Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

She was wearing a white, peasant blouse above a multi-colored dirndl and her feet were clad in thonged sandals. Her brown, wavy hair was partially covered by a silk bandana worn gypsy fashion with the ends trailing over one shoulder. She had striking features with eyes widely spaced above prominent cheek bones. Her attire was a far cry from a white, linen dress, but Delaney had no need to refer to the snapshot in his pocket to recognize Mavis Blair.

Mavis was in front of the vacant building beyond Film Enterprises and Delaney quickened his pace to stop her before she reached the entrance. She started along the face of the film Enterprises building, a brightly colorful figure against the dark gray of its painted wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, Delaney saw the black Olds move slowly past. Something about the car attracted his attention and his eyes left Mavis. Delaney shouted hoarsely, and his hand streaked under his coat.

The muzzle of a blue-back Luger was showing in the open window of the right hand door of the car. It began to buck, and each time it did, a finger of orange flame stabbed the air. And the noise of its bucking slammed against the buildings.

Delaney leaped into the street. But even as he cleared the cars parked along the curb, the Olds accelerated with a roar of exhaust and a sharp, tortured chirping of tires. Delaney blasted with his .45. A frost white pattern of splintered glass appeared on the rear window of the car, then another. Without slowing, the Olds swerved to the left across the street. It side-swiped a parked car, careened wildly, and smashed into a second parked car with a sickening crash.

The right hand door of the Olds swung open. A man lurched from the car, saw Delaney, and started to run. Delaney yelled at him, then took careful aim. The .45 blasted again and the man went down with a shattered leg.

Delaney ignored the man in the street. Already people who had witnessed, or heard the gunfire from nearby buildings, were gathering in a knot before the dark gray wall of Film Enterprises. As he shouldered his way through the crowd, Delaney welcomed the sound of police sirens converging on the scene.

Mavis was face down on the sidewalk, a crumpled figure in a multicolored dirndl and a peasant blouse no longer white. Kneeling, Delaney pressed her throat, then the wrist of her outflung arm, seeking a pulse no longer there. Mavis was dead, and he swore bitterly.

Delaney looked up as a police car slid to a stop, its siren moaning through a descending scale. Before he could rise, a uniformed policeman broke through the ring of white and silent faces. The officer’s face was grim and the 38 special in his hand was leveled at Delaney. He snapped:

“Put the gun on the pavement. Stand up and clasp your hands behind your head.”

Surprised, Delaney realized his hand still held his gun. He laid it carefully on the sidewalk and rising to his feet, clasped his hands as directed.

Another police car slid to a stop its uniformed officers breaking up the crowd, pressing the people back from the principals in the shooting. A black Ford sedan pulled over to the curb with four men in it. Only the driver wore a uniform, and he remained behind the wheel when the others got out.

A slight, gray haired man with lean, hawk-like features paused at the side of the car while his eyes surveyed the scene. Then he crossed to Delaney and said: “You can put your arms down. I’m Lieutenant Davis, homicide.”

Lieutenant Davis accompanied Delaney to his office after the questioning at the Hollywood Precinct Station. There was little in the office the Lieutenant missed before he settled into a chair and lit a cigarette. He looked at Delaney and said:

“Okay. That was quite a story you told over at headquarters. Now let’s have the rest of the story. Let’s have the real reason you were on Cahuenga this morning.”

Delaney grinned, then his face sobered and he leaned forward in his chair. Quickly he outlined his activities and what he had learned. He gave the address in Sawtelle. He described Gladys and told of his interview with her, as well as that with the drunken housekeeper. He told how Kostka and Ziggy had worked him over and wrecked his office. He told what happened in the Can-Can Club. He identified himself as the intended victim in the donneybrook at the gas station in Sawtelle.

“I wasn’t parked on Cahuenga by accident when the shooting started. I was staked out in my car waiting for Mavis to show,” Delaney concluded.

Lieutenant Davis swore softly and his face was hard. “You’re still holding something back.”

“I am—?” Delaney waited expectantly.

“You’re no boy scout. Who’s your client? What’s his angle?”

“He’s a she,” Delaney settled back in his chair. “I have a right to protect her interest, but I’m going to give you her name: Eunice Blair. I’m expecting her here this afternoon.”

Delaney described Eunice’s visit and how she had retained him to find Mavis. He gave the background on Mavis as Eunice had given it to him. He finished: