5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

98 ALLY beat it. I couldn’t. I sat down to study the regulations some more, but I didn’t get away with it. “Sergeant,” he said, mealy-mouthed again, “you’re on the lieutenant’s list, aren’t you?” Sure I was. For two years I’d been on that list. © “Your superior officer couldn’t recom- mend a promotion for a man who doesn’t show good judgment. You know that, don’t you, Sergeant ?” I said, “Yes, sir.” “For thirty years,” he said, “my wife sits home waiting for me. She doesn’t know what time I[’ll get in or do I get in at all. She doesn’t know will I walk in with the bacon in my-hand or will they carry me in with a slug in my back. For thirty years she prays that the other fellow’s aim is bad—and mine, too. “By heaven,” he roared, “no man who wants a girl to marry a cop is showing good judgment! You get that, Ser- geant ?” He banged his desk so hard I watched out the window for the roof to go sliding y. “Do you get that, yelled. I said, “Yes, s “A fat slob, = ae he said. Well, maybe he had a point there. Maybe. He had a point the next morning, all right. On the transfer list. Flannigan, Joseph, Patrolman, Badge No. 8834, transferred to the 21st Precinct. The 21st Precinct is in what they call the Triangle, between East River Drive and the cemetery. It’s residential and quiet, and the only calls the cops ever get are when a kid locks himself in the bathroom. I never heard of a cop making detec- tive because he knew a better way to smash open a bathroom door. Sally and Flannigan, Joseph, Patrolman, would have a long time to wait. Sally got the same idea. That after- noon, when the inspector was out, she telephoned. “Murphy,” she said, “what’s the hot- test case in the department ?” “And what are you up to?” I asked. “Never you mind. What’s the hottest case, Murphy ?” Sergeant?” he FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE “Those safecrackers in the Fifth Pre- cinct,” I told her. “Thanks, Murphy,” she said. “Safe- crackers, Fifth Precinct. You’re a doll.” I said, “No, ’m not. I’m a fat slob.” The kid did it, too. For a week, the newspapers’ said, Patrolman Joseph Flannigan, on off-duty time. had gone into the Fifth Precinct, the smelly, slummy, filthy Fifth, every single night, and picked up a tip here, a clue there, and finally a whole gang of safecrackers. With a bit of help from a mysterious blonde the papers didn’t know much about. It wasn’t hard to figure who the blonde was. That was Monday. I hid the papers in my desk and waited for the storm. But it didn’t come. Inspector Pratt spent the day in the office of his buddy, the district attorney, and he didn’t say a word to me. AS WEEK the papers were full of Flannigan. Monday he booked the prisoners. Tuesday he testified at a hearing. Wednesday it was an arraign- ment that the D.A. postponed so he could get his mug in the Thursday papers, too, with Flannigan’s. It looked like the kid couldn’t miss his promotion. But not to Murphy. Not with the D. A.,-Pratt’s old pal, in the background. Somewhere I thought I caught the odor of a rat. Thursday I knew I smelled it when I read in the paper, “Flannigan has been put on night duty to allow him to appear in court and also to testify before the grand jury tomorrow and Saturday.” Now how does a fine lad find time for his gorgeous slip of a girl while that goes on’? Or for sleep? Friday morning I was half out the door when Pratt called me back. “Sergeant,” he bellowed, “today we’re on night duty. Get a car and pick me up . at four o’clock.” You don’t talk back to Pratt while the phone is off the hook. I said, “Yes, sir.” At four, I had a car waiting; at five, we were cruising the 21st Precinct, me with the smell of that rat strong in my nos- trils, him with a list on his lap checking something off each time we passed a district car. We made the whole precinct that way. Conniclooo SS (C(O) mM