Black Mask Detective (Vol. 34, No. 3 — May 1950)

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The glamorous bubble of Hollywood’s hottest night-spot was smashed to scandalous smithereens when its playboy owner mysteriously disappeared — and left bouncer Pete Sheffold to pick up the homicidal pieces.

Now, in the left-over glow of the dead afternoon, the Street no longer glittered. The long black limousines and chrome-plated convertibles held no radiance of their own. The modernistic facades of the night clubs, such as Julian’s, seemed sober and almost real. In the stony glare of the Hollywood sun they had resembled propped-up movie sets. An hour from now their lights would gleam, like heated zircons and fake rubies, across a velvet strip of night. But for a little hour this might have been any street.

Even the people looked very nearly like real people, Pete Sheffold thought as he neared the end of his two-mile walk along the Street. Such as the girl standing in front of Julian’s. Under the sun, her blonde hair would have been improbable. Now the purple after-glow had softened even the tense, artificial brightness of her smile.

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