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

  Chapter 11: Omega’s Slipping

  OMEGA leaped into the driver’s seat, gripped the wheel and looked stonily ahead. Harvey, on the point of disputing the act, changed his mind with the thought that if he objected too strenuously, Omega would only desert his suit of clothes and take over the driving anyway.

  And being a little troubled mentally, he didn’t feel up to the ordeal of wrestling and driving at the same time.

  The car started off with a roar, Omega skillfully missing a trolley car and two trucks, all three of which seemed bent on the sedan’s annihilation. Harvey let out a groan and began to wish he hadn’t given up without an argument.

  Fowler shook his head in bafflement. “I thought that was all over,” he said. “With Pembroke agreeing...”

  “You missed the point,” Harvey repeated. “Pembroke only pretended to accept my ultimatum. Your own words, which sounded vacillating to him, convinced him that you’d toe the line, with me out of the way, and do all you could to insure the fifty-second ward voting the right way. That was the idea of the visit. I didn’t expect him to pretend to agree, but the result will be the same. Bonzetti will probably visit my flat tonight. And I’ll be ready for him.”

  “I don’t like it,” Fowler proclaimed. “Those gangsters might decide to — Hey!”

  Next on the program was a matter which required no planning, no rehearsal. It was one of those things which just happen, without human regulation of any kind. The sedan was rolling at quite a moderate pace, something less than fifty, when suddenly a tire blew out.

  It was a front tire, the right one, and Omega had some trouble with the wheel. So much, in fact, that he gave up the job and jumped into the back of the car, holding his gloves over his clay head. He whimpered pitifully as the car mounted the curb and jolted to a stop against a tree, removing quite a bit of bark and bending the bumper badly.

  HARVEY swore hugely as he pushed Omega off his lap. Fowler quivered with indignation as Omega landed on his insteps. He glared at Harvey.

  “I don’t admire the courage of your red-skinned friend in the face of an emergency!” he said, with a certain cutting pointedness.

  “Tell him how fragile I am,” whined Omega.

  “I thought Indians were a hardy race, rugged and fearless,” objected Fowler.

  “Not his tribe,” said Harvey. “They’re very delicate, and afraid of their own shadows. Few, in fact, ever reach maturity.”

  “You said it,” Omega confirmed. “I’m the only one who ever grew up.”

  “That’s impossible!” intruded a new voice. “I suppose your mother was an infant when you were born. And your father — Say, who was driving this car?”

  Harvey groaned as he saw the gray of a state police uniform.

  “Very pretty uniform,” Omega remarked. “Ugh!”

  “Don’t change the subject,” said the cop, severely. “Who was driving this car? I’ve been following you for a mile, and I never saw such screwy driving in my life. Who’s the guilty man?”

  Harvey was trying to make up his mind whether to point out Omega as the guilty one, or to say that he’d been piloting the car himself, when suddenly he stiffened at the sight of something decidedly unusual across the street. Four men were running out of the wide doorway of a bank and heading for a car parked at the curb. Each carried a satchel which seemed to be heavily loaded.

  “Look!” he cried, and swung open the car door.

  “No you don’t!” the policeman began; then suddenly stopped at the sound of a shot.

  A bank guard had appeared at the door and opened fire. Simultaneously with the shot, the bandit car darted away from the curb, only to crash into the side of a trolley, which stopped, effectively blocking the getaway. The bandits piled out and one of them snapped a shot at the bank guard. He fell heavily, hit in the thigh.

  HARVEY leaped from the car, intent on tackling the rearmost of the bandits from behind. He could have done so had not the state policeman opened fire at that moment. One of the bandits went down, spilling his satchel, and the others turned, firing as they sighted the new enemy.

  Omega probably saved Harvey’s life at that instant; for two of the bandits were firing directly toward him. Omega, apparently afraid of being left behind, had dashed across the street and tried to halt Harvey, stepping in front of him in the process. He was just in time to stop a couple of bullets with his clay head.

