not just then. 1 was too busy figuring FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE out what I wanted him to talk about and I decided I might as well be direct. “Where is Joan Haven?” I asked. “Don’t know—never heard—” he started to say. I pushed his nose down flat again, and it brought a scream of pain from him. I wiped the blood off my knuckles onto his shirt. It was a beautiful white-on- white import job and smeared nicely. “Joan Haven,” I said. “Where is she?” HE STARTED to droop. His head went down first, then his shoulders sagged, and all at once he flopped over. Both arms dangled limply, and I thought he was out cold. That was when he went for his gun. It was in a shoulder rig and must have - been provided with a spring, because all he had to do was touch the butt and the weapon jumped out into his fist. I jumped on him. He got the gun free, all right, but he didn’t get to use it. I knocked him off the seat onto the floor and grabbed his gun hand with both my hands and twisted it until I heard bone snap and felt a shudder go through him. The gun fell, and I picked it up and put it into my hip pocket and yanked him upright again. “A passerby with a little more curiosity than the average big-city type, passed by, slowed, and came back. He peered into the car. By that time I had Galey wedged into the corner and he was hold- ing his head up. I seemed to be talking to him. The curious guy was satisfied and went off." I grabbed Galey’s collar and started twisting it. “Any break you rated you lost when you pulled that gun, Galey. I’m after information. I’ll get it if I have to kill you, and remember this—I’ve al- ready killed one man, I can do it again. For the last time, where is Joan Haven?” “TI—don’t—know,” he said. “Who does know?” He tried to shake his head, but I twist- ed his collar a little more. In a moment, he’d start turing blue. He’d taken plenty and was on the verge of giving up. I could tell, so I loosened my grip slightly. “Does Sydney Ward know?” “Yes,” he said. “I think you do, too,” I said. “But I MICLOOKS (C(O) (C@)