Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

“Hang around,” said the sergeant. The front door tinkled, Kelly waited a minute, and then he hurried to the back room.

“Now, look, kids.” He was already putting on a paternal grin. “I had to tell them cops about Sammy, but nobody else! If this character...” He saw Sammy then. His mouth hung open.

“Get him!” Sammy yelled when Kelly dashed back toward the partition door. The big kid got Kelly by the back of his collar. I saw two knives slashing through the air and, with all of them screaming and stabbing, I leaped for the alley door, kicked Sligo in the leg before he knew what was happening, and ran yelling around the side of the building.

The two cops were just starting their car. They jumped out and ran at me, but I shouted, “I’m the guy who called! They’re all in there now!”

“Hey, you stop!” roared one of the cops. “Hey!”

I was halfway across Grand Avenue, ducking through traffic, with drivers honking and cursing at me, so I didn’t look back until I got to the sidewalk. One of the cops was running around back, the other one rushing into the front of the liquor store. The cop inside fired his gun at the floor, hollered something, and the kids came out with their hands on the backs of their heads. Kelly didn’t come out. That was enough for me.

Please Find My Sisters! by David H. Ross

The sister turned out to be a photographer’s model whose specialty was poses of a strictly “under-the-counter” variety. Under some pressure, Al Delaney took the job of finding her.

* * *

When the clatter of Elsie’s typewriter in the reception room ceased abruptly, Al Delaney heaved his six foot frame erect in his chair. A look of expectancy settled on Delaney’s face which was hard and tanned with white squint lines around the eyes.

Presently, Elsie’s smartly tailored figure slid around the door of his private office. Elsie had a flair for business in her dark, pretty head which never ceased to amaze Delaney.

He watched the relaxed, easy swing of her slim hips as she crossed the room. He grinned, whistling softly to tease her, and his gray, level eyes kindled appreciatively.

“Act your age, big boy. We’ve got a client in the other room,” Elsie snapped. She knew only too well what he was thinking.

“He or she?” Delaney asked hopefully.

“She,” Elsie snorted, glaring at him.

“What’s the pitch?” Delaney leaned back in his chair.

“She’s lost a sister in the big city. Wants you to find her.”

Delaney grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s her name?”

“Blair. Eunice Blair. From Benson, Arizona.” Elsie wrinkled her nose at him and her luscious lips parted in a smile as she turned back to the door.

Delaney was stuffing some papers into his desk when the client entered. Without looking up, he said cheerfully: “Please sit down. Have a chair.”

He closed the desk drawer with a flourish and turned, smiling with anticipation. Delaney was shocked.

In his eyes, Eunice Blair was an unattractive little wren of twenty-four or five hiding behind a pair of horn rimmed glasses. She had a thin, pointed nose and thin, pale lips devoid of lipstick and a thin, pointed chin. She wore a frilly white blouse above a black jersey skirt, and her hat made him shudder mentally.

Eunice sat primly on the edge of her chair facing Delaney. She was nervously snapping the catch on a large leather bag while her eyes filled with tears. She worked her mouth wordlessly and dabbed at her nose with a piece of Kleenex.

Delaney thumb-nailed a match and lit a cigarette. He watched her for a moment, then growled: “Cut it out. That won’t buy you anything.”

Eunice’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief. Her mouth flew open, then closed with a snap and she glared at him furiously.

Before she could say anything, Delaney grinned: “That’s better. Now, Miss Blair — Eunice — your sister’s missing?”

“Yes—!” Eunice spat the word out and slammed her bag on his desk. Then she looked apprehensive and a flush mounted into her pointed face. She said, “I’m sorry. You made me mad.”

“We haven’t heard from my sister Mavis for six months. She used to write us — my mother and me — every week. Then she stopped.” Eunice’s voice was hesitant at first, then became firm and she spoke more rapidly as she gained confidence.

“When we didn’t hear from Mavis for so long, I came to Los Angeles to see her. But she’s moved. And that place where she was living is an awful, rundown place. Really. The land-lady is awful, too. I asked her where Mavis had moved, but she said she didn’t know and didn’t care. When I asked her how long ago Mavis had moved, she swore at me and slammed the door in my face. You’ve got to help me, Mr. Delaney. Mother will be so worried.”

“Yes — I imagine,” Delaney said drily.

“What do you mean?” Eunice asked.