  This infuriated him, for both entered his high-bridged nose, damaging it beyond repair. Instead of trying to stop Harvey, he decided to take a hand. A flying tackle, which would have put him on that year’s All-American had he been playing for Carlisle, brought down one of the bandits.

  The impact spoiled the shape of Omega’s derby, but it did much greater damage to the bandit. His breath left with a finality which indicated that he was permanently out of the battle. A gun fell from limp fingers and Harvey snatched it up.

  The state cop had just winged his second man as Harvey returned the fire of the remaining gunman. The bandit’s bullet went wide of its mark, mainly because he was trying to run and shoot at the same time. Harvey, on the other hand, stood still, slightly crouched, and fired just once. The bandit dropped forward on his face.

  “Nice work,” said the cop, picking up one of the satchels of loot. “Say, your friend must have been hit!”

  Harvey turned to see Omega covering his shattered nose with both gloves. He was moaning softly, as if in pain.

  “You better get him to a hospital,” said the cop. “He looks bad. Gimme your names first. There might be a reward out for those guys. You two sure earned a share of it —”

  Omega was hunched over, and was covering his damaged features completely, which gave Harvey an idea. The policeman, who was fortified by the name of O’Reilly, took down the information Harvey gave him. Two city cops arrived at that moment and took charge of the disabled bandits, one of whom was already qualified for entry into the nether regions. O’Reilly disappeared into the bank, carrying the two heavy satchels. Harvey took Omega’s arm and guided him across the street.

  “You double-crosser!” growled Omega, taking his gloves away from the damaged proboscis.

  Harvey chuckled for a moment and then laughed.

  “The conniving scoundrel didn’t give me any credit! Omega growled to Fowler.

  “Why should I?” asked Harvey, chuckling some more. “You didn’t risk anything. Bullets can’t hurt you. And besides you wouldn’t have come along if you weren’t afraid I’d get hit, and thereby put an end to you.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Fowler.

  Omega grunted. “He gave his own name when the cop asked for it, and then when he asked who I was, he said James Fowler!”

  “It won’t hurt being a hero on election day,” Harvey explained. “And the cop didn’t get a good look at Omega until it was all over. And then he had his face covered. The reporters will give you a big write-up, and the thing will be mentioned every time the papers carry a campaign story.”

  HARVEY was right. In less than an hour the reporters caught up with them. They were waiting, in fact, when Harvey and Fowler arrived at the second-floor flat after putting the damaged car in a nearby garage.

  Omega, fortunately, had decided to vacate his human form, because of the damaged face. He had done it in the car, and Harvey’s borrowed suit of clothes had collapsed in a heap.

  Fowler’s expression as he faced the reporters gave evidence of the shock he had received when Harvey had explained the true nature of his “close associate.” It lent a degree of authenticity to Harvey’s description of the terrific battle which the “future mayor of this city” had given. Cameras clicked and everybody was happy. Except, perhaps, Mr. Fowler.

  “Wait’ll that cop sees my picture,” he groaned, after they were inside.

  “He won’t know the difference,” Harvey assured. “Quit worrying. You ought to be happy. We’ve announced your candidacy, and at the same time the voters will read of your heroic deed and re
alize that you are a man who puts his duty above all else, even his personal safety. It’s the biggest thing that —”

  He stopped at the look on Fowler’s face. It expressed something that even that versatile physiognomy seldom contained. There was a sadness there, but also a look of shame, as if Fowler was suddenly becoming aware that there was much wanting in his character.

  “Look, Harvey,” he pleaded. “Let’s drop the whole thing and take my hat out of the ring. Let’s go tell Pembroke you’ve decided to back Danvers... All right. All right. But then get a bodyguard and protect yourself against Bonzetti. I can’t let you take this risk.”

  It was Fowler’s turn to lapse into silence. Harvey’s face had told him there wasn’t any sense in arguing. He left, shaking his head miserably.

  “I’M slipping!”

  “I’ve known that for years,” said Mark, calmly.

  “I mean I can’t seem to stay in one place in time! Look!”

  Mark became suddenly alarmed. He was looking at Fowler as he closed the door behind him, when the door suddenly ceased to exist! Instead he looked out on a battlefield, a torn shambles of shell holes and twisted barbed wire.

