Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  “Look, Mom,” he said one night, “I tell them the truth and what do I get?”

  “Now, now, son,” soothed Mom Gaylor, “don’t worry. We’re not hungry and you must be patient. Something will surely turn up. I know it, Jimmy; I know it!”

  Now, in the old pre-prison days, the chief nick in Jimmy’s armor was a weakness for now and then playing the horses. In his spare time he used to hang around Joe Martin’s poolroom, with the bookie joint behind the rear partition, and play the ponies. It was here he had first met Ratsy Meegan and observed that Ratsy always had plenty of dough.

  So one afternoon he dropped into Joe Martin’s place, his first since his release, and watched the blackboard. He had no intention of betting and the five bucks he had in his pocket had been there for a long time.

  Then his eye caught the name of a horse and the name startled him. It was Black Stripes in the fourth race, now coming up. How could he ever forget the black stripes he had worn for five years! Perhaps, maybe—well, he knew that hunches were usually the bunk, but a strong hunch overcame him.

  He fingered the five-spot in his pocket tentatively and appraisingly. Then he walked over to Joe Martin and asked what sort of a horse Black Stripes was.

  “Just a filler,” said Joe. “First time I heard of him was last year, at Hialeah. Had two or three starts and I guess they had to turn a searchlight on the track to show him the way home.”

  “What odds can I get on him?” asked Jimmy.

  Joe Martin laughed. “Why be a sap, Jimmy? You ain’t working and I guess jobs are scarce for guys like you. I don’t want to take your dough, Jimmy.”

  “I know all about that, Joe; but I still want to know what odds I can get on Black Stripes.”

  “Well, if you insist, I don’t mind laying 50-to-l on that dog. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  “Okay,” said Jimmy. “Here’s five bucks.”

  Fifteen minutes later Jimmy Gaylor left Joe Martin’s place with $250 of Joe’s money. “Hey, listen,” said the amazed Joe, “did you have an inside on that sleeper?”

  “Just an inside hunch,” grinned Jimmy, “that’s all. And just remember, Joe, that my last bet was on the house!”

  As Jimmy walked toward home his spirits were as high as the clouds. One thought troubled him. How could he tell Mom? She hated racing and if he told her the truth it would hurt her. He never wanted to hurt Mom again. Nor did he want to lie about it.

  “Listen, Mom,” he said, “I got $250 and I wish you wouldn’t ask me how I got it. Please Mom!”

  The lined face of Mom Gaylor blanched. “Oh, Jimmy, boy. Jimmy—”

  “I know what you are thinking, Mom, but I swear that I got the money honestly. And listen, Mom—it will give me a chance to do something for myself!”

  For several weeks, now, Jimmy had passed and dreamed about the possibilities of a small, vacant store on Main Street. If nobody would give him a job, then he’d make one! He’d show Center City that, although he had made one dumb mistake five years ago, he wasn’t any born crook or loafer.

  Jimmy learned that the rent for forty dollars per month, two months in advance. “I got to get it,” said the agent, “account of some other tenants not paying.”

  Next he had to get some credit with a soda fountain company and get other fixtures. He was glad to find that this was not difficult and also that he could get cigars and candy with small down deposit. When he was through with the rent and the dealers he had about thirty-five dollars left as working capital.

  Then he got a big idea, a scheme to attract attention. His store was going to be distinctive, it was going to stand out like palm trees in Alaska! So he had the whole place painted white and, when that was completed, he had the whole store decorated with horizontal black stripes, about four inches apart. More, he had decided to name the store The Black Stripes.

  “I guess that will give them something to talk about!” mused Jimmy when the job was done. “I’m an ex-con, trying to go straight. So what!”

  Even as the startling name of the store was being painted on the front window Jimmy Gaylor went around to see Ted Barker, city-editor of the Courier. He told Barker his whole story, how he had tried and tried to get a job and had failed. How he had decided to open a store in an effort to earn an honest living and, finally, the name of the store.

  “Swell!” said City Editor Barker. “Just the sort of a story that will chase the war off the front pages for a few moments. I’ll send a photographer around and take some pictures. Swell, Jimmy—and lots of luck!”

