The Best of Argosy #8 - Minions of the Shadow Read online

  Harvey followed just as speedily with the sedan, Millicent raised a hand to stifle a scream as he cut around a corner in their wake, narrowly missing several cars.

  And Harvey himself was doing the driving this time. Omega had nothing to do with it. He merely chuckled eerily in Harvey’s ear, and murmured: “Doubt my word, would you? There goes the evidence — up in smoke!”

  Chapter 7: Boss of the Double Cross

  AS HARVEY had feared, the fire engines stopped at one of the corner entrances to the City Hall. Men armed with portable fire-extinguishers and axes boiled through the entrance. With a scream of tires he brought the sedan to a stop beside them.

  Harvey Nelson was suddenly undecided as to the next move. He knew who was behind that fire, though it wouldn’t do any good to say so. He’d have to prove it, and he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to. Warily, he headed the sedan away from the fire-fighting equipment. He was still in a fog of mental indecision as he absently, noticed a sign, “Club Patelli,” and pulled in to the curb.

  Two tipsy revelers, who had been about to leave the place, stopped abruptly. Harvey’s topper had raised straight in the air and then sailed toward the hat check girl’s window. The tipsy two applauded noisily. Neither noticed the expression of bewilderment on Harvey’s face when the hat lifted from his head.

  “Thassa dandy trick,” complimented one of the revelers. “Show me how you do it?”

  The hat obediently sailed out of the hat check girl’s hand — which happened to be directly in Harvey’s shadow — and returned to his head.

  “You just raise your left eyebrow,” Harvey explained. “Like this!”

  The hat repeated its performance, going slowly and unerringly to the girl’s hands.

  “S’wonderful,” said the stew, blinking furiously. “Gimme my hat, gorgeous.”

  Harvey and Millicent followed the headwaiter to a choice table by the dance floor. A bill of fairish denomination accounted for this. Harvey had decided to make the best of things, even if he went broke in the process.

  Millicent leaned confidentially over a small table, after a waiter had disappeared with their order. “How’d you do it, Harvey?” she coaxed.

  “That hat trick?” Nelson breathed deeply, inhaling a heady fragrance which must have been caused by perfume doused in her hair.

  “I didn’t do it,” he said, weakly. “I’m haunted.”

  “Sissy!” Omega remarked, quietly.

  “Nonsense,” she said, amiably.

  Harvey, already in a mental turmoil, was spared the necessity of elaborating. For at that moment Fowler appeared, waddling precariously between the close-set tables. There was an urgent light in his eyes as he spotted Nelson.

  “Boy!” he puffed. “Am I glad to see you! Been calling all over town, Something terrible’s happened! Everything in the office is burned up. We’ll have to round everybody up and get to work on a new budget estimate. There’s no use trying to dig into the old one and see who’s been pulling the wool over our eyes. All the records are destroyed.”

  Harvey looked at him sadly as he puffed to a stop. Somehow he didn’t have the heart to be mad at the man. Fowler had helped him over many a tough spot; and now, in spite of his proven perfidy, Harvey found himself trying to excuse the attempt at self-preservation.

  He smiled disarmingly. “That’s a tough break,” he said. “You’ll have to get to work on another. Make sure this is a straight one. I’ll help you with it myself. We won’t have any dummies this time.”

  Fowler straightened. His face adequately revealed his injured feeling. “Why boy,” he said. “You don’t think that an estimate of mine would be other than —”

  Harvey waved a hand. “Of course not,” he interrupted. “But I’ll feel better if I check everything. See you at the office.”

  Fowler nodded unhappily and turned to leave. At that moment he felt the sudden contact of a shoe, speeding his departure in a very undignified manner. But he didn’t look back, remembering the peculiarities he had already observed in his protégée.

  FOWLER didn’t let any grass grow under his feet. He left the night club and took a taxi directly to the home of one Felix Pembroke, the real brains of the Party. Pembroke got out of bed to receive him. Fowler babbled forth the events of the evening.

  “You incompetent fool,” said Pembroke finally. “He must suspect you had that fire set. You’re the dumbest man I ever saw when it comes to covering your tracks.”

  “Some of your own tracks aren’t covered so well,” Fowler reminded him. “And that’ll put us in a nice spot if we don’t get our man in at the primaries.”

  Pembroke nodded grimly. “And I suppose Nelson will do the opposite of anything you suggest, from now on?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Fowler. “At the very least he’ll check up on me. I was going to suggest that we put up a candidate who’ll stand some investigating. Then we’ll be fairly safe. Nelson won’t turn from the Party. But he might support the reform candidate at the primaries. And if we have a man who can stand an investigation, we can trump up some stuff on the reform man, and he’ll pick our man to support. How about it?”

  Pembroke laughed mirthlessly. “Who?” he asked, sarcastically.

  Fowler was stumped. He thought the matter over for several minutes. But every time he seemed on the verge of deciding on some prominent leader, he either remembered some shady episode which might be uncovered, or he realized that the man wouldn’t appeal to the public. Either drawback might well be fatal.

  Pembroke finally broke the silence. “Your plan’s no good,” he said. “We’ll have to stick to Danvers. He can beat the reform man with the help of Nelson’s ward. Mr. Nelson will have to toe the line, or else!

  “In fact maybe it would better if Mr. Nelson became temporarily indisposed. You might be able to swing his ward, if you work hard enough... Sure! That’s the solution! You’ve always relayed his orders anyway. We can do without his speeches, as long as the committeemen think he’s still directing things up at the fifty-second ward. I’ll get in touch with Bonzetti right away!”

  Fowler paled. “No, no,” he exclaimed. “Not Bonzetti! After all, the lad’s been like a son to me. Give me a chance to win him over.”

  Pembroke shook his head. “Fool!” he said. “My way is the best. Not only will it insure the election but you can put through your original estimate for your department. Any other way you lose your gravy.”

  It was to Fowler’s credit that he didn’t hesitate. “That don’t mean anything,” he said. “I got plenty. Try my way first. I’ll win him over. Give me a chance.”

  Pembroke appeared to think the request over very carefully. “All right,” he finally agreed. “I’ll give you a week. But remember this: If you fail, Bonzetti pulls his snatch, and you take over. And don’t think you can buck me, either. A twenty-year stretch wouldn’t do you much good.”

  Fowler left the house with his brain ticking over at a furious rate. He didn’t like the crafty look he’d seen in Pembroke’s eyes. It would be just like him to string him along and then send Bonzetti out to snatch Nelson anyway. The boss had a reputation for refusing to play fair with anyone — unless playing fair happened to be to his advantage.

  Fowler got in the taxi, but sat still for a minute before naming a destination.

  Suddenly he jumped out and mounted the terrace at the side of Pembroke’s house. He padded softly to the French windows of the room he had just quitted. Then he scurried back to the taxi and ordered speed, back to the club where he’d come from. The cab started out with a jolt which set his jowls to quivering madly. Pembroke had been earnestly talking to someone over the phone when he had looked in the windows. That could mean only one thing. The boss was living up to his reputation. He had only pretended to give Fowler a chance to win Nelson over, so that he wouldn’t go immediately to warn him.

  And unless Fowler moved quickly, Bonzetti would descend upon Harvey Nelson like a particularly malevolent ton of b
ricks.

  Chapter 8: Harvey’s Neck is Out

  HARVEY NELSON had another visitor at his table, almost as soon as Fowler left. A stocky man, homely, and friendly as a puppy.

  “I’m Joe Patelli,” he announced, grinned broadly. “I run this place. Mind if I pull up a chair for a second, Mr. Nelson?”

  Harvey felt a vague sense of familiarity as he looked at the newcomer, but it didn’t quite congeal into actual recognition. Joe Patelli, therefore, must be a constituent and worthy of his attention for that reason alone. Harvey felt a sense of duty toward constituents: one of the many things which set him apart as a politician. He nodded and smiled.

  “This is Miss Forbes, my fiancée,” he said.

  Millicent raised a quizzical eye-brow, but said nothing. She was slightly stunned at the abruptness of it, and could only muster a smile as Patelli made a gallant remark about Harvey’s taste.