  But only for a second. The scene changed to one of tranquility almost immediately. Once more he was looking at the muddy creek bed from which the water had diverted. He looked behind him and saw the new creek as it wound its way parallel to the old.

  “What’s the idea?” he asked. “We’re back where we started.”

  “I know. I told you it took an effort to hold myself that far back in time. We’ll have to go back again, if you want to continue interfering in people’s normal lives.”

  “Of course I do! You’ve got to go back. Harvey’s liable to be kidnapped while we’re gone.”

  “Don’t worry about that. If he is, we’ll just jump further back to where he isn’t... Say! Look at that!”

  Startled, Mark looked further up the creek, to the point where Omega had started his ravine. The water was flowing back into the old creek bed!

  Mark turned on Omega.

  “Do you see what that means?” he yelled. “You didn’t change history! The creek’s back where it started! And silt will fill up the ravine you cut!”

  “That was an accident,” Omega said, dubiously. “But maybe we’d better go back and see what happens to Nelson. This might...”

  Chapter 12: The Ethics of Milly

  HARVEY made for his bathroom and took a satisfying shower. He wasn’t bothered by Omega this time. In fact, Omega hadn’t bothered him all afternoon.

  After Fowler had left, Harvey had repaired the damage to his clothes, and gone immediately to his office. He had been busy all afternoon helping straighten out the mess caused by the fire. A few records had been salvaged, but nothing of any great use to him. He was really more of a nuisance than anything, considering that the janitors were cleaning very efficiently until he arrived. But Harvey had thought it best to be present in his usual haunts, to make things easier for Bonzetti.

  He didn’t want the gangster to have any trouble finding him. He really didn’t expect the kidnapping to occur in the daytime, or indeed at any time when it could be witnessed; for Pembroke would probably want to concoct a story that he had left town of his own accord and for his own reasons. Otherwise it would be hard to control the fifty-second ward.

  With this thought in mind, as the afternoon waned, Harvey had decided to make good his promise to Millicent to resume the celebration of the night before. Bonzetti wouldn’t strike, he had decided, until the small hours of the morning, when everybody was asleep in Harvey’s neighborhood. And Harvey would make sure he was home by then.

  Secretly he hoped that Omega would wake up by the time Bonzetti arrived; his help would be welcome. But in the meantime he didn’t want Omega around. Harvey decided to keep his mind rigidly away from thoughts concerning him, half afraid a mere thought would return him to consciousness.

  By keeping his mind strictly occupied with the subject of the coming campaign while he bathed and dressed, he managed to forget completely about that disconcerting character.

  It didn’t, however, do a bit of good. An hour later, while passing a haberdashery shop, he felt a sudden dig in the ribs.

  “Inside!” hissed Omega. “There’s a few things I need. You keep quiet. I’ll do the talking.”

  Harvey heaved a resigned sigh, and entered the store. A smiling clerk greeted him. Harvey nodded, but didn’t open his mouth.

  “There’s a gray hat in the window, sitting on the head of a good-looking dummy,” said Omega. “Bring in the whole works.”

  For a second or two the clerk looked at Harvey, who hadn’t moved his lips, before he decided to obey. Then he reached in the show window and brought out the desired articles. The dummy was handsome, with a cleancut jaw and twinkling eyes. It looked straight in front, but had that quality — shared by most portraits — of appearing to look sideways if one regarded it from an angle.

  “The hat isn’t a very good fit,” Omega said.

  “But you haven’t tried it on,” the clerk reminded.

  “I mean it doesn’t fit the dummy,” Omega said. “Get one just like it, but a size or two smaller. Make it fit the dummy pretty tight.”

  The clerk look mystified, but removed the gray hat from the handsome clay head, and went toward the back of the store. Omega was probably very gratified to note that the dummy was crowned by a shock of wavy dark brown hair. The clerk returned and fitted a new hat over the wavy hair. This one was snug. He looked up expectantly.

