Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

his breadbasket, heard the grunt of pain, and started a full throttle left to his jaw. But halfway there, the left weakened and fell ineffectually on. his shoulder. I was pitching toward the dirty concrete and the lights were going: out. Meanwhile, I smelled kitchen grease and motor oil and the alley felt hard against my face. Then there was nothing. Now, it felt like the floor of a car. I didn’t stir, just lay still as I tried to pick up the thread of events. But before I could get ev- erything ironed out the.car stopped. I closed my eyes again and waited. Someone got my knees, another man my arms. We _ bumped through a door and they dumped me unceremoniously on a soft car- pet. I heard water running out of a tap, moaned, twisted a little, and opened my eyes. ~“Get.up, mister.” . I struggled to my knees. The blonde sat in a big chair, a hand- kerchief pressed to her face. Three of those present were overdressed and a little too tough. Hats pulled down. They could have been three torpedoes, some holdovers from the gangster years. Behind an out- sized oak desk, a fat hunk of suet in a gray pinstripe tilted back in his chair and eyed me with dis-. tinct distaste. He had two extra chins anda flabby lip. When he spoke, his eyes snapped. “T said, “Get up!’ All the way up, mister.” | The pain in my head wasn’t 116 eased by standing, but I made it. I ran fingers gingerly over the back of my noggin and found the tender spot. The fat one leaned toward me, his fat hands flattening out on the glass-topped desk. “I ain’t even going to ask ‘Did you do it?’ mister,” he said sourly. “My boys saw ‘it all. I don’t know how long it went on, but I know it did go on and that’s enough for me. And I ain’t a bit happy about it. Understand?” He finished with a glare, then turned toward Mag- gie. “What'd I ever do to deserve this?” he asked harshly. “I pay same wages as any other joint in Reno. I treat the dealers right. Ain’t no payoff after hours con- nected with workin’ for Bart Ak- ers; nobody chases you around the tables after closing-time. Ain’t that so, Maggie?” “Cut the hearts and flowers,” I said. I was feeling better and didn’t want the kid to take any more -guff than she had to. Even another working-over would be better than letting Akers ‘rant at the blonde. “So I corrupted one of your deal- ers. I got her to throw me a’ few bucks out of the Silver -King. And now you're broke, that it? A cou- ple of hundred and the King is cleaned out. feez!” That brought the fat ‘boy’ Ss at- tention back to me in a hurry. The thin jerk holding the glass of water threw it at my head. He opened the side of his face and said, “Let me smear this joker, Bart.” _ ALFRED HITCHCOCK'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE. EOMICLOCKKS. ECO