  Two days later The Black Stripes store opened for business and the Courier had a fine story about Jimmy, along with three photos. Business boomed from the start and within a week Jimmy knew that he would die from lack of sleep and overwork. He needed an assistant and it was then that another novel and radical idea entered his head. He told his plan to Ted Barker.

  “Go to it,” advised the city editor. “Why not? It’s all legal!”

  The next day the Courier printed the following classified advertisement:

  WANTED—Young man for soda and a sundry store. Experience is not necessary but honesty is. Only ex-convicts need apply. Box 56, Courier.

  He received but two replies and none from Center City. If there were any ex-cons in his home-town they either kept their records a secret or did not care to be bothered with employment. The first reply came from Stanleyville, 30 miles east, and the other from Bailey’s Junction, 20 miles south. The one from Stanleyville, signed Mike Petrolli, left Jimmy rather cold. It said that Petrolli had been framed three times and that he was innocent each time. It concluded, “All cops are bums. If I ever kill a guy I hope it is a cop!”

  Jimmy promptly figured that the letter was a phony. He knew from his own experience in the Pen that too many guys, who were guilty, whined that they had been framed.

  The second letter was from one Jack Harrison. It said, in part, “I will be only too glad to work on trial for a few days. All I want is a chance.”

  Jimmy wired Jack Harrison to come on at once. And when Jimmy reached the store the next morning at 7 o’clock a slim, blond lad, with blue eyes, had been waiting there for him since 5 A.M.

  “I didn’t know they had such early trains,” said Jimmy.

  “I got a ride on a truck,” said Jack. “I couldn’t afford to ride on a train any way.” Jimmy took a good look at the new lad and wondered how anyone so innocent looking could ever have been a jailbird. His gray suit was neat but rather shabby and his shoes were worn thin. Jimmy opened the store and told Jack to go in. “Now, listen,” said Jimmy. “I’m not going to ask you what your rap was or anything personal, see? All I want is to give some ex-con a chance to go on the level. If I catch you doing any monkey business I’ll break your neck in six places!”

  “Please try me,” said Jack Harrison. “Just give me a chance!”

  “Okay,” said Jimmy. “You might start sweeping up. The broom is in the back.”

  Before the week was over Jimmy discovered he had a swell assistant in Jack Harrison. The lad, who was about Jimmy’s age, never had asked what his salary or hours would be. Or even when he would get a day off. He seemed happy to be at work and soon learned to mix sodas better than Jimmy.

  When Jack had been with Jimmy about three weeks, Jimmy began to make plans for his future. He knew now, positively, that Jack was honest. He had put him to the test by leaving stray bills in places that only Jack could find. Not once had he touched them and Jimmy felt like a heel for testing him.

  “Listen, Jack,” said Jimmy, as they closed one night. “I’ve been thinking that you and me have been hitting it off pretty well.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. You’ve been great to me and I like to work for you.”

  “Well,” went on Jimmy, “you’ve been working harder in this joint than I have, so I’ll tell you what I am going to do. There’s an empty store around on Cherry Street that should make a good spot for another shop. We could call it The Black Stripes No.2
. I was thinking of opening that place and putting you in charge. Just to make it interesting for you, you can be a partner.”

  “But, Jimmy,” said Jack, “I haven’t been here long enough to save enough money to be a partner!”

  “Who asked you for any money!” snapped Jimmy. “I figure a guy will take more interest in a joint if he is part of the business; that’s why I am taking you in—free. Besides, I got my start in this store with a break and I am going to pass it along to you.”

  Jack Harrison remained silent. He was choking up and simply couldn’t say a word. Jimmy found that tears were beginning to well up in his eyes.

  “For cripe’s sakes!” said Jimmy. “What’s biting you?”

  “Gosh, Jimmy—I—I don’t know what to say! You see, Jimmy—”

  “Aw, forget it, forget it!” Jimmy couldn’t stand any show of emotion. “I figure that I’m giving myself a break by taking you into partnership. I want to show this cock-eyed town what a couple of ex-cons can really do when they get the chance!”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Jimmy,” said Jack. “You see—well, you see—”

  “Hey. What ails you?” barked Jimmy. “See—what?”

