Tough as Nails: The Complete Cases of Donahue From the Pages of Black Mask by Frederick Nebel

should.”
    Donahue said, “Look,” and counted on his fingers. “You get credit for nabbing the killer of Cross. For nabbing the killer of Tony Nesella. For nabbing a hubby-killer from dear old Peoria. Hocheimer, old boy, I shouldn’t be surprised if they made you a sergeant or whatever they make good detectives in this burg.”
    Hocheimer actually grinned—a sort of shy, embarrassed grin that made his fat face ludicrous. But he promptly banished that and assumed an air of heavy dignity. He said to the policemen:
    “Lock these birds up for a while.” He looked down at Eva, who was stirring on the floor. “Give her a drink.”
    When he and Donahue were alone, Hocheimer sighed into a chair and opened his shirt.
    “You’re a good egg, Donahue,” he said. “You must be one of those amateur detectives a guy reads about in books. You go after things for the love of the game.”
    Donahue, sitting on the desk and dangling his legs, broke into uproarious laughter. “Don’t be that way, Hocheimer! And where the hell do you get the amateur stuff? Say, if you think I’m a Good Samaritan you’re off your trolley. So far you’ve got everything out of this show. I haven’t got a thing except a lot of trouble.”
    “Well, you were wrong on Shane. He didn’t even know this gang.”
    “Sure I was wrong. How was Shane picked up?”
    “Kelly picked him up on a hunch, that’s all. And he was packing a gun.”
    “He can get a bondsman easily enough for that.”
    “Sure. He’ll be out tomorrow.”
    Donahue stood up. “I’ll be around here. I want to know just when he goes out.”
    “Listen, Donahue,” complained Hocheimer. “For God’s sake, don’t start any more trouble!”
    “Cross my heart,” grinned Donahue.
    But Hocheimer looked worried.
Chapter IX
    At noon Micky Shane walked out of Headquarters into bright hot sunlight. He needed a shave. He stood on the curb for less than a minute, then started east on Clark. A moment later Donahue came out, spotted him, crossed the street but followed in the same direction. Micky turned south into Tenth Street, then east into Spruce, passed Ninth and Eighth and turned south into Seventh. He continued south and was held up by a string of truck traffic that had come over the Free Bridge and was rumbling west on Chouteau. After a minute he crossed Chouteau, walked west on the other side of the street and then swung south.
    Donahue, stopping on the corner behind a pole, saw Micky enter a three-story dirty red brick house. Two minutes later Donahue moved towards that house, drifted past, got the number, crossed the street and entered a rundown cigar store. He bought a couple of cigars and a newspaper and hung around inside the store reading the paper, though he was able to see the red brick house through the window. The proprietor sympathized with him about the weather, and Donahue bought a bottle of soda pop.
    He killed an hour in the store and began to weary of it, having drunk in the meantime four bottles of soda pop that did not set well on his stomach because the aftermath of his bout with a quart of bath-tub gin still remained with him.
    He was on the point of going out and trying to walk off the gin when he saw a yellow taxi draw up before the red brick house. He saw Stein get out, very dapper in a tan suit and Panama hat.
    As the taxi moved off Stein entered the red brick house.
    Donahue remained motionless chewing thoughtfully on the stub of his cigar. He remained that way for fully three minutes, then pushed open the screen door, flung away his butt and crossed the street. He loafed up to the hall door, looked up the front of the building, then walked into a dark hall that was cool and damp in comparison with the street. He stopped and blinked, trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness.
    At the back of the hall a door was open and a baby was crying. Donahue moved towards the open door, stopped outside and knocked. Presently a fat negress appeared wiping her hands on