5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

94 “Nothing here, Ed.” They walked back along the racks of clothing, and one of the cops stopped. The crook’s coat was hung among the garments waiting to be cleaned. “It was a coat like this, he was wear- ing, from the description we got.” “That’s Mr. Wilson’s coat,” the tailor managed to say. The cops passed on down the line and went out the door. Mr. Bridgewater sat down on a chair, too weak to stand. The killer looked up from his pressing machine. “Not bad, Mac,” he said. “I’ll remem- ber you if I ever need a hideout again.” Mr. Bridgewater groaned and started hand pressing Sally ’Meader’s green coat... Tommy Nevins came in grinning. “Anything to deliver, Mr. Bridgewater? I just passed my examinations. Goin’ into six B next term.” “That’s fine, Tommy. Yeah, I got a lot of stuff to go, and they’re all howling for it. Come here.” Mr. Bridgewater walked down the line of finished garments and picked out a small gray suit and brushed it, put it on a pasteboard hanger, and handed it to Tommy. “Take this suit to Apartment 1-B, next door,” he said clearly. “And give him this message. Tell him my new presser burned his pants up so he can’t wear ’em this evening. Tell him he ean wear this suit if he likes, but if he don’t like it, tell him I said he could go lay his head on a subway track. Tell him I never liked him and I don’t want his business, any- way. Tommy’s eyes popped open. “But Mr. Bridgewater! He’ll get sore.” HUT UP,” Mr. Bridvewater snapped harshly. “Don’t talk back to me. I’m running my business. I know it ain’t his suit, but it’s the only one he’s gonna get from me. Now, what’d I tell you to say ?” “But Mr.—” Mr. Bridgewater cut him off with a high-pitched bark. “You heard what I said! Now, tell me what I said tell him?” Thoroughly frightened and .puzzled, the boy repeated Mr. Bridgewater’s mes- sage. ANI right,” Bridgewater snapped. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE “And after this, don’t tell me how to run my business. Now get out—and hurry back.” As Tommy went out the door, the kill- er turned and grinned coldly. “Blaming me for burning the man’s pants, eh? Well, I’m big hearted, Just charge it against my wages.’ Bridgewater was wringing his hands. “Is this a business?”-he groaned. “Trouble, trouble, trouble!” He turned as another customer came down the basement steps and entered. “Now what do you want?” “My suit.” “Oh, sure.” Mr. Bridgewater found it and wrapped it up and rang up the money. “They get that robber yet?” he asked. “No, I guess he got away. Most of the cops are gone now. All except a couple at each corner, looking over everybody who goes out of the block.” oe man picked up his package and eft. Mr. Bridgewater started toward the back of the shop. “Where you going?” the killer asked. “Back to the washroom. My indiges- tion’s killing me. I’ve got some bicarb back there.” “Don’t. I’m going to leave you, now that things are quiet out in the street, and I want you to help me select a trav- eling suit. What have you got that will fit me?” Mr. Bridgewater gulped. “You can’t take any of those suits,” he objected. “They belong to my customers. They’]l get mad. What’ll I tell ’em?” “Why,” the killer said, “just tell ’em I borrowed it. You’ll do that, won’t you?” The killer walked down the line of suits on their hangers, looking them over. He stopped and lifted one off the rack and looked at it. “Now here’s a nice number,” “Suppose I try it on for size.” “But that’s a policeman’s uniform. He’s off duty.” “Good.” The killer grinned, shucking off the smock which hid the gun in his hip pocket. “You get the idea. A cop off duty, who happened to live in this block —he could walk right out through that line, couldn’t he? The cop that owns this won’t mind, will he?” he said. GomilGcbaoo (”) S (C(O)