RGL e-Book Cover©
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover©
Mammoth Detective, November 1943, with "O'Sheen's Sweet Tooth"
The killer had a perfect alibi, but the alibi didn't include
one of O'Sheen's weaknesses—his Irish liking for sweets.
PADDY O'SHEEN'S night-stick gyrated with a little more gusto as he passed the fly-specked, dimly lighted windows of Armado's Pool Hall. It was close to eight in the evening and the town's hoodlum incubator was already doing a noisy business. Ike and Phil Armado, small town crooks, were both thorns in O'Sheen's side.
He made the turn into the lane that bordered the pool room and headed for the phone box visible in the street light at the far end of the alley. The Armado house was a dirty, two storied affair backed up to the rear door of the pool hall. The light on the porch sent out pale yellow from a dirt-crusted globe. Paddy O'Sheen hesitated. In the dark shadow of the porch steps he saw a dark bundle that looked like cast-off clothing. Paddy's eyes suddenly hardened. Evidently one of Armado's customers had absorbed too much rot-gut and passed out. Bending over, O'Sheen brought the stick down in a sharp blow across the soles of the man's shoes.
"On your feet, bum. Sure and you'll catch your death laying out here."
The man didn't move. Bending lower, with gradually awakening horror, O'Sheen rolled the man over on his back. Wide, unseeing eyes stared up at Paddy. It was Ike Armado, and he wasn't drunk. He had a deep, wide knife gash across his chest and the dark blood had dribbled out and soaked the front of Ike's white shirt.
"A divil of a way to celebrate my birthday," O'Sheen whispered. There was no one in sight near the alley entrance. Ike Armado wouldn't move again. O'Sheen's feet pounded swiftly on the concrete as he ran toward the phone box near the far end of the lane.
MARTA smiled happily when Paddy O'Sheen stomped into the warm kitchen.
"Happy birthday, Paddy." She was waiting eagerly for him to kiss her.
O'Sheen slumped down in the chair by the stove. He was scowling as he bent to loosen his shoes.
"Sure, and what's troublin' my big Irishman? You should be grinning your head off, this being your birthday."
She dropped at his feet and helped him remove the uncomfortable shoes.
"I've gone and stuck my fat neck out again," Paddy confessed. "Ike Armado was murdered. I told the Chief I was sure Phil Armado, Ike's brother, did it."
Marta's face grew concerned.
"You've been right before," she said. "The town will be better off without the pair of them."
"That's just it." Paddy stood up, crossed the room and dipped his finger into a pan of soft fudge on the table. "They tried to pick up Phil Armado. Found out he's been in Walkerville all day. A hundred miles from the scene of the crime, and a perfect alibi is what he turns up with. Say, you must have used a pile of sugar in this fudge."
Marta chuckled.
"You just sit down and eat the whole pan of it," she urged. "It might sweeten your disposition a little. The other will turn out all right."
O'Sheen complied humbly, his eyes never leaving the warm, delectable figure of Marta as she hovered over the kitchen range. She removed a vast, well-browned cake from the oven.
O'Sheen scowled.
"Say!" he protested. "Did you forget sugar rationing, what with cake and fudge all in the same day?"
Marta whirled around, pier eyes flashed.
"Sure and you're the world's prize grouch, this night. You just take the ration books and get some more sugar now that I think about it. Coupon twelve is good since yesterday and maybe the walk will cool you off a bit."
O'Sheen grumbled steadily as he once more laced his shoes and donned his coat.
At the door he hesitated, smiling uncertainly at Marta's back.
"I'll be right back," he said humbly, and went out.
TWO hours passed. Marta O'Sheen finished smoothing out the boiled frosting on the big birthday cake and put the remainder of the dinner back in the oven to keep it warm. With the ticking of the clock she grew more worried. Paddy had been angry and upset. He might get himself into trouble.
She heard his footsteps on the porch and sighed with relief. Paddy O'Sheen, when he opened the door, was a changed man. A broad grin encompassed his red face. Under one arm he carried a bag of sugar. The other held a huge bouquet of fresh roses.
"Good evening, Mrs. O'Sheen," he greeted her cheerfully. "Shall I toss my hat in first?"
A small bundle of charming womanhood dashed into his arms. He tried awkwardly to hold Marta, the sugar and the roses at the same time. Paddy could still blush at his wife's kisses.
CHIEF WALTER HENDERSON sat grumpily behind the bench at City Police Headquarters. Paddy O'Sheen, smiling and untroubled, waited for him to finish the tirade of abuse.
"And don't forget that Phillip Armado will sue the city for every cent he can collect," Henderson shouted. "I don't like him any better than you do, but he's got a perfect alibi. Six witnesses, including his own parents will swear he was a hundred miles from here, spending the day with his folks, when the murder occurred."
"But there wasn't another man in town who cared if Ike lived or died," O'Sheen insisted politely. "Phil wanted to get him out of the way and run the business himself."
"All right," Henderson leveled a finger at O'Sheen's ruddy face. "Phil Armado is coming in right now. If you can't make your accusation stick, I'm warning you...."
"That I'll be without a uniform next week," O'Sheen interrupted him. "I'll take that chance."
Phillip Armado was fat, with a thick imported cigar pushed between the heavy lips of his swarthy face. He moved ponderously into the small room and seated himself beside the chief's desk. Removing the cigar from his mouth he spat across the floor into a half-filled cuspidor and stared at Paddy.
O'Sheen smiled.
"Hello Armado," he said. "I understand you don't know how Ike got that knife wound in his chest."
Phil Armado turned slightly pale.
"I'd rather not talk about..."
"Wait a minute," O'Sheen drew a small, flat booklet from his pocket and held it before Armado.
O'Sheen opened the ration book and his brow wrinkled.
"Then let's talk about something else," he agreed. "This your sugar ration book, Phil?"
Armado nodded sulkily.
"It's got my name and description in it," he said.
"Yesterday was the twenty-eighth of the month," O'Sheen said softly.
"So what?" Phil Armado showed mild interest.
"Nothing much," O'Sheen admitted. "Except that this book proves you were in town about ten o'clock yesterday morning."
CHIEF HENDERSON flashed a glance of renewed interest at O'Sheen. A curse escaped Armado's lips.
"What the hell you trying—"
"Just this," Paddy O'Sheen went on. "I know you hated Ike. You wanted him out of the way. Last night I remembered that coupon number twelve was good from yesterday morning until the end of next month. People who like to eat like you and I do, don't forget that sugar ration system. It was only a guess, but I spent a lot of time in your kitchen late last night. I found your book in a pantry drawer and a bag of sugar with 'Longstreet Groceries' stamped across the top of it. Stamp number twelve was used and you couldn't have used it before yesterday morning."
Armado chewed his unlighted cigar between rotating jaws. His lips were wet.
"That don't mean nothin'," he protested. "Anyone could have cashed in on that stamp."
"Not when two clerks at the Longstreet Grocery can swear that you came in at ten yesterday morning and bought your supply," O'Sheen said grimly. "You must have fought with Ike and cut him up after you returned home. Then you got out of town in a hurry. Ike managed to crawl out on the porch and fell off the steps. He wasn't noticed because the alley is deserted most of the time."
Armado leaped to his feet. The cigar rolled from his lips and hit the floor.
"You dirty punk!" Sweat stood out on his forehead. "I'll tear you..."
He stopped abruptly, and found himself staring down the big barrel of O'Sheen's pistol.
"I'm kinda fond of sweets myself, Phil," O'Sheen said quietly. "We got one thing in common. A man can be pretty smart sometimes but he's pretty sure to humor his sweet tooth."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.