5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

122 some women and all Latin men seem to accomplish without trying. “Damn it,” growled Hart. “Didn’t you hear the latest ?” Gomez shook his head. “The Olympic National Bank,” Hart said. “Right before closing this noon!” “Oh.” Gomez flicked his eyes to the loudspeaker high on the wall above the door. “There was something,” he ad- mitted. “Something? You ain’t half said it, boy. Innocent spectator got knocked off —by our own men yet.” | Gomez’ eyes widened. “Yeah. Damn it, why does it happen to us? A policeman tries to do his job and he does his best at it—and then something like this crawls down his back. The papers take ball bats to him, and just because he wears a uniform he can’t open his mouth.” Gomez nodded but said nothing. What is there to say about a thing like this that hasn’t been said before? “The way it was,” muttered Hart, “some guy with an old idea and a new gun walks into the bank ten minutes before closing. A few people in the place, not many. He goes to a window, let’s the teller see the gun, whispers hello to him.” “Where was the bank guard?” Gomez’ | eyes were bright now. “Back in the washroom. Just at that time he’s gotta go and get human it seems. The teller does what the guy tells him. He gets a sack, fills it up. Then he goes back to his own cage and opens the grill and pokes the bag through. Nobody notices. There’s no muss, no fuss. Yet.” “A hot day,” Gomez observed. “Yet, I said. The guy takes the bag ‘and starts backing up. Just then some- body comes to and the big alarm bell ace off. The guy fades for a car out- side.” Gomez nodded, remained silent. “Now get this, Gomez. Going by just then is a squad car. They’re wide awake so they open fire.” “Ah” “But they don’t get him. He takes off and before you can blink he’s around the corner and gone, and the prowl bus is headed the wrong way. You got that?” FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE Gomez said nothing, but his brown eyes showed intelligence. “One bullet,” said Hart softly, “hits a citizen who just happens to be standing on the curb with his mouth open, won- dering what’s going on.” H¢42 raised a big hand and brought it down hard on his desktop. “One of our own men burns the life out of an innocent bystander. How do you like that?” | } Gomez sighed. “It can’t be helped. The newspapers will talk, yes, but what would you? Things like that happen.” “Listen.” Hart leaned forward on the desk, poked out a finger. “Listen. They burn this guy down, see. This innocent bystander.” He wagged with the finger. “His name’s Jose Ramirez. He’s a little guy, wouldn’t hardly come up to my shoulder. An insignificant mouse of a man. Lives the good life. Religious.” He stopped, repeated, “Religious.” “José Ramirez,” said Gomez softly, pronouncing it as it should be pro- nounced. “Ramirez? Auf dem lande, a?” “Huh?” Captain Hart’s eyes batted. “A ise My speaking German, that is. Religious, you said?” “Yeah. That’s the part that hurts. Watch ’em ride our spines on that: But get this. When the guy’s going down he closes his eyes, and there’s a sacred name on his lips.” Gomez stared, fascinated. “A sacred name on his lips,” re- peated Hart. “Before the curtain falls he says twice, ‘Immanuel.’ ” “Immanuel?” “Yeah. Don’t it get you? Picture the poor broken bugger lying there on the concrete with one of our slugs in him. He whispers ‘Immanuel’ with his last breath.” Hart shook his head like a dog fanning its ears. “Jeez, that gets me. The—the religion of it, Sammy!” “Are you sure? I mean, just that one word? Just like that?” Gomez’ brown eyes got puzzled, distant. “Immanuel. Immanuel?” He blinked, brought his eyes back to Hart. “It makes no sense.” “Huh?” Hart’s tone was _ shocked. “What the hell, boy? Usually you’re the one sees the human side of things. I’d think you’d be feeling like I’m feeling, GoImiGcdoo ©) S (C(O) mM