  “I’m in your ward, Mr. Nelson,” he added, abruptly. “Do you mind telling me who we’re going to put in, this election?”

  Harvey’s eyes narrowed momentarily. “It’s a little early yet,” he said. “Why?”

  “Well,” Patelli said slowly. “I got a chance to open a place in the suburbs. If I thought the reform crowd was goin’ to get a hold in town, I’d do it. With the city closed tighter than a drum, a place just out of town would be a gold mine. On the other hand, it would be a waste of money if Danvers got the election. I can’t run two places.”

  Harvey nodded. “You figure the reform crowd would be bad business, eh?”

  “No doubt of it. They’d have the blue laws working in no time. You know that. Pembroke couldn’t tell them what to do. It would be better if the opposition got in, meaning no offense. They’ll at least play ball. But the reform crowd has got us all worried. They’ve almost got the Party split now. I figure it’s all up to you.”

  “But the reform crowd wants to put a stop to vice and gambling,” Millicent pointed out. “That’s why they’re getting so much support. People are getting tired of present conditions, according to the newspapers.”

  “According to the newspapers,” jeered Patelli. “Lady, I’m in a position to know what I’m talking about, and that paper talk is a lot of malarkey. Right now the papers are short of news and they’re making a whole lot of fuss about practically nothing, just to have something to print. As soon as somebody commits a nice, juicy murder, you won’t read anything about gambling and vice.”

  Harvey said, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, you know as well as me, Mr. Harvey, that there ain’t any big-time gambling in town,” Patelli said. “Pembroke’s too greedy. As soon as an outfit begins to show a profit, he holds out his hand. They kick in for a while and then he raises the ante. First thing you know he takes all the profit out of it. And if they don’t kick in, he closes them up.

  “I ought to know. He drove me out of business when I had my joint. Glad he did, though. I’m making just as much here, and perfectly legitimate.

  “This reform stuff is a lot of malarkey. Will it do any good to close me up? They can do it by shortening my business hours. That’ll take away the profit. So what do I do? I open up again, just outside the city, and get the same trade anyway.

  “Only I pay taxes to some thieving little borough on the edge of the town. That’s going to help the city a lot, ain’t it? Taxes will have to go up in other directions and more business leaves the town. It’ll make a morgue out of this burg.

  “It’s nothin’ to me, understand. I make money either way. I’d just like to know, so I could buy that place or turn it down.”

  HARVEY stared at Patelli for a long minute before he spoke. He was once more going through a phase of mental renovation. Fowler had always spoken in the highest terms of Mr. Pembroke: pictured him as being a man of the same lofty idealism as himself. According to Fowler he had been elected to leadership in the Party because of his unselfish devotion to the cause of bettering city government.

  Harvey had never liked the man personally, but had blamed himself for the dislike. He had Fowler’s word that he was of the finest character. And that had been enough. It was likely that if he didn’t already know of the perfidy of Fowler, he would have called Patelli a liar on the spot.

  But with the disturbing knowledge that nothing Fowler had ever told him was to be relied upon... And added to that was the fact that Patelli was obviously concerned only with his own welfare, and making no attempt to influence him.

  “I think you’d better stay here,” said Harvey, thoughtfully.

  “You’re going to throw the nomination to Danvers?”

  “Don’t quote me,” said Harvey. “I merely said you’ll do better staying here. I guarantee that.”

  Patelli leaned back in his chair, a puzzled look on his face.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he finally said. “But whatever it is, it’s okay with me. I’ll turn down that offer. Thanks, Mr. Nelson.” Patelli left the table, his face wreathed in smiles.

  “You’re a regular politician,” Millicent remarked. “You didn’t tell him anything, and he’s happy. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Harvey miserably. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got to figure some things out. We’ll take a ride in the park. All right?”

  “Of course,” agreed Millicent. “I’ll help you figure. I’m your fiancée, you know. Though I think it’s a heck of a way to propose. You didn’t give me a chance to turn you down!”