  “Good! I’ll take it,” Omega said. “Boy, will I wow the dames! How much?”

  The clerk looked startled. “Five for the hat,” he said, hesitantly. “Five more for the dummy, if that’s what you want.”

  “Who’s a dummy?” roared Omega, his voice coming from the clay head.

  “Just practicing a ventriloquism act,” Harvey explained, smiling.

  The clerk took the ten-dollar bill and shook his head as Harvey walked out of the store with his purchase under his arm.

  “Don’t do things like that!” Harvey raged, mentally. “Keep it up and we’ll be locked up in a booby hatch.”

  “Well then, don’t try to sneak out and have fun while I’m asleep. Go on home now and give me a chance to wrap that swell head up in some clothes. Then we’ll go out together.”

  MILLICENT, looking her loveliest, quite took Harvey’s breath away when he and Omega stopped for her. This condition didn’t hold true for his shadow. Not having any breath to lose, he didn’t lose it. He walked right past Harvey and attempted to embrace her.

  Millicent, being a girl of some constancy, gave him a straight-arm which almost took his head off. Only the fact that Harvey’s collar was a bit tight on the masculine clay neck saved that masterpiece of the window-display manufacturer’s art.

  Omega was a bit sulky after that. He refused to eat a bite of the excellent meal which Harvey ordered in one of the city’s leading restaurants. Nor did he say a single word.

  As a matter of fact he was trying most mightily to make his clay visage scowl; but such was the hardness and inflexibility of the substance of which it was composed, that it wouldn’t even frown. His affable, good-natured expression was immovably fixed. Several times, in an effort to catch it off guard, he suddenly ceased trying to frown and attempted a sneer. The face still refused to cooperate.

  “Do you really think everything will be all right?” Millicent asked. “About Fowler for mayor, I mean.”

  Harvey frowned. “Oh... You’ve seen the papers!”

  Harvey suddenly realized that he would have to dissemble — though doing it wouldn’t be easy for him. Obviously he couldn’t tell Millicent that he expected to be kidnapped some time before tomorrow morning. She wouldn’t approve of it. So he’d have to do a bit of evading.

  Abruptly he realized that perhaps he’d made a mistake in announcing Fowler’s candidacy so soon. Maybe Pembroke wouldn’t order any kidnapping after al
l. Maybe he’d decide that as long as the afternoon papers had come out with the story of Fowler’s hat in the ring, it might be best to go along, knowing that he could control Fowler, rather than risk a rumor of dissension in the party ranks.

  Then where would he, Harvey Nelson, be? Somewhere on the lee side of the eight ball, he guessed.

  “How did you ever get Pembroke to agree to do it?” asked Milly.

  “I demanded it. And as far as Pembroke is concerned, Fowler is as good a stooge as Danvers. He expects to be able to dictate to him.”

  “But how can you prevent...”

  Harvey frowned. “That’s the only trouble right now. I’ve got to get something on Pembroke, to hold over his head. There’s no other way to insure the city a clean administration.”

  Harvey once more became lost in thought. He wasn’t dissembling at all. He’d told the truth. He did have to get something on Pembroke. It wasn’t at all certain that any kidnapping would be perpetrated on his person. He’d just have to assume that there wouldn’t, and go to work from scratch. The darned thing was getting more complicated by the minute. He almost wished...

  “HE’S been a stooge all his life,” Omega muttered. “Now he’s going to pass up his chance to get even with that pack of crooks.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Millicent.

  “He’s going to give the taxpayer a break, instead of cleaning up,” Omega growled. “He could take all the gravy himself, maybe cutting Fowler in for a small percentage. But no. Little Rollo has to give the taxpayer a break. He’s dumb. He don’t even understand the simplest principles behind the democratic form of government.”

  “Tell me about them,” requested Millicent, apparently intensely interested.

  “It’s simple,” said Omega. “In a monarchy, one big shot robs the citizens, only splitting a very small percentage with his stooges, called nobles. In a democracy things are different. There is a more equitable distribution of the swag. All the big party workers take a slice, so that no one man has the sole privilege of robbing the people.