Pulp Fiction, 1956 · page 110 of 148
Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 110: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1956. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
I am inviting you on this interesting drive from Reno to Los Angeles not because of the warm fresh air, the _ scenery, or the pretty blonde on the front seat. I in-- vite you to help Matt Brady understand why those that they're itchy to vent- late him, at precisely the right moment, with a 45. people are tailing him... ( > return trip I> ape this five-hundred mile haul to Reno and now this joker tells me I can’t unload. The ther- mometer outside was vaulting up around three figures and my rig stood against the curb, an assort- ment of roulette wheels and crap tables weighing her down. The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the over-sized hall being made ready for the usual business here- abouts; the air-conditioning unit hadn’t been installed yet. I touched a sleeve to my forehead and turned back to the hard-jawed man at the lone desk in the barren room. “Mr. Wirth,” I said briskly, “time is cash in the trucking business and you're tying up my rig. You ordered this furniture and the company down in Los Angeles shipped it. Let’s find a place to put a Wirth looked me over carefully, like a loan shark appraising a po- 108 by Eugene Pawley tential victim. Beads of perspira- tion glistened under his thinning hair, but the fingers idly turning his gold pen were calm and steady. He waved an arm toward the emp- ty space around him. “We're not ready for the tables yet. There’s carpet to lay and—” “You were ready a few minutes ago,” I countered quickly. “When I came in here you gave your men orders to stack the stuff along one side. And suddenly you change. Why?” “Tl pay for your time,” he said easily. “Add it to the bill. But we can’t take the furnishings off your truck until we’re ready. Tomor- row, maybe.” He leaned back and gave me the personality treatment—a__ profes- sional smile right off your televi- ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE EOPMICLOOOCKS. CO