Archive Note: Efforts have been made to remove any errors in the following text caused by the process of creating this E-book. In the interests of authenticity, the remaining misspellings, whether the result of the author's mistakes or typesetting errors, were left as found in the original pocketbook.
Law of Lust
Coquettishly she whirled around and began lowering the towel while doing a mincing dance toward him. The high peaks of her lush breasts suddenly were bared and he took two steps forward and crushed them against his chest, bruising her lips with his own. She crept against him, pressing him back. They fell onto the bed. She tore away from him, grabbed their cigarettes and trayed them. Then, swinging the towel over her head, she rushed at him, diving onto the bed.
The coffee was forgotten. White heat surged through his body. Their lips were parted just enough to allow the exploding flames within them to plunge together. She moaned and pressed her body hard against his, keeping her arms locked around his neck. An animal cry came from deep within her and she bit his mouth, pleadingly, her body contorting and writhing in violent frenzy. She thrust herself upwards, tearing at his clothes, helping him, impatient. Sweat poured from his face and then the ceiling of the room plunged down, crushing them together like grapes in a press, where then the only sound was the slow, labored breathing like that of wine running over a cup.
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Archive Note: There was no 'CHAPTER EIGHT' in the original pocketbook.
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CHAPTER ONE
The instant he saw the front page. Will was startled. He crumpled the newsprint in his fists. His face was ashen, as if the blood had suddenly poured out of his head. "I'll be a sonofabitch!" his voice quivered. "I can't believe it ... Ken and Susan Curtis have disappeared!"
Bolting from their chairs, spilling their law briefs to the office carpet, Dennis and Buddy crowded around his desk
JUDGE CURTIS AND WIFE MISSING! CLUES HINT OF KIDNAP MURDER! BLOODY TRAIL TELLS OF DEATH MARCH
"My God!" Dennis smashed the desk with his fists. "It's crazy ... Gosh, I'm sorry, Willie."
"It's a nightmare," Buddy whispered, blinking in disbelief. "And you were with them only last night for dinner, too!"
But Will's face had congealed into a mask of grey flesh. His hands, trembled as he read. The bespectacled photograph of his oldest friend, Judge Ken Curtis looked at him solemnly, the strange smile bemused, as if because he was thinking that this picture-and that of his wife's beside him-belonged back in the silver frames atop the piano.
An aerial shot of the Curtis' oceanfront home was below. It showed with a Maltese "X" where the alleged kidnap car had supposedly been parked; the walk to the bluff that overlooked the Atlantic, the boardwalk and steps where the trail of blood ended; the footprints of three men in the sand; and, the spot where the kidnap boat had been beached.
The newspaper related that the judge and his wife had arrived home at seven o'clock in the evening. The judge had a typical hectic day in the county court. And because that day was their 22nd Anniversary, Ken and Susan had gone to the mayor's house for an intimate dinner party to quietly celebrate the day. Willie and Virgie had attended also. They said goodnight promptly at ten p.m., excused themselves and returned home. Police estimated it took ten minutes to reach their beachfront property. And they reconstructed what happened next. Susan poured the judge a glass of orange juice and one for herself which they finished as they undressed in the bedroom. The judge had put his wallet and change on the dresser.
"Guided by the porchlight 'beacon,' the newspapermen were informed that the abductors arrived by car and simultaneously, about midnight, were met by a boat which apparently was beached for the kidnapping rendezvous."
The article continued: "Never before in the annals of recorded crime have the clues to a kidnap-murder been so meager and so baffling. Here are some of the Clues police uncovered:
Two reels of used adhesive tape.
Three sets of footprints in the sand.
The testimony of witnesses and tire prints found prove a mysterious automobile was used.
The discovery of marks in the sand that showed a boat had been waiting to spirit away the judge and his wife.
The porch floodlight was broken.
The strange disappearance had first been reported by a carpenter who arrived to repair a window shortly before 9 a.m. It was the judge's secretary who called in the police, alarmed by the mysterious lateness of her employer whose fetish was punctuality. A systematic search of the Curtis' wardrobes showed that the judge and his wife had been abducted in their night clothes."
Will stared at the diagram in disgust. He flung the paper away from him because the police had not had the presence of mind to make castings of the footprints and tireprints before the high tide washed in and curiosity-seekers had trampled over everything.
He knew what he had to do next. He vividly remembered how the judge had taken him aside during the dinner party and they stepped outside together. What he then told Will had left him incredulous. "It's crazy, Willie. But as it is incredible, it nevertheless is true."
Will jerked his head at his law partners. "Take over, boys. I'm going out for the rest of the day."
As he pulled into the traffic, his eyes clouded with thought, Willie remembered the night's events clearly. Virgie had laughed, trying to cheer him up, trying to find out what it was the judge had had to discuss with him that had made them both so distant afterwards.
"Even Susan had noticed how funny you two were acting. Can't you tell me what it was, Will?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He knew it was all too fantastic, too unbelievable to be believed. And he knew that if he told anyone what Judge Curtis had told him, they'd make a laughing stock out of him. Will's years of law experience had instilled him with a buttoned lip attitude toward anything that could not be proved.
"Okay," she hugged his arm, "have it your way. I guess I'll just have to get used to my fiancee and all his big secrets."
Then, while at the restaurant having coffee for a road-break when they were still ten miles from home, like they always had whenever visiting with the Curtis's, he'd absently overheard the sailor at the phone behind their booth make a report to the Coast Guard over the phone. He'd been half-listening to Virgie, but the tone of the sailor's voice piqued his curiosity.
"Hell, no! I'm not drunk. I should know what an American submarine looks like," the sailor was shouting into the mouthpiece. "Well, it's like this, sir. We were sitting on the beach-my girl and I, that is-and we saw this submarine surface offshore, about twenty miles up the coast. We could of sworn we saw a rubber boat leave it. No, sir! I'm a Navy man myself. And I know a sub when I see one. Yes, sir. I'll be glad to."
And this morning, Will had seen an account of the submarine sighting in the paper. He'd also noted that the Navy reported having no undersea craft in the offshore vicinity. But now, when he tied the events together-and the Curtis's disappearance, it added up. And the total was too fantastic to be believable.
He grinned over the steering wheel when he remembered the astonished looks on his partners' faces when he'd announced, earlier that morning before the newspaper arrived, and before their conference had begun: "Gentlemen, I have just turned down-I've refused a five-thousand dollar bribe to drop the Consolidated Gas Company suit!"
He remembered the startling silence that followed like a shock-wave of soundless sound. Buddy and Dennis were frozen in surprise.
"Don't tell me," Dennis cried, "our case is that airtight?"
"Hell, no!" Will had laughed. "Since when are we that lucky?" Then he'd explained. "Herman P. Mullens-Moon to his pals, came right out and admitted that he was a dishonest politician. He said that I was a fool for not being in on the cake cutting too. That if I gave up this idealistic fight for justice, he'd see to it that we would become one of the leading corporation law firms in the state. But if we didn't play ball with them-we'd be finished. We'd never get another good client as long as we practiced!"
Dennis, slamming his fists on the arm chair, interrupted. "What'd you do then?"
"What the hell do you think?" Will had shouted. "I told him to jam his bribe-and his threats-down his windpipe." Will then grinned. "Of course, I wasn't quite so polite."
They laughed.
But Virgie hadn't laughed. She'd heard him come into the apartment. "That you, Will? Are you back from Mr. Mullens' so soon? I'm still in the shower," she called, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee and bring me one too."
She stood in the bathroom door toweling herself when he had appeared with the cups. When she saw the expression on his face, she clutched the towel around her ripe body and walked across the bedroom floor. "You'd better put them down before you mess up my rugs. The way your hands are shaking-"
He put them down and lit a cigarette. She took one and waited. Then, when she saw he wasn't talking, she turned around slowly and pushed up her hair. The huge towel began to slip from her body.
"Hey, Virgie," he laughed. "What're you trying to do, wreck me for the rest of the day?"
Coquettishly she whirled around and began lowering the towel while doing a mincing dance toward him. The high peaks of her lush breasts suddenly were bared and he took two steps forward and crushed them against his chest, bruising her lips with his own. She crept against him, pressing him back. They fell back onto the bed. She tore away from him, grabbed their cigarettes and trayed them. Then, swinging the towel over her head, she rushed at him, diving onto the bed.
The coffee was forgotten. White heat surged through his body. Their lips were parted just enough to allow the exploding flames within them to plunge together. She moaned and pressed her body hard against his, keeping her arms locked around his neck. An animal cry came from deep within her and she bit his mouth, pleadingly, her body contorting and writhing in violent frenzy. She thrust herself upwards, tearing at his clothes, helping him, impatient. Sweat poured from his face and then the ceiling of the room plunged down, crushing them together like grapes in a press, where then the only sound was the slow, labored breathing like that of wine running over a cup.
"Willie, darling," she said absently, toying with the hair of his chest. "What did Mr. Mullens have to say to you?"
"He tried to bribe me."
"To lay off the Gas Company case?" she asked, then before he had a chance to answer, "Well, didn't you accept?"
"Hell, no!" He raised himself up to one elbow and gazed into her eyes.
"What's wrong with you, Willie?" she continued, avoiding his gaze. "That's the way things are done these days."
"That's the way things are not done."
"No!" she cried vehemently, pushing herself abruptly to a sitting position. "If you're going to marry me, Little Willie, you'd better damn-sight get off this stupid flag-waving in-the-name-of-justice-kick and wake up. It's all over town about how your idealism is dragging you and your law partners into the gutters of ruin. How do you ever expect to make anything of yourself-or enough money for us to be married if you keep throwing away opportunities?"
"Why don't you shut that pretty little mouth and let me tend to my own affairs. I am not for sale."
CHAPTER TWO
Will entered the tall jurist's office and met him with a firm handshake. "You're looking well, Judge Gibson."
"Thanks, son. You're always the one to make a fellow feel better than he is."
"But I'm afraid I'm not going to make you too cheerful, when I tell you what I've got to say."
The judge waved him to a seat. "It can't be as bad as all that, can it?"
Will took a long breath. "Worse. I guess you've heard about Judge Curtis and his wife?" His gaze met the judge's squarely.
"Terrible thing. Terrible!" the judge nodded.
His jaw set tersely, lips in a thin line, Will replied, "I was with the judge last night-before he disappeared."
Judge Gibson's bony fingers entwined around a letter opener. Dark, penetrating eyes probed Will, a signal for him to continue.
"As you know, Judge," Will said quietly, "Judge Curtis and I've been close friends for nearly fifteen years-ever since I studied under him at the university. I suppose I got to know Ken better than most others. That's why I was so quick to notice that he wasn't being his old self. He was nervous for many weeks, and on the edge of his temper. When I asked what was troubling him, he refused to tell me-at first. But last night-before he vanished-he told me everything!"
Will paused to wipe his hands and swallow. The judge's letter opener stabbed the blotter. "Ken asked me not to tell anyone-except you-about our talk."
The judged leaned forward, listening intently. He had never before seen Will so visibly shaken-not even when angered and overwrought because of a set-back.
"Hold onto your seat, judge ... Ken told me there is an invisible government at work in our country. He was being pressured to join them. He refused. And I'm willing to bet my life that's the reason for his disappearance!"
"Say that again, Will!" The judge half-rose from his chair. His eyes bulged in disbelief.
"Wild, isn't it?" Will managed a weak smile. He watched the judge catch himself and sit down again.
"He told me that those who would see our American Government dissolved know that we can't be destroyed by war-atomic or otherwise. They know our retaliation weapons will destroy them if they attack. Therefore, they don't want a shooting war to conquer us. They, therefore, have decided to destroy us from within! Certain ruthless men have devised a foolproof plan-a carefully plotted, diabolical scheme to destroy and overthrow our government!" Will paused. The judge gaped in open amazement. "Judge Curtis told me this last night because he was living in fear of something like this happening. He knew too much. You see, one of the ways they intend to overthrow America is by getting the American people to do it for them. One of their major schemes is to destroy our judicial system by helping to degenerate it."
The judge touched his chin gravely. "Exactly how did Ken fit into the plan?"
Will shifted in his chair. "First, someone approached him and tried to 'buy him off.' They failed. They tried again, using more pressure. He refused. He threatened to expose them, although nothing could be proved. He found large sums of cash in his mailbox. Received many anonymous phone calls demanding favoritism in cases of all sorts. What confused him was all this. Nothing added up. So he started asking questions and pretended to throw in with them the next time he received one of their 'offers.' That was his first mistake. He learned too much. An attorney by the name of Sigmund Kiev approached him and-"
"Who?" The sound of recognition was pronounced. "Who did you say?"
"Sigmund Kiev. Know him?"
"Never mind. Go on."
"Kiev boldly ordered the judge to appoint him as special master in an estate case. Then, he, Sigmund Kiev, would see to it that the judge would begin to become as well-known and as famous as our own, George P. Caesar!"
"Caesar?!" Judge Gibson was thunderstruck. His eyes bulged. "Don't tell me that ass is mixed up in this!"
Will turned his hands out helplessly. "No proof. Only Ken's word. But I'll get back to that." He paused to collect his thoughts. "Ken pretended to go along because he felt that Kiev was only the small fry who'd lead him to the big fish. That's why he appointed him as special master. That was Ken's second error. From then on, he was on the hook. Kiev bled the estate dry and made sure the funds evaporated."
"Humph!" the judge grunted. "Sounds like he's been taking lessons from George P. Caesar himself!"
Will grinned. "The next thing Ken knew, he was appointed to the State Bar Association's board of governors. Kiev told him he had arranged the appointment."
The judge whistled under his breath.
"Kiev was popping in on him at all hours telling him how to decide certain cases and even how to phrase his rulings!" He paused to cough and lean forward. "That's when Ken told Kiev to get the hell out. And that's when Kiev showed the judge pictures of him handling large sums of cash-the cash that had arrived mysteriously in his mailbox. It was a blackmail attempt. But it didn't work. Then Kiev forced him to meet with several of the most wealthy and influential men in the state. Boldly, these bankers and industrialists told him that if he would follow orders as they did, Ken too would become wealthy and have a major role in the formation of the new government that is supposed to take the place of our democracy! Ken was dumbfounded. He refused. They gave him twenty-four hours to reconsider. Last night that period was up. It was two hours before midnight when we left the judge."
"It could be," the judge nodded finally.
"Could be?" Will cried, "Wait a minute! Consider their motives. By using our courts to create disrespect for our laws-by doling out injustice instead of justice, they weaken-and usurp-the people's confidence in American government. Isn't that right? Well, isn't it judge?"
Judge Gibson agreed solemnly.
"Okay. Now take the estate cases, the divorce suits, the accident cases, and others. Suppose, one-by-one, each citizen who comes before the bench is handed an unjust verdict? Suppose each citizen is informed that he has to 'pay off'? What happens then to the image of American Justice? Aren't we then wide-open for revolution-if it can be called that?
"Okay, I'll buy that," the judge said impatiently with a wave of his hand, "but what proof do you have? Can we go to the United States District Attorney with evidence?"
Will slowly leaned back in the chair. He rammed his hands in his pockets. "That's the tragedy. No proof. And I doubt if anyone would believe it."
The judge was silent for a long while. At last he looked up and took a deep breath. "I believe you, Will. I believe it is true because I've suspected something like this for months."
"Well, thank God for that," Will said. "But tell me, what in the hell are we going to do about it?"
"Continue to fight them as you have. What more can we do?"
Will smiled. The judge had said we. "Okay, I'll fight them in the courts. Even though everything's rigged against me."
"Rigged?"
"Don't be naive, judge. Ken told me that Caesar himself would see to it that I lost that gas company case. He said an attempt would be made to 'buy me tiff.' " Will paused, wetting his lips. "This morning, they tried."
"Who did the trying?"
"Another old friend of the court-Moon Mullens."
"Whew! They must want those rates increased awfully bad!" The jurist frowned.
"Ken told me these same men who control the gas company are also in control of other companies such as airlines and television stations. They are secretly pledged to the invisible government."
"Oh, yes," Will said with a snap of his fingers. "Ken had also mentioned that to me. Kiev also knew about it too. He said that Caesar is too powerful now to be touched-and is so powerful that even the governor can't have him ousted from office!"
"A word of advice, Will," the judge said, "I know you're going to the FBI with this-but whatever you do, keep this under your hat. If you don't, you might not be able to wear a hat again. Take things a little easier. Lay off the thing for awhile, or you won't be able to practice because they'll make it too hot for you to do so."
"Thanks for the counsel, judge. But I can't quit now. This is the only way I know how to beat them."
CHAPTER THREE
Although the intercom was buzzing on his desk, his honor, George P. Caesar stood with his belly pressed against the office window, hands effeminately at his hips, staring out upon the city with a gaze that was as steady as the late afternoon rain which had been falling since morning.
The buzzer continued with annoying insistence until he finally whirled around and punched down the key. "What the hell is it, Sally?" he demanded. "Didn't I tell you I wasn't to be disturbed?"
"I'm sorry, Judge Caesar, but Mr. Kiev is here to see you."
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he cried. "Show him in!"
Before he could reach the door after flicking the key, it banged open. Sigmund Kiev slammed in, marched across the room and dropped into the judge's huge leather chair behind the desk. "Read this newspaper good and careful." Prisms of light from the desk lamp glinted on Kiev's extraordinarily bald head when he jerked it at the judge. Kiev studied the judge like a craggy bird of prey watching a squirrel.
The judge, reading, backed into a chair without taking his attention from the paper. Stiffly casual, he pushed back in the chair and stretched his legs, taking care to appear deliberate and at ease. "Too bad about Judge Curtis." That was all Caesar said. He knew nothing more was expected.
"Let that be a lesson to those who would try to trifle with us!" Kiev's voice betrayed an alien accent. "That is what happens to those who would dare go against us!" Kiev's tone was vehement.
Caesar arose, crossed the room, and stood by the window.
He took a cigarette from the box atop his desk and offered one to Kiev. The judge lit Kiev's cigarette, then his own. The gesture was forced by a shaking hand holding the flame at each cigarette too long. It was an action designed to show Kiev he was not the least bit perturbed. Whether Kiev was impressed was doubtful.
"We have no use for fools," Kiev said after the long silence. His lips had hardly seemed to move and not a facial muscle had stirred. "So I know I can depend upon you as usual. Have you dispensed with the gas company case?"
"Huhnh? Oh, that. Yes, certainly. The gas company rate increase. I'll have it out of the way after tomorrow's court." Caesar fought hard not to sound apologetic. He forced his chest out, adjusted horn-rimmed glasses, then said, "That Goddamned little sonofabitch, Little Willie-imagine him, that little bastard, questioning my jurisdiction over fixing utility rates! Harumph!"
"I know all about it," said Kiev, still immobile. "We've discussed it."
"All that trouble over nothing!" Caesar grumbled.
"Nothing! Nothing!" Kiev roared suddenly, "Since when do you call fifty thousand dollars nothing? Listen to me, Caesar. If you know what's good for you, you'll award that gas company rate increase to them tomorrow, without delay. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes!" he cried. "That's in the bag. I already pledged it and I will deliver! Besides," he chuckled, "I've already denied Little Willie's motion to appeal. Sally just finished sending it to the court clerk."
Kiev's bland face twisted into a red mask. "You idiot! You did what?" he yelled, "Isn't that taking an unnecessary risk? Suppose he finds out you've handed down that decision before the hearing was even held?"
Caesar struggled to gain the offensive. "You handle your business and just leave my court and my bench to me."
"Your bench and your court are my business," Kiev replied bluntly. "Don't you forget it, either!" He watched the judge slink to his chair. Then he asked, "What did Mullens have to tell you about his talk with Little Willie?"
Caesar began to breathe easier. "Moon told me that the dirty little sonofabitch refused five grand!"
Kiev displayed a knowing smile. "So he is an idealist, eh? "We have other ways to deal with patriotic American lawyers. One way or another, every man has his price." Kiev was lost in thought for awhile. Suddenly he jerked a finger at Caesar. "Tomorrow, when they are before your bench, you will announce that you have requested the Utilities Commission to review the rate increase petition. You will then ask them for a ruling."
The judge was incredulous. "Don't tell me!" he laughed, "You now control the Utilities Commission too?" He laughed again.
"Shut up." Kiev was annoyed. He displayed a sour expression.-"Yes, we do control the commission now. But from now on, you're going to wet nurse Willard Massey. If he does a good job there and keeps sober, I'll see to it that our man in the White House shooes him into a seat on the FCC."
A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth. "The insurance commissioner last week!" he cried, laughingly, "the circuit court, the legislature, the highway commission, three-four unions, the athletic commission and now the Utilities Commission!" He was openly exuberant and said nothing more when Kiev stopped him with an icy glare.
"You know something, Georgie?" he said harshly, watching the judge's frightened look, "You worry me sometimes, because you run off at the mouth too much. This is not good. You had better watch your step, Georgie."
Kiev smirked. "Now how about sending that little sex-pot of a secretary in here? I've got a yen for some of that right now."
The judge pressed the buzzer. "Sally, come in, won't you? Lock the front door, first. And you can forget your notebook."
CHAPTER FOUR
The door opened and Sally came into the room; the whisper of her skirts and the woman smell of her filling Kiev's heated eyes with ideas. The girl's long blonde tresses swept down over her shoulders and she tossed them as she stood there waiting for the judge's instructions, one hip thrown forward, breasts tapering up and out into pointed cones.
"I said I wanted to see more of you," Kiev leered, "so now you can take off all your clothes and show me what I want to see."
Sally looked to the judge. When she saw him nod, she flashed on her best smile and began doing a tiny dance while unbuttoning her blouse. Slowly, she peeled it back off her shoulders, held it out between a thumb and forefinger and dropped in on the desk before Kiev, who was nodding approvingly. Sally pirouetted gracefully and unbuttoned her skirt. It slid to the floor and spread at her feet as though liquefied. She stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes as she did so and gyrating her hips, moved to the window to stand beside the drapes, her steady gaze never for an instant leaving the lawyer's. Then she began rolling down the arm straps, peeling it down to her thrusting breasts. She disappeared in the folds of the drapes and then reappeared, the bra slipping down, the slip sliding down over her graceful curves.
Startingly, suddenly, her breasts, coral tipped and erect, sprang out. She gyrated her shoulders as the remaining undergarments slid down over her swelling hips and came to rest in a circle of pink silk around her ankles.
"Come here, girlie," Kiev's voice was thickly pleasant. "Come here to Ziggy." Kiev's arm snaked around her waist as soon as she was close. "How long've you been wasting yourself on this old bench toad?" he rasped.
She did not resist as he pulled her nude body onto his lap and began nuzzling her breasts. She laughed and enjoyed it. Then Kiev's hands traced the contours of her thighs and explored her buttocks and stomach.
Caesar hurried out of the office, taking care to close the door silently behind him.
An hour later the door opened and Kiev came into the reception room. He flopped heavily across the sofa and scowled at the judge. The jurist did not look at Ziggy. He watched, however, out of the corner of an eye, pleased, smug, and satisfied that at last he had managed to win Ziggy's favor by supplying him with his obliging secretary's services of the flesh.
When he could stand the silence no longer, he chuckled, "Sally's quite a piece, eh, Ziggy?" He sat waiting for an answer that did not come.
Once again, Ziggy was all business. The interlude with the girl was over and done with. "George," Kiev said in a sourly-thick voice. "Get her the hell out of there."
The judge left the room and hurried into his private office. The girl, laying on the carpet where she'd been left, legs and arms outspread, her face haggard, looked at the judge expectantly. "Did I please him?" Her voice was a hushed whisper.
"Sure, oh, absolutely, honey!"
"We've got some important business to discuss. Get dressed and go home as fast as you can."
Out of the corner of an eye she watched the judge turn his back to her, remove his wallet and take a bill out. Then she saw him go to her purse, open it and put it-inside. She dressed, hopping into her shoes and smoothing down her skirt, went to him and smiled. He held her, then unlocked the door and let her out. She glanced at him silently and hurried down the hall, tightly clutching her handbag.
The judge hurried into the outer office and sat behind the receptionist's desk. Kiev had not stirred on the leather sofa.
Finally, the mouth moved. "At exactly six-fifteen, five minutes from now," Kiev's voice rumbled, "there will be a knock at the door. You will answer it. It will be John of Local 212."
"Another retainer?"
"Yes," Ziggy surprised the judge by answering. "When his electrician's union starts kicking their ten grand a year into the kitty, we'll be even closer to making our quota!"
Caesar was pleased. He lit a cigarette and grinned. "We got it made, now!"
"Shut your fat mouth, Georgie! You're running off too much again." Ziggy was brutally insulting. He had made no effort to soften his remark. "Maybe with all that wind you have, you should write a book. Yes...." he mused, "that would be a good idea. You could call it the Cry of the Vigilantes. Damnit, that's a good idea. Georgie boy, that's what you'll do." Kiev stopped talking and began to laugh.
"That's wonderful, Ziggy. Just wonderful." The knock at the door, announcing the arrival of the man from the Union gave him an excuse to change the subject.
He entered without shaking hands. Ziggy remained prone on the sofa. He opened his eyes and contemplated the newcomer. "John, Judge Caesar will personally handle all of your legal problems. Give him the envelope."
John handed over an envelope which Caesar opened.
Ziggy watched the union official. "Anything on your mind now?"
John nodded. "Yes," he said rather stiffly. "One of our members is up on a non-support charge. They're holding him now."
"Get his name, George, then take care of it." He winked at the official. It'll be taken care of without publicity."
The grinning judge shook hands with the union official who turned and left without a word.
"Georgie!" Ziggy snapped, getting up. "Let me give you a word of advice. No publicity. Is that clear? Run off at the mouth just once and I'll see that you follow Judge Curtis, get me?"
The judge looked forlorn for a moment, but regained his composure. A false smile was on his lips, but fear was veiled in his eyes. "Don't worry. You can count on me."
CHAPTER FIVE
His honor, George P. Caesar waited until the room was brought to order by the bailiff before he sharply rapped the gavel. Boldly, his gaze never for an instant wavering from Will who was standing before the bench, he announced his verdict: "Motion denied."
The words had been intoned sharply, calculated for traumatic effect. Caesar knew even as he watched Will's face, that there would not come the slightest hint of anger or trace of chagrin from the defeated attorney.
The little attorney merely smiled at the judge and quietly thanked him for the decision. Without question, Will accepted, or, at least appeared to have accepted the judge's ruling. He took the signed decree the judge shoved at him and politely, almost casually, left the courtroom, his associates following.
Mullens walked behind the bench and handed Caesar several documents. Both men whispered quietly for a time and then Caesar rapped his gavel and recessed the court. Mullens had told him the union man was waiting for him in his chambers.
The judge dismissed the guard from his chambers telling him it was all right to wait outside in the anteroom and then confronted the prisoner with cynicism. Caesar was silent for a long while, trying to determine whether or not the prisoner had been briefed and could be depended upon to make good his escape. After a time, he finally turned to face him. "Have you enough money?"
The man nodded, grinning.
Caesar jerked his thumb in the direction of the side door which led to the corridor outside. "I'll give you five minutes to get the hell out of here. You know I'll have to tell them you "escaped" don't you?"
The man nodded, "Mr. Mullens told me what to do," he grinned and waited for further instructions. "Good," the judge said. "Now, go on-get!"
He waited for a good ten minutes before he went to the other chamber door and summoned the guard. "He bolted! Through my other office door," he shouted, followed the guard into his chambers, watched the uniformed man draw his pistol as he ran down the corridor to the fire escape. As he watched the guard futilely give chase, Caesar smiled inwardly with the knowledge that he had nothing to worry about even if they did catch the prisoner. It would go without saying that a prisoner's word could not be taken against that of a reputable judge-even if he did talk-he had nothing whatsoever to fear!
Although it was time to reconvene the court, Caesar paused to greet Rudy Whiteman who stopped him in the corridor. "Got a surprise for you, George," he smiled, handing the robed jurist a ringlet containing four new keys.
"Just wait'll you see it, George," laughed Rudy, playfully jostling him.
"Wait a minute!" I forgot to take off this stupid thing." He removed his black robes carelessly and balled them up under his arm when the elevator arrived at their floor.
"You haven't seen anything like it!" laughed Rudy as they went outside in the street. "There it is!" he indicated a new, gleaming white Jaguar, its chrome plating glinting in the sunlight. "She's all yours!"
The judge saw his crumpled robes and remembered he had forgotten to adjourn the court. Rudy and he laughed over this. "Sure, George," he said, "I'll call them and instruct them to dismiss the court." He was still laughing when he returned from the phone and told the judge, "They were wondering what happened to you!"
"I don't want you to thank us for this gift, or be feeling that you are obliged in anyway, George," Rudy told him, wincing at the screeching of tires as the judge clashed the gears and whipped the car around a corner to beat a traffic light.
Laughing, he turned to glance at Rudy. "I know I earned this," he said coldly, the laugh dying in his throat. "After all, you wouldn't have had a chance to win that rate increase if I had not stepped in and awarded it to you!"
Rudy said nothing, just sat there, watching the traffic, listlessly agreeing with Caesar. He was unnerved by the way the judge drove.
"That little bastard, little Willie!" Caesar cursed vehemently, "always the square needle in my round ass!"
"You referring to that Peccocini case?"
"Yas," Caesar growled, gunning the engine. "You know damn well what case I meant. Threw it out of court this morning."
"I know." Rudy said, "think he'll appeal?"
"I know he will. He always appeals my decisions. It's the laughing stock of the higher court." Caesar's tone was poignant and he bared his teeth in anger.
"Throw him a curve, then," Rudy suggested idly. "Go tell Willard Massey on the Utilities Commission what to do and then tell the Supreme Court that it's up to the commission."
"That is an idea," the judge mused, thinking of the idea of taking a trip out of town for a few days up to the state capitol. "But, I'm way ahead of you." With the new sports car and his secretary along to keep him company, the trip wouldn't be so hard to take after all. "In fact," he added, thinking aloud, "that is an excellent idea, Rudy. For a change, the publicity will be kept away from my bench. Might even make a big man out of Massey too."
"Are you going back to the courthouse, Judge?"
"Yes. Where do you want me to drop you?"
"At the parking lot. That will be fine-and more convenient for you."
The traffic couldn't move swiftly enough for the judge as he raced toward his chambers after dropping off A. Rudolph Whiteman.
There were the excuses to be made to his wife and instructions to be sent to the court clerk. And, of course, he had to inform his secretary that he was taking her along-the beautiful secretary who was to share his bed. The urgency of seeing Willard Massey was in his mind too, but not quite so intently as was his desire to drive his new little car.
"You didn't give me a chance to get any of my nice things together, George." Sally was saying as they finally cleared the city and hurtled along the highway.
CHAPTER SIX
Three hours later Sally sat there on the edge of her seat, biting her nails, her eyes transfixed, watching the traffic and saying nothing. The judge drove into a motel that boasted of a large dining room, coffee shop, swimming pool and cocktail lounge. She rather relished the idea of a stay in that fashionable place and regretted not having brought her swim suit along.
"Are you ever a driver, Georgie!" she told him after they had stopped. She watched him pick up some things which had spilled from her purse and then took them from him. "Now, for a nice shower and a good rest," she added, smiling, trying to tell herself that the drive was over and they were there safe and sound by some miracle. The girl liked fast driving, but the judge was certainly no mere fast driver-he was a speed-demon the likes of which she had never before met-or rather, had ridden beside.
