A Killer Is Loose, by Gil Brewer (1954)


I reached out, caught the back of his neck, then swung with my right fist and sank it hard into his gut, just right. He doubled over, his eyes praying. I put my other hand on the back of his neck, laced my fingers, and yanked his head down. I brought my knee up fast and his nose made a noise and I felt it go, like pretzels in a damp bag.

He's certainly evocative, isn't he?

Steve Logan's a poor dope. Seventeen bucks to his name. No job. No prospects. Messed up eye. A wife who could go into labor any minute. So he decides to hock his luger to a local bartender. Along the way, he saves a dead-eyed loony from being run over by a bus.

First mistake.

The dead-eyed loony accompanies Steve to the bar, to buy him a drink for saving his life. Steve shows off his luger to the bartender, hoping to at least scratch thirty bucks together. The dead-eyed loon asks to look at the luger while the bartender hums and haws over the price, so Steve absent-mindedly hands it over.

Second mistake.