  “Gosh, Jimmy, I don’t know how to say it. I mean, I lied to you when I told you that I was an ex-convict. I never even been arrested for stealing apples when I was a kid! But honest, Jimmy—I needed a job, bad. And I couldn’t get one in Bailey’s Junction. And I wanted to get married, Jimmy—I have one swell girl, back home—”

  For a long moment Jimmy just stared at Jack Harrison. The news had knocked him rather flat. Jack began to remove his apron.

  “Go ahead and fire me, Jimmy—I won’t blame you. I’ll still think you are a great guy, Jimmy. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I lied to you.”

  Jimmy doubled his right fist and tapped Jack lightly on the chin. “Okay,” he said; “forget it. You’ve heard the old saying that a crook can’t get an honest job unless he hides his record? You just turned the saying around, that’s all!”

  THE LADY IN THE CASE

  Lee E. Wells

  One by one the jilted men took dry-dives from hotel windows, and the search for the deadly blonde became desperate . . .

  CHAPTER I

  THIS love business, Lt. Jim Dink of Homicide decided, had gone a bit too far. The crushed body on the pavement beside the Mardott Hotel was the fifth death for love in a month. Dink stepped away from the crowd on the lawn and looked upward, eight stories where drapes flapped out of an open window.

  Instinctively his bulging green eyes traced the fall of the body, down before the height of brick and windows to the thin width of the walk that bordered the green lawn. Dink’s wide lips shifted the frayed cigar to the other corner of his mouth. Beyond the police line, the curious crowd craned and gaped. Traffic on the boulevard that bordered Fall Creek was tied up in knots. There sounded the far-off wail of the ambulance.

  One of the detectives had already given Dink a brief resume of what was found. This fellow, Werner, had typed a farewell note to his sweetheart and had deliberately walked out into thin air. It could happen, of course, had happened four times before. Dink wondered if Dan Cupid could be subpoenaed for. murder.

  Lieutenant Dink wished profanely chat guys would take their loving or leave it, instead of taking nose-dives out windows because of some frail with a come-hither look. He pushed his soft hat back on his thinning-hair and the tops of his big ears folded slightly under the brim. He bit down savagely on. the cigar and walked away from the men around the body.

  The drive of the Mardott Hotel arched in from the street between aloof potted plants and there was an aloof arch over the doorway. The uniformed doorman looked a little frightened. He saluted Dink.

  “He’s dead, sir?” he asked.

  Dink stared up at the man. His own. scant five feet made him seem a dwarf beside the tall expanse of uniform and braid. Dink noted sourly that the doorman was a handsome young fellow. “Are you in love?” he asked abruptly.

  The man looked startled and confused, “Why, yes, sir.”

  Dink pulled at one of his big ears. “Ever been jilted?”

  The man grinned wryly, “Yes, sir. Several times.”

  Dink nodded and shifted the cigar again, “Did you ever want to end it all because some dame did you wrong?”

  The doorman stared hard at the detective. He slowly shook his head, “Not quite, sir. I’ve felt like hell sometimes, but never that bad.”

  Dink took the cigar out of his mouth and examined the frayed end. He decided it was good for a few more minutes. He looked hard at the doorman, “Take it easy, son. The love-bug’s pretty deadly around here.”

  He pushed around the man and through the doors. The rich lobby was filled with an awed and frightened crowd. The manager was having a hard time explaining why such things happened at the Mardott, He saw Dink and came hustling over. His moon face was worried, “Can’t your men finish up quickly out there, officer?”

  Dink’s thick lips pursed. “Maybe. We must have pictures.”

  The fat hands fluttered in horror. “I don’t know why it should happen here! This is an apartment hotel with a fine and distinguished name. It will be hard on us.”

  Dink’s green eyes glittered. “It was pretty hard on Werner, But you wouldn’t know, would you?”