The judge was not choosy when it came to their choice of rooms; he left that up to chance and moved into the first suite they were shown and tipped the bellboy a dollar and told him that he would bring up the luggage himself later. It had just occurred to Caesar that he had forgotten to bring a bag.
The sound of the shower splashing titilated his senses and he hurried across the carpeted bedroom to the bathroom door. There, he opened it wide and crept unseen into the bath where he immediately began to gather up. her things. She was in the shower and had not suspected what he was up to.
For the first time that day, Caesar thought of his secretary as a person, yet, in the ordinary sense she was somewhat of a plaything, still quite devoid of personality. She was a body, a woman's figure to be used and to be his source of pleasure. Stealthily, he returned to the bedroom with her things and hid them in the bottom dresser drawer. Laughing to himself, he removed the rest of his clothing and took the strap out of his trousers which had been tossed carelessly across a chair.
"Oh, Georgie!" she cried, her tone pretending mild consternation. "Give me my things ... Please, Georgie."
"Come and get them," he laughed.
"I don't dare-I'm naked."
"Well, put a towel around yourself then."
"P-please, Georgie," she begged for her clothing, although she knew he would not give it to her.
"If you're a good girl," he smirked, "I'll let you have them."
She approached boldly, and stood there at the foot of the bed, smiling down at him. Then, with a sudden jerk, she seized the bedsheet covering him and yanked it off his body and running back, letting the towel drop and then covering herself with the sheet, she laughed and laughed, pointing a finger of derision at him. It was the first time she had ever seen him entirely naked and his roly-poly figure with its vast expanse of pink hairless flesh reminded her of a cupie-doll she had once owned.
Without asking her why she was laughing, Caesar pushed himself to the side of the bed and rolled to his feet. Sally found herself thinking that here was one man whom clothes did a lot for! She giggled, never realizing that he was that silly looking without clothes.
George P. Caesar, grinning, quite naturally assumed that the girl was laughing merely because she had jerked the sheet off him. It never dawned on him that he was anything but manly in appearance and as he arose from the bed, he picked up his belt and doubled it into a whip-loop, then cracking it against a palm, testing the sting of it slapping his flesh, he went toward her.
"Georgie-Georgieeeeee!" she cried, backing away, "what are you going to do with that belt?" Her eyes were opened wide and she began to tremble.
His lips drawn back in a toothy smile, Caesar stalked the girl, all the while cracking the belt against his hand. "I told you I played different," he leered, his face flushed, his temples pounding with excitement as he watched the girl back away from him and lose her grip on the sheet covering her. "Corn-mere, Sally. Commere," he beckoned. "I won't hurt you. You'll love it."
"No!" She backed against the bed. He continued to menace her and she leapt nude upon the bed.
She was not quick enough. Caesar lunged forward, diving, tackling her easily about the legs and pulled her down upon the bed under his sheer weight. They struggled for a time, rolling over and over and yet remaining atop the bed. The judge, his breath coming short in undignified gasps, panted hard, more from the exertion than from the excitement of struggling with a nude young girl.
W hen she finally ceased to struggle, he relaxed his grip and then kissed her. The girl began to cry and then she knew it was futile and useless to struggle or try to get away. He was worse than Ziggy.
Caesar, his face livid, moved away from the bed and raised the strap. The girl, her face buried in the pillows sobbed her heart out as the sting of the belt cut into her buttocks again and again. Once, she managed to turn and scream at him, "George, you're a dirty lousy bastard!"
And Caesar, upon hearing her curse, grew more and more violent, with the frenzied cracking of his belt flailing the air and biting into her flesh, the paroxysm of emotion and the intoxication of his perverted passions erupted-spurting, fermenting into exhaustion that crashed giddily to the floor beside the dropped belt. Spent, his body jerking spasmodically, Caesar lay on the floor beside the bed and fainted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laughing quietly, Virgie endearingly held fast to Will's arm at the dinner table and enjoyed the recount of events describing his defeat before Caesar that morning. Although the fact that he had lost the decision was not in itself amusing, the manner in which Will described what had happened was extremely funny.
Will's brother, John, sitting opposite, his chin cupped in one hand, listened attentively, as did Nan, his wife. At the head of the table, the young mens' father, Grover M. Little, beamed a grave smile at his wife who, although busily engaged with the task of carving a roast, could not bring herself to show even the very slightest degree of amusement.
Will had been building up to the punch-line. When he was certain he held everyone's rapt attention, he paused momentarily to dangle them in suspense; took a sip of water and pressed Virgie's hand. "When Caesar handed the decree over the bench," he said prosaically, "I noticed that he had it entered in the court records a week before the hearing. The document had been dated then-a week before the case even came to trial!"
John was astounded. He dropped his hand and accidentally slapped a plate. Ignoring the clatter, he nodded at his father, "Dad, how in the devil is that possible? I'm no lawyer, but even I would know that a judge shouldn't do a thing like that!"
Sagely, Grover Little put his hand to his face. "It certainly does seem that a judge would know better." He shrugged, looked at Will. "I wonder what he's really up to?"
"Never mind," interjected Will with a smile. "That helps my cause immensely! With a document like that the Supreme Court must throw that decision out!"
"No doubt about it, William. But do you suppose Caesar wants that to happen?"
"If he does, I haven't the slightest idea why."
"Perhaps it's some sort of maneuver to lift the gas company rate injuction."
"But, Dad!" interrupted John, "that isn't apparent-it's evident! With a clever bird like Rudy Whiteman representing the gas company interests, you can bet your bottom dollar that he has something up his sleeve. Everybody knows Whiteman and Caesar are old buddies."
A week before, Virgie had been with Will's mother, Mercy, attending one of the community center's afternoon teas. Virgie had been so pleased then, to have one of the more prominent matrons stop at their table and introduce herself and relate how fine and brilliant Mr. Little, the stock broker was, and how proud she was to meet his wife and his prospective daughter-in-law and how very, very fortunate any young lady might be in marrying into the family of Little!
Despite what she told herself, Virgie still was over-concerned about Will's well-being. What she could not accept was his idealistic adherence to a principle. Like that impossible total preoccupation of his with the Peccocini's suit against the gas company. Will's explanation did not convince her that he was right in his fight. So what, she told herself, what if every gas consumer did have to fork over an extra fifty cents a month? Was that such a crime?
Perhaps the company was justified in seeking a higher rate. After all, wasn't everything more costly these days?
Observant of every detail, every gesture, every mannerism of Will's, Virgie was quick to sense that something was troubling him. His careful avoidance of any mention whatsoever of the mysterious disappearance of the Curtis'-the way he had seemed to tighten up completely ever since the day they drove back from their dinner with Ken and Susan Curtis. Will knew more than he admitted and she was afraid for him. Somehow she was apprehensive, actually frightened. Was Will getting deeper and deeper into a secret well of intrigue that he could not avoid?
Startled at her thoughts, Virgie's left hand convulsively squeezed the napkin in her lap and her fork dropped with a loud noise to the plate just as they heard the telephone ring. Somehow, even that sounded like an alarm bell and she knew, even before John had picked up the phone, that it was for Will. John stood there, holding the receiver, waiting for Will who excused himself from the table. Virgie resumed picking at her food, her gaze seemingly intent upon the plate, her ears alert, knowing that the call promised to spoil her evening with Will.
Will returned to the table and stood behind Virgie. "The call was from Mrs. Peccocini. Her husband was just rushed to the hospital and she asked me to meet her there. You don't mind, do you honey?"
Unable to contain her vexation, she put her napkin beside her plate and turned to him, the smile on her face a brave attempt to hide her feelings. "I'll go with you, Will," she told him, glancing quickly from face to face begging their permission to leave. No objection was evident. Virgie hurried from the table and took his arm. There was nothing Will could do and she saw he realized that he would hurt her if he objected.
