5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

MURDER IN FLORIDA the rap. Otherwise, you’d have a face ene the bridge with the lions at each end.” “What do you mean?” He knew, but I told him. “You slugged Ryerson. You crabbed a nice job I had. I’m broke, but you still got dough. You’re the sole owner of the Happy Hour Club, now that Hale’s dead. What do you say we play ball?” “Wait a minute, fellow. Why should I want to play ball?” “Come on out to my car. We can talk better.” He came along. I went into my dance before I touched the starter. “It’s this way, Borda. The cops have muffed things. There’s a lot that doesn’t add up, out there at the Last Stop Serv- ice Station. Things happened too fast while I was hauling gas to Valeria’s stalled car. They happened so fast that you got a goofy story. If you hadn’t, you’d be with the cops, sweating, instead of stalling here as a material witness against an innocent guy.” “What would you say happened?” he came back. “Well, you already had a hunch that Ryerson figured a run-out, so you faked being drunk. Most of that liquor was spilled on your clothes from a bottle, not from your mouth. The bathroom didn’t look right for anybody claiming he was sick. Your clothes didn’t.” “So what? The cops aren’t interested in my health. Go ahead and tell them, sap.” “That’s because they don’t think the way I do. I’m going out to make that place a genuine last stop for you, pal. It’s gonna be your last stop, unless you suddenly get smart. What makes you — think you can knock off my client and crab a nice job?” “Oh, putting the bee on me, huh? Try it.” I sat back against the cushions and laughed. Then I dug into my pocket and handed back the automatic I’d taken away from him. “T don’t believe in petty larceny. This is yours.” I jerked the slide back and held the gat so he could see when I let go. A cartridge slipped into the cham- ber, out of the clip. “My compliments. If you think you want to pay me with 115 this instead of in cash, pick your time.” He sat looking at the gat. He pumped out a shell and frowned. Then he looked up, satisfied the gun hadn’t been tinker- ed with and that the action was okay. He hefted the cartridge he picked up from the floor. It weighed right, so he grinned a little. “Been funny if you’d handed me blanks and claimed self- defense.” “Hell, I knew you’d look. Now, maybe you'd rather settle in cash, after all. Hale didn’t have a chance gunning me, and neither do you.” “Honest John,’ he guffawed, and winked. “Listen, you rat, I was a square cop!” “That why they call you Honest John?” I was really sore, getting a rib from him. Then I caught myself. All those dirty winks were coming in handy. “Well, look here, Borda. Lake’s de- cided to plead guilty. Defending his niece’s legacy and trying to square his own reputation will make it a bit easier. He’ll claim he saw Ryerson’s knife and then he struck. What can I do? I ain’t really selling Lake out. He just hasn’t any guts.” “Where do I come in?” Borda was puzzled. N? ONE can prove Lake didn’t do it,” I explained. “Unless they prove that you did do it. The D.A. will drop Lake like a hot rock, but only if someone makes a case against you. And I’m the guy that’ll do it, you rotten heel, unless you square up for the job I lost with Ryerson.” “You can’t prove it. You’re nuts.” “All right, I’m nuts. I don’t want your dough unless you think I rate it. Five grand is the price, and a man should earn what he’s asking. So before you pay off, I’m going to prove to you I'll really be earning five grand.” “Huh! Why’d Lake cop a plea?” “Because he’s crazy about his niece. If he doesn’t play ball, she’ll be nailed as an accessory—hiding him before the crime and helping him get away.” He got a fresh cigar, and I handed him my lighter. He was thinking. “You really figure you can throw out a case like that?” he asked finally. ANTCLOOO S (C(O) (C(O)