5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

56 A cop makes a pinch, the boy he takes has a wad in his pocket. It’s like you picked it up in the street, and ten per cent for what you pick up in the street is a fair-and-square reward. Right?” “Right,”. Ed said. “Providing that wad gets where it belonged in the first place.” “Here is where it belonged, McGin- ley, in case you didn’t know. Frank En- right walked out of here with it. Look.” Moroni took the cigar from his mouth . and stared at its wet end as he talked. “I run a nice, respectable book out here. No fights, no rowdy stuff. Three bills a. week ice money to Joe Heston, that lieu- tenant of yours, regular as clockwork when he shows up. I even close the doors once in a while when the heat’s on down- town. But I don’t aim to sit back and let anybody knock me off for fifty grand.” “Moroni,” Ed said softly, “I can’t make a deal with you. My job is to find out who put the slug in Frank Enright.” Big Bill sighed. “I’m getting tired of talking. What about my proposition?” “Who plugged Enright?” Spreading his hands, Moroni said, “Who helped him knock us over? Who pulled the job with him and figured a doublecross when Frankie said he lost the dough?” Ed got to his feet, facing Rocco. “Thanks, Moroni,” he said. “All I got to do now is find out who worked with him.” “And hand over the bundle.” “Sure.” Ed stepped toward the door. “Only I haven’t got it.” Again Moroni sighed. “I guess we'll have to find out for sure, copper.” The man behind him didn’t make a sound as he glided forward. Not a floor- board squeaked. But for just an instant, Big Bill’s eyes flicked toward him, and Ed McGinley swung around and threw up his left and blocked the chopping see punch aimed at the back of his neck. H® CROSSED a right into the squat man’s paunchy midsection, and the man folded up. As his head came down, Ed smashed a left to the jaw. The man sailed across the room and sat down and then collapsed onto his back. Ed McGinley swung around again and FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE brought up his left. But this time he was too late. Rocco’s gun hand smashed down, the butt of his revolver clenched in his fist. It crashed against Ed Mc- Ginley’s head, and blackness flooded into McGinley’s brain and into his eyes, and his legs tottered. Vainly, as he slumped to the floor, he struck out, but his fist bounced off Roc- co’s burly shoulders. Then he was down. The blackness spread, and McGinley’s stomach constricted, and his legs gave out completely, and his head swirled. He was lifted into the chair, and a ringing slap on his cheek twisted his head. Slowly the blackness faded. “What about it, McGinley?” Moroni asked. He hhadn’t moved from his chair; he was slumped back, relaxed, watch- ing. Ed shook his head to clear it. Rocco was standing over him, gun in one hand, the other raised for another slap. Be- hind him, McGinley could hear the driver stir and groan. “What about it, McGinley?” Big Bill asked again. His tongue thick, Ed said, “There’s one thing you forgot about, Moroni.” “I ain’t interested in what I forgot, McGinley. I’m interested in that fifty Gs.” “Yeah, but listen to me. Gimme a chance.” “Okay, go ahead.” Ed spoke slowly, trying to make his words distinct. “You have guards on the door, don’t you?” “Sure: ” “Then anybody who knocked this place over had to know about those guards, didn’t he?” “Sure.” “He had to know when to hit and where to grab the money, didn’t he?” ay eat are you driving at, McGin- ley? ” Ed said, “It was an inside job, Moro- ni. One of your boys worked with En- right on it.” “Maybe I ain’t forgot about that,” Big Bill replied. “Maybe I keep it in mind all the time. But it’s got nothing to do with that dough.” “The way I heard it,” Ed said care- fully, “Enright and Rocco here were pals.” MICLOO @) (CO) S (C(O)