They met Mrs. Peccocini in the corridor outside the emergency room. Disheveled, wearing a light blue coat which had been hastily thrown over a house-dress, she scurried across the room to greet them, her drawn face pinched and ashen, blurting hysterically that she had found him on the bedroom rug after hearing his body thud to the floor. She told Will that Mr. Peccocini had had some visitors. Two men whom she did not know and to whom she was not introduced. She had been in the pantry when when she had heard the noise of his body falling on the second floor above her. Not having seen the two men leave the house, she hurried upstairs through the back staircase and found him there, moaning, in a heap on the floor, his body twisted and in convulsions. While she was frantically trying to call the doctor, she had heard a car drive away. The maid, who had been in the pantry helping her, came into the bedroom and started screaming-she thought he had been murdered. That was why she called Will. The maid's remark started her to thinking ... She had no one else to turn to and it was all so very terrible and frightening. Her sister was away and was expected tomorrow. She hoped Mr. Little didn't mind being called to the hospital at that hour, but she did feel he was a friend.
Will went into the emergency room and asked a nurse if he might speak with the doctor attending the patient. From where he stood, he could see Mr. Peccocini through the round window in the inner door. He was strapped to a table and what Will assumed to be a stomach pump was in operation. A young intern came out and nodded at Will, his face gravely serious.
"We're not sure yet," he told Will, in answer to his question, "but he has all the symptoms of poisoning."
"Is there any hope?" Will asked.
The intern shook his head. "We're doing all we can."
Will returned to the waiting room and looked at Mrs. Peccocini who was beginning to collapse emotionally.
He entered one of the phone booths at the opposite end of the waiting room.
As Will emerged from the phone booth, the doctor appeared, approaching them from the emergency room, removing the. stethoscope from around his neck. He went right to Mrs. Peccocini and knelt on one knee, his hands gently raising the woman's face.
The doctor and two nurses helped the grief-stricken woman into a wheel chair and hurried her toward the elevators.
Waiting at the door, the doctor motioned to Will and Virgie who walked up. He took them aside and spoke in a serious voice, "We couldn't save him. I think it would be best if we keep his wife here until morning. She's in shock. We'll tell her after she settles down."
Will took Virgie's arm and together, they left the hospital.
The sudden death of Will's client had made a visible impression upon Virgie. She moved close and put her arm around his.
"Darling," she asked, "he didn't die of natural causes, did he?"
Will looked at her as if he had suddenly discovered she was there. "No, Virgie, he did not. He was poisoned!"
A gasp escaped from her lips and she clapped a hand to her mouth. Withdrawing her arm cautiously, she sat upright. "Will, what is going on? Why don't you tell me?!"
He looked at her and said nothing; just sat there and stared at her dumbly.
"Why so many dark and mysterious secrets? Why have you been acting so funny these past few weeks? Ever since we've come back from the Curtis'-"
Will interrupted suddenly by grabbing her head and kissing her gently on the lips. He smiled devotedly, patting her hands. "Darling, you do have a right to know what's going on and I will tell you. But ... you must trust me and let me tell you in my own time! Please?" His voice was soft, yet purposeful and he knew from studying the expression in her eyes that she was not to be put off as easy as that. He realized that he had to explain more to her and he paused, saw that she was about to press him again so he beat her to it. "I just called in a private detective. He's on his way now to the Peccocini's home to look for some clues to what happened. All I know about Mr. Peccocini is that he came into my office some months ago and asked me to fight that gas company rate thing. He had received several phoned threats and Mrs. Peccocini was alarmed about them and when I-along with his wife-tried to persuade him to call in the police, he laughed it off and that was that. I haven't the slightest idea of what it was all about and even though he never gave me the slightest inkling of what the threats were-I gathered-I assumed-they were because of his lawsuit. However, he is-was-one of those persons who go through life believing nothing could ever happen to them and thusly refused to accept any help whatsoever."
Will noted that his explanation abated her anxiety somewhat, yet he could see that she was still dissatisfied with his account of things. There were too many other things left unanswered and he could even feel her demanding silence insisting that he tell her everything!
"What did Ken Curtis have to tell you that night?" she said finally, the question gushing forth as if the flood gates to the river of curiosity in her mind had suddenly been thrown open.
She was too discerning and too alert to be fooled and Will realized he had to give her an answer. The longer he put it off, the worse he would make it for himself. At last, he decided to answer. "He told me of a plot to overthrow the American Government! It was to have involved him. Now that you know," he said, drawing away, looking at her harshly, "does it make you feel any better?" He tried to become antagonistic in order to quell her curiosity.
"I went to the FBI and told them everything I knew about the Curtis case as soon as I found out what happened to the judge," he admitted in a gush of revelation. "So you see, there is nothing to worry about-they'll catch the murderers or kidnappers or whatever they were and maybe they might find Ken and Sue safe and alive. "Virgie?"
"Yes," her eyes opened, contemplated him. "Thank you for coming with me-and, forgive me?"
"Forgive you for what, darling?"
"For ruining your evening."
"Oh, my precious darling!" she said, "You're so wonderful!"
CHAPTER NINE
"Strychnine poisoning isn't a natural cause of death," the detective, Ray Bell was telling them. "After you called me last night, Will, I hopped right over there and went through the house. Found nothing except this." He produced a small pillbox that contained some bits of broken glass. "I vacuumed this out of the rug in the bedroom where Mr. Peccocini had been found. Had the stuff analyzed-it contained strychnine all right."
Dennis and Buddy looked at Will. They waited for him to say something, and could see from the angry expression on his face that he would have little to say.
"Ray," he asked finally, "How long were you at the Peccocini house?"
"Let's see-we arrived shortly after eight-left around midnight."
"What time did the police show up?"
"What police?" he looked at Will queerly and frowned.
"You mean to say that the police never arrived to investigate?" Will was astounded and he sat there, hunched over his desk, waiting for the answer.
"Hell, no cops showed up while I was there!" He frowned at Will, added, "did you call them?"
Will nodded. "No. But isn't it the usual routine for a hospital to report such deaths to the police? I merely assumed they were automatically called in."
"Hmmm. I wonder why they didn't show up," the detective mused.
"I'd like to know that too," Will said, reaching for the phone. He dialed and then swung back in his chair, "Judge Gibson, please. William Little calling. Hello, judge. Will Little here."
He swung his feet down with a thud to the floor and sat upright. "Say that again, slowly!"
The others in the room were motionless, their intent gaze fixed on Will.
"You say, you've disbarred Sigmund Kiev?"
After a long interval, Will said, "Of course, I'm right with you, Judge! Any attorney," he repeated the judge's remarks to let the others know what was being said, "any attorney who would invoke the fifth amendment when questioned about his political affiliations." Will shifted his position and interrupted, "No, Judge. I can't say that I'd agree there-even an attorney has his constitutional rights-even an attorney like Kiev. Sure I heard you. But, they'll reverse you. Mark my words they will!" He paused to listen for awhile. "Oh, I see. You had him before you on a show cause order and when you asked him to show cause why he should not be disbarred because of his affiliations, he then refused to answer. In other words you trapped him. You old fox! Judge," he said, his tone of voice gravely urgent, "do you have any idea why the police were not called in to investigate my client's sudden death? Yes, Peccocini. You read about it in this mornings' papers? Uh huh. Yes, they did say it was heart failure-but, they failed to add that it was heart failure due to poisoning!" Despite the distance they wene from the receiver, the others could hear the judge's excited tone.
"Good," Will continued. "I'd appreciate that very much. The State's Attorney will have his hands full with this one soon enough! Yes, I'll see you later.
Thanks. Keep me posted." Will slowly hung up and slowly shook his head. "How about that?"
He suddenly sprang into motion. "Ray," he said, addressing the detective. "I'll get in touch with you later. Hang on to that evidence and write up an affidavited report. And have it documented!" He turned to Buddy and Dennis and said, "come on, we've got places to go."
