Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

Delaney saw Elsie off on the plane to Tucson then ate an early dinner at the Buggywhip on his way back from the airport. He caught a news flash on his car radio describing the fight in the gas station in Sawtelle. He learned one man was dead and the other was in a hospital where his condition was listed as critical. Police reported they were seeking the intended victim of the assault whose identity was unknown. After listening to a purported description of himself, Delaney concluded the police were not about to hang a tag on him. Apparently nobody had noted the license number of his car which was described merely as a late model sedan.

The figure of a can-can dancer, outlined in red neon tubing, identified the building on the outskirts of Gardena, a suburb of Los Angeles. The parking lot was nearly full, but Delaney found a vacant slot facing the street. He checked his gun, then entered the club.

A bar with a low back bar extended across the front of the building. A wide passageway at one end led to a crescent shaped area beyond. The area was jambed with tables, with a crowd of people packed in knee to knee, elbow to elbow. In the center of the crescent was a dance floor stage raised to table top level.

At one end of the stage was a four piece combo beating out a rhythm number. In the center of the stage was a tall, red headed stripper with an over-ripe figure. She was nearing the end of her routine — down to a G-string and a few spangles glittering on a mesh bra. But the crowd was in a frenzy, and the red head was in no hurry to leave the stage.

Delaney elbowed his way to the bar and ordered bourbon over ice. While sipping his bourbon, he scanned the crowd around him. The two he was seeking were at the end of the bar watching the stripper. When she finally finished her number, they turned back to their drinks.

Delaney watched the dark, beady eyes in the thin, wizened features move along the row of faces. They slid past him, then jerked back — wide with recognition. He saw the thin, pipestem elbow nudge Kostka, and the look of surprise cross Kostka’s face. Then Kostka grinned.

Delaney leaned back. Off the far end of the room, he saw a hallway with marked doors on each side. The first door on the left was the one he wanted. He pushed through the door and noted with satisfaction he was alone in the room. A moment later Kostka and Ziggy entered.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight, pal,” Kostka grinned, standing just inside the door. He was facing Delaney who stood with his back to the opposite wall.

“I suppose not,” Delaney’s answering grin was tight lipped. “But I’m blowing the whistle on you. I’m going to show you how a real tough job is done.”

“Don’t be that way, pal. We got nuttin’ personal against you.” Kostka’s grin was bland. He casually moved from the door to Delaney’s right.

Ziggy started to edge away from the door to Delaney’s left. When he spoke, his voice was wooden and flat: “you know how’t is. We got a call, we do a job.”

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re glad to see you’re okay, pal,” Kostka moved again.

“Sure, I know,” Delaney moved closer to Ziggy. He was watching both men, but of the two, he knew Ziggy was the most dangerous. “Only you never should have roughed up that girl in my office.”

“Aw — don’t be that way, pal,” Kostka protested again. “We didn’t hurt the broad.”

Ziggy tried to edge past Delaney, but Delaney moved closer and Ziggy stopped. His thin, wizened features became set and his dark, beady eyes began to blaze with venom.

“What’s the matter, buster, you getting nervous? You got to go?” Delaney sneered.

Ziggy swore obscenely and one claw-like hand started under his coat. But he was too slow.

Delaney whipped out his .45 and slugged Ziggy, then turned.

Kostka lunged forward in a crouch, his head hunkered down between his shoulders, his massive arms swung out in front of him. He stopped abruptly when he saw the .45 in Delaney’s hand.

“Whatcha gonna do?” Kostka straightened slightly and tried a grin on for size. “Don’t be a sucker. You’d never get away with it. Lotsa guys outside — they’d tear you apart.”

“Why don’t you call them?” Delaney asked thinly. Then his face became white with rage, his lips skinned back from his teeth and he moved closer. “Come on, you gutless slob. Why don’t you yell?”

“Take it easy — take it easy, pal,” Kostka’s grin was sick with fear. He straightened up and stretched out one hand in a placating gesture. “No need for us to be this way. We can—”

Delaney kicked him in the belly and Kostka doubled over with an explosive grunt of pain. Delaney swung the .45 hard against the side of Kostka’s head, then caught him under the arms. Kostka was stunned, but he wasn’t out. Delaney heaved him upright and let go. As Kostka sagged on rubbery legs, Delaney slammed the .45 across the bridge of his nose. Kostka bellowed like a bull in mortal pain and blood streamed down his front. Delaney beat him into insensibility, pistol whipping him mercilessly all the way to the floor.