5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

KILLER COP night for the first time. You make a pinch and you don’t report it. There’s no record anywhere in the station. The next night the boy you pinch is shot and killed, and who is only a block away, off his post, where he’s not supposed to be? You, McGinley. How do you add it up? What’s the score?” Ed McGinley opened his mouth. Then he shut it again. What are you going to do, McGinley? Put the blame on somebody else and expect the captain to believe you instead of the others? When he’s waiting to bust you anyway? “IT don’t know, sir,” Ed McGinley said. The captain got to his feet heavily. “You’re under suspension,” he said. “And you're going to stay under suspen- sion until you give me the answers. Put your gun and your badge on the desk.” Ed McGinley unpinned his badge and unholstered his gun and carefully placed them beside that captain’s hat with its gingerbread on the visor. see Ed McGinley, ex-killer-cop McGinley, took the long way home that night. Maybe he was lucky. Maybe he’d be better off out of uniform, away from a badge and a gun. Maybe the cap- tain was saving him from another kill- ing—and tapping him for a murder in- stead. But it just didn’t add up. In Pete’s, on the edge of the Loop, over a warm, foamy glass of beer, it didn’t make sense. The captain was chasing spooks, looking for a deal that didn’t exist, afraid of shadows. . Or was he? Sure, the captain wore his uniform every day. Sure, he shoved his mug into a photographer’s camera every chance he got: Sure, he played politics to work up-to captain. But politics or not, photographers or not, you can’t hold down that job and be a complete idiot. Maybe something was going on. In George’s Green Room, over another glass of beer, it still didn’t look any clearer. Fat Edith’s, a few doors from home, where the cops hung out, was almost empty. A long skinny man and a short fat one held up opposite ends of the bar, and Edith herself weighed it down as she leaned on it from behind. Without 51 a word, she poured a beer for Ed and set it in front of him. Then she switched off the big light in the window and the ones over the booths. “Closing up, boys,” she announced. They gulped their beer, the short fat one and the tall skinny one, and trooped out, and Fat Edith locked the door be- hind them. Then back she waddled to the bar in front of Ed. “So you done it again, big boy,” she said. “Got yourself in another jam.” Ed circled one hand around the glass and didn’t answer. “Why don’t you quit?” she asked. = Still Ed McGinley had no word for er. “I mean it, big boy.” She leaned over, closer to him. “Look at me, big boy. I ain’t so bad, am |?” No, big girl, you aren’t so bad. Hefty, but a pretty face, an even disposition, a strong and willing right arm. “This here is a going business, McGin- ley. There’s plenty of money for two. Plenty of work to keep a man busy. We could get along, McGinley, you and me.” He was so startled he couldn’t answer. “How about it, McGinley? I ain’t so bad in a lot of ways.” Finally he found his voice. “Look, | Ridith_- “T’ll show you.” She walked around the end of the bar, removing her apron, and she took his hand in her hard, big one. “I’ll show you I ain’t so bad, Mc- Cinley. C’mon.” She led him toward the door in the back of the tavern and the stairway ee went up to her rooms on the second oor. Gently, Ed disengaged his hand. “I’m — sorry, Edith,” he said. “I guess I’m not the marrying kind.” She stared at him, disbelief on her placid face. “I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to marry me.” ? . eah,” she said. “I get it. I’m too a Ph BRUPTLY she marched past him to the front door. There she turned the key in the lock. “V’m Fat Edith. I’m too fat. That’s it, ain’t it?” When he tried to protest COMmMicloo SS (C@)