They drove until they had reached the Peccocini door. Dennis and Buddy knew they were going to see the widow, but they could only dare guess at Will's purpose. Neither man took it upon himself to question why they were there. Dennis and Buddy in their long association with Will had bred a quality of deep-rooted respect for him. He would tell them what he had in his mind presently, and they knew he would!
The woman who answered their ring was the skinny counterpart of her elder sister.
"I'm Mrs. Peccocini's attorney, William Little," he introduced himself. "You must be her sister," he said, "I could never mistake the family resemblance. I know this is a bad time to come calling-but, I assure you it is of the utmost importance!"
"Of course," she said, admitting them into the living room. Will approached Mrs. Peccocini who sat in a wing chair. Dennis and Buddy followed him. Will introduced them to the widow who responded with an invitation to sit down.
"I just came home from the hospital a little while ago," she told them.
Will acknowledged the grateful smile with a nod and added, "I must confess that we came here to see you on other business-and certainly would not have troubled you if it could keep."
"That's all right, because I would like to have other things to keep my mind from-from thinking." The strength in her voice weakened and she chokingly sobbed, then caught hold of herself. "What is it?"
Will glanced at his associates quickly and then said, "First, I want your permission to appeal the gas company suit. I am sure we are doing the right thing and we must file the appeal at once!"
"Gladly," she said,, adding, "it was what he would have wanted."
"I'm sure of that."
Searching for the right words he said, "Have the doctors told you what the-cause of death was?"
His direct question hit her like a hammer blow. "Yes," she said finally. "The doctor said it was heart failure."
Stunned, Will could not find a thing to say. He knew he could not relate the true version of her husband's death. "Where did you have his body sent?" Will's voice strained to be gentle.
"I didn't send his body-the doctor came in this morning and told me that he had been taken to Scanlon's Funeral Home. The doctor said they have a nice reputation."
"Who selected that funeral home?"
"Why, I don't know. The doctor said-"
Will felt Dennis and Buddy looking at him and he glanced at them, the slight trace of a frown on his brow. "Didn't you think," he interrupted, "Mrs. Peccocini, that that was unusual?"
"No, I thought the doctor was being very kind-making the arrangements for me-there was no one else." Then she added, "he will be buried day after tomorrow."
In the car, on the way to the funeral home, Dennis could not refrain from asking, "Will, how do you explain away the poisoning? The intern, you said, told you last night that Peccocini was poisoned."
"If this means what I think it means ... I'll bet we're going to be in for another surprise at this funeral parlor."
The three men entered the funeral establishment and were greeted by a grim attendant. When they asked to view Mr. Peccocini's remains, he ushered them into an elaborately furnished reception room.
Nearly five minutes ticked by on a huge clock in the corner before a man with the heavy battered features of an ex-prizefighter entered the room. Extending his hand, he introduced himself in a surprisingly soft effeminate voice, "I'm Mr. Scanlon. May I be of assistance, gentlemen?"
From his seat, Will nodded and ignored the man's outstretched hand. "We came to view Mr. Peccocini's remains."
There was no visible change of expression on the funeral director's face as he stood there, watching them. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but that is quite impossible."
"How's that?!" snapped Will belligerently. "You do have his body, haven't you?"
"Yes. But, you are too late. He has been cremated."
Startled, Will arose quickly. He scowled, asking, "by who's authority was that carried out?"
"Why," he sputtered, "by Mrs. Peccocini, of course. She visited our establishment early this morning, viewed the remains and left the instructions. I might add too, that she asked us to carry them out immediately. She said they were-it was," he corrected himself nervously, "his last dying wish."
Dennis, his mouth open, stared at Will and then looked at the man. "What time was she here?" he asked.
"Early. Early this morning. It must have been around eight.
"Have you ever seen Mrs. Peccocini before?" Will asked stonily, his question asked in a tone that was patently resigned because he knew in advance what the reply would be.
The man shook his head in the negative.
"Do you always carry out such instructions when you know full well that the person giving the orders may very well not be from a person authorized to do so?"
If the funeral director was feigning anger, he did a good job of it. "How dare you!"
Will dipped his head and signalled Dennis and Buddy to listen. He looked at the undertaker. "Mrs.
Peccocini-for your information-was not released from the hospital this morning until after ten!" He waited, carefully studying the man's expression.
"Heavens!-" he exclaimed, his face now fully flushed. Will shrugged in disgust and nodded to his associates. "Let's go," he said with loathing.
CHAPTER TEN
Outside the funeral parlor, Will, Dennis and Buddy talked quietly among themselves. Despite the fact that they were aware of unseen eyes watching them, peering through the Venetian blinds, they stood their ground and discussed what to do next.
"That leaves us one other place to visit," Will was grimly saying, "all this mystery doesn't figure."
At the hospital they were told that the house doctor who had pronounced Mr. Peccocini dead was unavailable and had gone out of town suddenly. They did, however, manage to wheedle the information out of the nurse as to where he lived. "But, sir, it won't do you much good-he is away."
"You don't expect me to believe that," Will laughed. "An intern?" He laughed again. "Being called away!"
The young intern lived in a walk-up apartment not too far from the hospital. Will and Dennis went in to question him, leaving Buddy outside in the car. After repeated loud knocking at the apartment door, a young woman, finally answered. "My husband is sleeping," she told them wearily, "please go away." She assumed it was her husband they wanted. "Can't you come back another time?"
Apparently, the young intern heard their voices from the bedroom and he came into the room. His eyes were puffy with lack of sleep and he recognized Will at once and halted.
"Remember me, doctor?" asked Will, pushing himself into the room.
The intern nodded and did not offer them a chair. "What do you want?" he asked, all the while giving them the idea that he knew exactly why they were calling on him.
"All we want is just one answer," Will told him straightforwardly. "You remember me from last night-(that isn't a question-it's a statement) I simply want to know exactly what caused Mr. Peccocini's death."
Although he was visibly shaken, he said poignantly, "He died of a heart attack."
Will snapped, "why did you have that stomach pump on him and why did you tell me he died of poisoning?"
"I didn't say he died of poisoning. I said I thought he was poisoned. I made an erroneous diagnosis, that's all."
"Did you have the contents of his stomach analyzed?"
"What for? I realized my erroneous diagnosis and that was all there was to it."
The intern glared at them and then moved to the door, swinging it open for them. They went down the flight of stairs and onto the sidewalk, displeased with what they had not learned and yet, not at all surprised.
"These things happen everyday, Will," Dennis-told him as they got into the car.
"And Ziggy-Sigmund Kiev-doesn't come running out of apartment houses every day either!" shouted Buddy, interrupting. "I saw him slip out of the apartment just as you entered and went upstairs."
"You're mistaken!" Will exclaimed, "not Sigmund Kiev! The same guy Judge Gibson disbarred today?"
"Yup. Sure as you're sitting there. I'd know that, shiny bald head anywhere!"
Will sank back against the cushions. "This is incredible! Fantastic! Who would think, in this day and age-does it seem possible that they could actually murder someone and keep everyone hushed up about it?"
"We all can't be nuts," grinned Buddy. "I saw him. No mistake about that."
Will motioned to Buddy to get going. "It's almost as if one mastermind is behind this entire thing. Going to all that trouble just to stop a man from pressing a lawsuit doesn't seem reasonable, does it?"
"Will," said Dennis, "I know now this must tie-in with Caesar. After all, that pre-dated court ruling against you-the bribe attempt-the whole mess adds up to something. Suppose they realized the 'goof he made by pre-dating that decision and then had to have Peccocini killed to stop him from pressing it?" He cursed under his breath and added, "Now, maybe this is our chance to outguess them!"
"Maybe is right!" Will said bitterly. "When we file the appeal on the estate's behalf-with the Supreme Court-that's it!" Will exclaimed snapping his fingers. "Maybe they didn't want this to get to the high court. Maybe that's why they had him killed?" He thought a moment and his enthusiasm cooled. "No, that couldn't be it-they're afraid of something else-but why, why should they go to all that trouble? What are they afraid of exposing? Everyone knows that political graft-the dozens of fingers in the "pie"-the illegal way they awarded themselves that increase in rates-the bigwigs connected with this thing-the politicians who 'turned their backs' on the entire affair. But, why murder?"