  The manager showed a fleeting look of contriteness. “Of course it is very sad, officer. But it is also a shock to my guests. After all, I must think of them.”

  Dink nodded. “They’re having the time of their lives, Jacobs. Nothing like a good suicide or murder to awaken a sluggish liver. I’ll want to see you later.”

  He walked quickly to the elevator and the girl closed the ornate doors. The elevator started upward at a dignified pace. Dink leaned back against the wall and decided he liked what little of the girl’s legs he could see below the conservative uniform. She had neat ankles and was pretty, Dink asked, “Did you know Mr. Werner?”

  She nodded and kept her face turned, her eyes on the light panel. It wasn’t very busy. “Yes, sir,” Dink scratched his lean jaw. “A nice guy?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!” she said abruptly and Dink saw the red flush at the back of her neck. “That is, he was quite a gentleman, sir, and very considerate.”

  DINK saw that they were passing the sixth floor. He pulled himself away from the wall. “I bet he was nice to you.”

  He caught a quick glance of brown eyes. He felt suddenly sorry for the girl. She was frightened. “Don’t mind me,” he growled.

  “Thank you, sir.” The doors slid open and Dink faced the hall that led to Werner’s apartment. He could see the uniformed policeman before the door. He grinned into the girl’s worried face and walked down the hall.

  Prentice and Hall, from Dink’s department, were looking things over. Prentice had the closet door open and was checking Werner’s collection of suits. Hall had an open briefcase on a spindleleg table and was going through the papers.

  He grinned up at Dink. “This guy did all right, Lieutenant. He lived in style.”

  Dink nodded and walked to the open window. He looked down at the little figures far below. The ambulance was just rounding the corner. Dink turned back to the room and walked over to a desk against the far wall. Its top was open and a portable typewriter glistened in the light. There was a sheet of paper in the roller.

  Dink bent down and read the typing. The letterhead was engraved, announcing that Jefferson Werner sold preferred lists of bonds and securities. The message below was brief.

  “I cannot live without you, Mary. Life has meant so much that it is blank and dreary after you said all was over between us. I feel this is the only way out.”

  There was no signature, typed or written. Dink studied the note. The whole thing followed the usual pattern, still the note didn’t ring quite true. He turned to Prentice, who had come out of the closet.

  “Any idea who Mary is?” he asked. Prentice shook his head and po
inted to a dresser near the bed. There’s some frail’s things over there that we found tucked around.”

  Dink pushed away from the desk’, giving the note a second irritable look. He took off his hat and threw it on the bed. His baldness became immediately apparent and his ears looked bigger. His face was thin and bony, the nose large and predatory. His green eyes bulged slightly in the sockets and he always looked to be on the verge of an angry outburst. His lips were too wide for the face, and too thick. They always held an evil, frayed cigar.

  He picked up a vanity case. It had a wing design with a lipstick container built into the top. Dink turned it over and read the manufacturer’s name. It could have been purchased in a hundred places in the city. There was a brown bobby pin. There was a little square of white linen that had no laundry mark.

  Dink held it to his hawk nose and sniffed. It faintly suggested face powder and nothing more. His green eyes glittered when he looked at the little .22-caliber revolver pushed back against a pair of military brushes He turned to Prentice. “The lady didn’t like him or didn’t trust him. Maybe Werner was a heel.”

  The detective grinned. “Sure. She fought for her honor and Werner got discouraged. He did a Brody.”

  Dink stood back and looked at the collection. “Maybe you got something.” He pulled at one of his big ears. “Prentice, there’s a cute little dame on the elevator. Bring her in,” The detective straightened. “Her! You mean this guy played around with the help?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Dink growled and Prentice left the room. Dink stood by the open window again. He took out the frayed cigar, inspected its end. He sighed and threw the remains into a wastebasket. His bony fingers pulled out another and he thoughtfully chewed off the end.

  He turned slowly, his eyes going over the room. Near the door, one edge of the rug was turned up and there was a big wrinkle in the fabric. A low table stood before two easy chairs. Powder made a peculiar pattern that caught Dink’s attention.