Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

“Oh—!” she gasped, snatching her hat from his hand, her tears gone, her face flaming. “I never met such an impertinent man.”

Delaney watched her flounce out of the room then settled in his chair. He started to drop the snapshot of Mavis and the pencilled slip of paper in the waste basket, then carelessly tossed them into a desk drawer. He was just closing the drawer when Elsie’s slim elegant figure slid into the room.

“Al — what happened?”

“I passed her on to the cops,” Delaney grinned. Then, as Elsie’s eyes widened with surprise, he quickly summarized Eunice’s story.

“Something’s fishy,” he finished firmly. “It smells. I wouldn’t touch the deal with a ten foot pole.”

After Elsie returned to the reception room, Delaney settled back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. He stared unseeingly out the window while his thoughts turned to Eunice and her half sister Mavis. He was trying to find the gimmick.

The soft swoosh of the reception room door didn’t register with Delaney, nor Elsie’s startled, half smothered cry. But the sharp, metallic click of the latch on the door of his private office penetrated his thoughts. Before he could move, an enormous hand sent his feet crashing to the floor.

A bald, bullet shaped head with thick, beetling brows and a heavy, undershot jaw faced Delaney across his desk. The head was sunk into wide, sloping shoulders above a thick, muscular body. A hounds-tooth sport jacket, over a black, turtle-neck sweater, threatened to burst its seams at the shoulders and around the massive arms.

Then the slight, twisted figure of a crippled ex-jockey eased into the room and leaned back against the closed door. The figure was draped in a green, sharkskin suit. The dead pan face owned a pair of dark, beady eyes set in thin, wizened features. One claw like hand wore a blue-black Luger pointed unwaveringly at Delaney. To Delaney, the 9 mm bore looked like the mouth of a cannon.

“Some guys are dumb — and you’re it, pal.” Baldy was grinning at Delaney.

“You’re so tough — why the stooge with a gun?” Delaney glared, starting from his chair.

Baldy put his enormous hand in Delaney’s face and shoved him back.

“Easy, pal. We’ll find out how tough we are. Only first I wanna tell you why you’re stupid.” Baldy was grinning but there was little humor in his eyes.

“Okay, wise guy. What’s on your mind?” Delaney snapped. He had seen neither of the men before.

A rasp crept into Baldy’s voice. “You been around. You should know better than to take on a deal like that.”

“What deal — and what makes it your business what deal I take on?” Delaney’s voice rose in anger.

Suddenly Baldy laughed. “Such a homely little broad.”

“Such a scared little mouse — and now I know why,” Delaney snapped. He knew then the visit tied in with Eunice, with her sister Mavis.

“Sure she’s scared,” Baldy agreed. “But her coming to you was a dumb play. First she goes snooping around in something that ain’t her business. Then she comes to you.”

“And that ain’t all,” Baldy straightened up, “then you gotta take her on. You gotta find her sister for her she says. That makes you stupid.”

“You gonna yak all day?” The figure by the door spoke for the first time. “Let’s get goin’.”

“My, my — it’s got a voice. It can talk,” Delaney said sarcastically.

“It’s got a gun, too, and it can shoot,” Baldy warned flatly. He crossed the room and looked out the window. Over his shoulder he added, “It’s snowed to the gills, and it’s trigger happy. So sit still — very still — and don’t get ideas.”

“Shut up and get goin.” The wizened features developed a nervous tic and the dark, venomous eyes glared at Delaney. The twisted figure leaned forward in a crouch and moved the Luger threateningly.

Delaney let his breath out carefully and sat very still.

Baldy closed the Venetian blinds and turned to the file cabinet by the window. He pulled the top drawer open and emptied its contents on the floor. He threw the metal drawer into a corner of the room and turned to the next one. Baldy repeated the performance with each file drawer until he had emptied the cabinet.

“You damn fool. I didn’t take her on. I turned down the deal,” Delaney exploded.

“Too bad — you should’ve told us when we came in, pal.” Baldy grinned, returning to the desk. His scalp glistened with perspiration.

Delaney’s face was white with rage. He swore and, bracing his feet under his chair, glared at Baldy.

“Go on, jump. Take a swing at him.” The twisted figure took two steps from the door, pausing in a crouch, egging Delaney on, the Luger steady in the claw like hand.

Delaney sank back in his chair.

Baldy laughed. His enormous hands twisted the desk lamp until its metal frame snapped. He dropped the pieces on the floor and picked up the telephone. He yanked the phone cord loose and threw the telephone into the corner of the room with the file drawers. The client’s chair followed it. Baldy rested his hands on the desk and leaned over. He was no longer grinning. He said: