5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

80 Harrigan. The big detective only be- came more embarrassed at this and ducked out as fast as he could. HE DROVE back to his garage. He was so tired that his big feet seemed to drag as he went down the hill to his apartment house. He fumbled for his key—but he didn’t need it. The door was opened from the inside, and a pleasant voice told him to come in. The voice was a lot more pleasant than the gun in the man’s hand or the face above the gun. The face had a little sear on the left side just above the cor- ner of the thin-lipped mouth. The scar drew up the mouth a little, giving the appearance of a mocking smile. “IT said come in.” The voice was not so pleasant now, and the gun moved in a little jerky motion to emphasize the words. Harrigan stepped in and raised his hands. He was searched. Then the man motioned him into the other room. Hilly Wright was seated in Harri- gan’s favorite chair. He was a slight man with fair hair and eyebrows so light you couldn’t see them against the pro- nounced pinkness of his skin. His clothes were plain and carefully tailored, and he wore no jewelry, save a large square ruby on-his right hand. The ruby glowed redly in the lamp- light as Hilly raised a glass to his lips and drank. He lowered the glass and nodded. “Hello, liquor.” Harrigan stared at the gambler with- out change of expression. Almost disin- terestedly he asked, “What do you mean, breaking in here?” “The door was unlocked,” Wright said with a smile, “but never mind that. Where’s the kid?” Harrigan didn’t know whether the Harrigan. You buy good man was lying or not. He had always © been careless about doors. But that wasn’t important now. “What kid?” he asked. Wright’s face tightened. “Don’t make FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE us get unpleasant, Joe. I always hate to level on a pal.” “You’re not my pal,” Harrigan told him. “I don’t pal with the likes of you. When I play, I like the cards to come from the top of the deck.” Wright straightened, and his mask of. smiling good humor had slipped away. “Look, punk. I’ll take no lip from you. I’m a business man and I run that busi- ness my way. A girl I know, a girl who used to dance at my spot, wound up hbe- hind the eight ball tonight and squawked for bail money. I put up ten grand for her, and I don’t put up that kind of dough for my own sister if I’m not cer- tain that she’ll be in court when the judge swings the gavel. “This girl has a kid. I’m pretty sure that she wouldn’t run out on that kid, so if I keep him, I’m certain she'll be around and my ten grand bail won’t be forfeited. I want that kid. He won’t get hurt, and I’ll see that he’s well treated, but Ill also know that his mama will play me no tricks.” Harrigan had to moisten his dry lips. He knew Hilly Wright and he knew a lot of things Wright had done. The gambler would think nothing of busting up the face of a private cop if it served his purpose. » “IT won’t pretend that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “But you got it all wrong. I don’t know where the Gaudel kid is.” - Wright took one step forward and hit him squarely in the mouth. The gam- bler’s arm moved with the speed of a rapier, and the blow went home before Harrigan even knew it was coming. He’d been standing with his feet wide apart, so it didn’t knock him down. But his teeth felt loose, and the salty taste of blood was in his mouth. He tried to swing but the scar-faced man behind him ordered him to stop. Harrigan let his muscles relax but a dull anger was slowly burning through him. “That’s for lying,” Wright told him. “We talked to the maid at the apart- MICLOO (C(O) cS