  Harvey’s knees suddenly began to quake. “I thought —” he stammered. “After all —”

  “Yes, I know,” said Millicent, quietly. “You kissed me, and I didn’t sock you. So that proves something, doesn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t it?” he asked, vaguely.

  “Yes, dear,” she replied. “It does.”

  OMEGA showed no inclination to take charge as Harvey pulled away from the curb and headed toward the park. By the time they reached the river drive Harvey concluded that he must have fallen asleep, if shadows ever do sleep, and forgot about him.

  “We made up our minds all of a sudden,” he ventured as Millicent showed no inclination to open a conversation.

  “Uh huh,” Millicent agreed, patting him on the knee. “Except that I made mine up about three years before you did.”

  “Huh? Oh, no you didn’t,” he contradicted. “I made up my mind the instant I first saw you. It just took three years for me to tell you about it.”

  “Darling!” cried Millicent, almost wrecking the car as she flung her arms around his neck. Then she suddenly sobered. “But that’s not what you want to talk about. Danvers is a crook, isn’t he?”

  Harvey covered half a mile before answering. Then: “I’m afraid he is,” he replied. “Otherwise Pembroke wouldn’t want him. At the very least, he’s a man who will take the boss’ orders. Which means graft in all the city departments, as well as the county ones.”

  “HARVEY! Don’t tell me there’s graft in your department!”

  “It’s lousy with it,” affirmed Harvey.

  Millicent clapped her hands. “Then we’ll have a honeymoon in Bermuda,” she said.

  Harvey’s mouth popped open. “What? Wait a minute! I had nothing to do with the graft. Fowler collected it for himself and the Party. All I ever got was my salary. And that’s all I want!”

  “Oh,” said Millicent, in a small voice.

  “He’s a chump!” said Omega, suddenly waking up, and speaking from the region of the windshield.

  “What?” asked Millicent, absently adjusting herself to the idea of a graftless politician.

  “He’s a chump!” Omega repeated.

  “He is not!” said Millicent, instantly jumping to the defense. “I think graft is horrible. Who said that, Harvey?”

  “My shadow,” Harvey explained. “I told you I was haunted. He’s been with me for hours.”

  “I’ve been with you all your life,” Omega remarked severely, “And a very dull existence i
t’s been.” Millicent gave a short gasp and held a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Shadow apparently didn’t notice her fright, for he continued without a break. “Milly, you’ll find it hard to believe, but this guy don’t even know what the inside of a boudoir looks like! Not only that but...”

  He rambled on for several minutes in the same vein, while Harvey scowled and kept his eyes glued to the road, and Millicent gradually got used to a voice speaking from thin air and settled down to listen interestedly.

  “... And right now he’s harboring some silly notion of making a deal with the reform gang, in which they’re to promise to confine their activities to actual law breakers, such as gamblers and vice dealers, and to leave harmless night clubs and Sunday sports alone. He thinks that the noble reformers will keep promises. What a man!”

  “I THINK he’s nice,” retorted Millicent. “He’s good inside, and that’s why he thinks everybody else is good. A person who suspects everybody else can’t be very virtuous himself, or he wouldn’t get such ideas. So there!”

  “Virtue, phooey!” Omega exploded. “Who wants to be virtuous? What’s it get you? Virtue is its own reward! It’s got to be, says I. You can’t have a good time on it. It cramps your style. Look at Horatio, here. He could be mayor by now, if he wasn’t so damn virtuous. He’s popular enough, but Pembroke knows he wouldn’t stand for anything shady. So what is he? I ask you. What is he?”

  Millicent looked at Harvey appraisingly. “What are you, darling?” she inquired.

  “I’m a guy who’s going to find some way of stepping on his shadow,” Harvey growled. “He’s getting to be a nuisance.”

  “Oh yeah?” exclaimed Omega with singular lack of originality.

  Millicent, suddenly thinking of something, gave a short gasp. “I think he’ll be worse than a nuisance,” she told Harvey. “Especially after we’re married.”

  Omega chuckled malevolently. “I’m staying,” he said flatly. “I’m having lots of fun.”