5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

KILLER COP “Yes, sir,” Ed McGinley said again. “That’s fine. It’s the way we like things around here, McGinley, men who keep their noses clean, see? Now the lieu- tenant’s sent for Bland, and he’ll be here in a few minutes.” The captain took his hat from the hat tree, a signal that the interview was over, and McGinley left. Keep your nose clean; keep your hands in your pockets. At least, the captain had said nothing about a gun, had made no reference to his trouble. UT not so the lieutenant. Heston was ’ Standing behind the wicket in the desk sergeant’s place. “Got your orders, McGinley?” he asked as Ed came out of the captain’s office. “Veah.” “We got nice, respectable, decent peo- ple living around here,” Heston went on. “We don’t want any of ’em shot up. You got that?” “Yes, sir,” Ed McGinley said. “You understand that, McGinley?” Heston asked again. “Okay. Bland’s waiting outside. Get at it.” So he got at it. The car was parked right in front of the station, engine running, a uniformed copper on the right side of the front seat. Sure, on the right side. Waiting for somebody to drive him around, waiting for someone else to do the work. Ed Mc- Ginley was the dog now, the stumble- bum, the bottom rung. He’d drive. So he slipped in behind the wheel and drove off. Where do you go when you’re a cop driving a squad car? To the left, to cruise around and patrol your streets, watching, waiting for something to hap- pen, listening for your call? Or to the right, where maybe you can pick up a sawbuck or a five spot? Where maybe you can shake down a beer joint or a dice game or a hood who might be violating his parole rules? Which way do you turn? It depends on the cop, of course, and the district. But on the captain, mostly. And this was Souder’s district, and Souder’s words still rang in Ed McGinley’s ears: “Stay off of Halsted and stay off of Ashland.” The gravy was the captain’s. So Ed McGinley turned to the left 45 without a word from the man next to him, a man he’d never seen before that afternoon. Bland was his name, and he was a big fellow, with big shoulders and long arms and big hands, big in a flow- ing, loose-jointed way, with thick lips that were constantly open. Not a word, not a greeting, not even a suggestion from him. They cruised the district. You watch the punks, mostly, and keep your eye open for drunks and your ears open for your number on the radio calls. And wait. Wait for something to happen or for the dispatcher to speak. You spot three or four kids, maybe, hanging around outside a hamburger joint. Teen-age punks who might be de- cent, ambitious boys or who might be hoods on the make. You pull up to the curb near them and just park there and watch them, Let them know the cops are around. Let them know that if they should have something on their minds, they can be called to account. Keep your eye on them for a while and then drive on. That’s all. You drive around while darkness comes and you watch people scurrying home from work, watch boys and girls duck into the neigehborhood bars, watch storekeepers while they lock up, watch for anything that might be suspicious. Still not a word from Bland, sitting beside Ed McGinley, fingering his thick lips with thick fingers. About eight o’clock, they got their first action. - It was a car, just a big, powerful black car, parked on Laflin Street with thrge men in it. The two in the front seat were turned toward the rear; the one in the back was leaning forward to talk to them. Just a big, dark, powerful car with three men in it. Three insurance men, maybe, talking over a prospective client, or three neighbors planning a fishing trip. : But you never know, and a big, dark car is always suspicious, especially when the license on the back is bent over a lit- tle, just enough to hide the first numeral. So Ed McGinley parked behind them and turned his spot on them. At once, the man in the rear seat leaped out and ran, and the man in the right front seat scooted after him. Ed CoOMmiclooo SS (C(O)