All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

Afraid to Live face now, everywhere except in his eyes. They were small and beady and there was a kind of insane light in them. Like the time Dan remembered back in school when Mel caught a puppy by the tail and stamped the life out of its twisting, squealing body. He started walking to- ward Dan, grinning like that, and Dan backed up until the wall stopped him. Mel took a handful of Dan’s shirt and twisted until the seams popped. “You gonna divorce her?” he panted in Dan’s face. — Dan was so scared his teeth clicked. But he shook his head. Duggard brought his big hand up and it crashed into Dan’s face—again—again —again—and all the time he grinned with the wild light in his eyes, The room swam before Dan’s eyes. He could taste warm blood. He was sud- denly a kid in school again, getting one of his weekly beatings from Mel. “All right,” he heard himself sob. ‘“T’ll give her a divorce. Please don’t hit me any more, Mel!” Duggard had beaten him down to his knees. Mel gave him a parting kick. “That’s just a sample of what you'll get if you change your mind,” he panted. He gath- ered up his loud plaid sport coat from the bed. As an after-thought, he shoved the radio-phonograph off the table and it hit the floor with a splintering crash. He laughed, going out of the place— Joe sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Even after it got dark and the neon sign across the street cast its reddish light into the room, he didn’t move. Finally, he got up. He went in the bathroom and washed his bruised face. He examined his lips in the mirror. They were puffy and swollen. But only one corner was cut. He’d be able to work tonight. He picked up his trumpet. He looked once at the broken radio on the floor. Then he walked out of the room. 89 He was playing with a five-piece band in a little night-club half way on the other side of town. He walked every night to save money. It took nearly an hour. As he started down the steps into the night-club, a girl came out of the shadows. She caught his arm. It was Dorothy. Her face was white and twisted, splotches. Her fingers biting into his wrist were like ice. ere “Dan—I’m in a jam. .. .” She began crying. She pushed both hands into her hair at her temples and started getting the shakes. In a minute, Dan could see, she would be having hysterics. He got her down into the stuffy little night-club that hadn’t opened for busi- ness yet and forced some straight bour- bon between her lips. She choked on it, but it brought some of the color back to her face and stopped her from shaking so much, He had her back in a booth where it was private. Maybe he should have asked her why she had come to him. Maybe he should have been bitter about it and told her to go to Mel, if she was so crazy about him. But he did none of those things. She was his wife and she was in a jam. So he said, “Tell me.” She swallowed. She was staring straight at the wall, as if hypnotized. “Dan, I . you have to come over to my place right away.” He nodded. “All right, sure.” He told the bandleader he’d have to get along minus a trumpet player for a while. Then he and Dorothy took a taxi. She had rented a small apartment in the same neighborhood where Mamber played. They went up the stairs silently. She got out her key but she was shaking so much, Dan had to put it in the lock of the door for her. She Dan—” whispered, “It—isn’t pretty, GomilGcdoo her eyes big, dark S (©