"They are powerful," said Buddy. "More ruthless than we give them credit as being and if we aren't careful, there's liable to be more happening around thif town-we're just liable to find ourselves in the middle of something we just might wish we didn't get into."
"You talk like a damn fool!" said Will angrily. "Aren't we within our rights, filing an appeal? Since when do we have to be afraid to file a lawsuit? Thoy want you to think like that-can't you see that' Foi ten years I've been fighting that son-of-a-bitch, Caesu and this may be the first time I've really got the goods on him! Maybe he knows he committed a faux pas and is merely trying to scare us off before I really have him on the run! Can't you boys see that?" He snapped his mouth shut and and looked intently into both of their faces. "Well, can't you?!"
Dennis and Buddy nodded in agreement. They felt like utter fools and their faces showed it.
"The first steps to justice," Will shouted at them, "should be the courthouse steps!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Will sat in his father's brokerage office, waiting.
The room, although quite barren of adornment was different from Will's own office in that his father kept two rubber trees on display which he fondly boasted of to all visitors.
A quiet, close-mouthed man, his father rarely spoke much-except in small ways to be close to his sons-to remain close to them, always in a fatherly way. Will turned in his chair to see the other plant, the one which stood beside the door. Yes, his father was the sort of man who kept quiet all the time and made sense in his silence.
Suddenly getting up when he saw the plant, Will staggered weakly as if he had been clubbed with a bat. The urn had been toppled over, the dirt and the plant spilled onto the carpet. He approached it gingerly and dropped to one knee. It was obvious that the plant had been kicked over and then stepped upon. Frowning, Will examined it, could discern leather heel marks on the huge shiny leaves. He knew his father would not idly stand by and watch that happen. He treasured those plants too highly.
The door had opened and closed quietly before Will realized his father had entered. He appeared a trifle ruffled. "I'm glad you could come right over, Son," he told him, putting his arm fondly around Will's shoulders. "I see you noticed what's left of my plant, eh?"
Will nodded, fondled the fallen plant and righted it, then seeing his father's face for the first time, noticed a tiny trickle of blood at the edge of his mouth. "Dad! Your face! What happened?" He moved close to him and examined the bruise. "What the hell happened!"
"I had a visitor. Never saw him before. He said to tell you that you'd know why ... That's all he would tell me. Then he roughed me up when I tried to stop him from ruining my plants."
"Do you feel okay, Dad? Shall I call a doctor?"
"NO! You'll do nothing of the sort. I'm all right, I tell you. Just let me know-what are you mixed up in?"
"I'm not mixed up in anything, Dad," Will snapped. "Suppose I call the police!"
"Suppose you do nothing of the sort."
"Then, tell me who did this to you!"
"He was a big man, surly and bald-never bothered to say anything except that he was here to give me a message to give to you and that you would know what it meant-then, when he kicked over my plant, I tried to grab him-to make him stop trampling on it-and he hit me. That was all. Then he ran out."
"Did he say anything else, Dad? Anything at all?" Will's face was a frozen intent mask of ice. He probed his father's face, trying to determine if he was keeping anything else from him. Then he saw a faint glimmer of concealment. He was not telling him everything. "Please, Dad. You never kept anything from me before."
A smile softened the elder Little's face. "I'd rather not tell you-but, if you insist...."
"You're not making sense."
"I just think they were idle threats that-"
"Threats?!" Will interrupted. "Come on, Dad. Out with it! What kind of threats did they make?"
"If you insist on knowing. He threatened to put the 'pressure' on my business. And he seemed to know about several of my larger clients who just recently happened to quit me."
"How recent did you lose them?"
"Yesterday." He closed his mouth with a snap, as if forcing himself to cease talking.
Will felt there was more and he gently pressured his father by leaning forward in his chair and then saying, "Dad." The one word meant clearly: "you're still not telling me everything!"
His father shrugged and then added, "He even knew that two of my best customer's-men just quit. He said he knew why they quit. And, this was only the beginning."
"Do you know why they quit?"
"No. Frankly I don't. Both of them had been with me for years. I know what this case must be to you, son. And I want you to know that things like this just aren't done any more today. This was all supposed to have stopped happening back in the roaring twenties in the age of hoods and bootleggers and gangsters. No matter what happens, I want you to promise me you will continue just as if this had never happened. Don't worry about me-just continue to fight in your own way."
Will, squirming under his father's powerful grip at his shoulder, shook his head in a half-hearted attempt at refusal. "I can't do that, Dad. This whole affair reeks to high-heaven because I've been letting them get away with it. I have some power at my command too-and am sure I can fight back. Dad, they won't dare harm you in any way and threaten you again! I'll see to that!"
"You're not thinking of selling out to them?"
"Certainly not!"
"What then?"
"I'll get you a bodyguard! Ray Bell is a capable detective. Besides, you might enjoy that, a stock broker, so successful that he requires a bodyguard!" he laughed, making a thin joke of his suggestion that was certainly not a joke at all. "In addition, I'm getting in touch with the police. We're going to call their bluff. This is going to be reported!"
"No, I can't let you do that, Son. You're only going to make matters worse."
"Will you tell me why?" he turned on his father angrily. "Don't you see," he answered his own question. "That's just what they want. If we show them they have us scared, they'll bear down with more and more pressure. No! We go to the police and make this attempted intimidation public! To hell with them! When they see we don't scare easily, they wouldn't dare-no, they wouldn't dream of threatening us again!"
Will's father saw the wisdom of his son's counsel and he went back to the desk and sat down. "I suppose you're right. And, I gather that you don't intend to stop whatever you are doing."
Smiling profoundly, Will shook his head. "There's only one man behind this, as you know, Dad. His name is George P. Caesar. Knowing that louse for what he is, I am positively certain that he wouldn't try anything like this again. I know what I'm doing and what must be done."
"I'm proud of you, Will," he beamed, "You wouldn't be my son if you didn't have the gumption you've just shown me you have. I want you fight and fight and fight that louse until you lick him! And I want to help you do it. I don't care what the price is-even if I lose my business and all my clients in its entirety, it will be worth the price to see you destroy Caesar and his damn bench of injustice!"
Virgie, suddenly entering the room without knocking, surprised them. "Who's bench of injustice?" she laughed, "Hello, honey," she said, going to Will and kissing him on the cheek.
Virgie saw the upturned plant and glanced apprehensively at Will.
He gave her a glance that replied: "I'll explain to you later."
Virgie pecked her future father-in-law's cheek and rushed away, out of the office, towing Will after her by the wrist.
"That girl," Mr. Little said with a nod to his secretary who had brought him in the afternoon reports. It was a weak apology for the way she disrupted the office.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Virgie had waited until they got into the car before she asked him bluntly, "Will, what is going on?"
He turned to look at her as if he saw her for the first-and last time.
"Why are you looking at me like that, Will?" her voice was pleading and in her tone there was a narrow inflection of embarrassed fright. His gaze was so steady and so hard that she could not bear to meet it, so she looked down at her hands and realized that she was so tense that even her fingers were moist and she had been unconsciously wringing them. She shook her fingers loose from the grip of her thoughts and managed to glare at him boldly. "Stop it!"
Will blinked and looked away. "I'm sorry, honey. I was thinking about something else."
"After all," she had said, "I love you and you love me-if we hurry up and get married, what kind of a romantic courtship will we have to laugh over when we're old and gray? I want something wonderful and fine and good and thrilling to reminisce over with you, darling one. This is wonderful, the teasing of each other, the promise of a lifetime of love-together!"
Vividly, he retraced his thoughts of that moment and compared them with the way he felt now. He had not changed. He had come to love her more and more. And he knew he could not change. They meant too much to each other. Virgie was his and he was hers. It was truly remarkable how their ideas and dreams seemed to dovetail together. Was he really accomplishing anything? The power was on their side, and he was merely a little attorney called little Willie.
Could he really do anything?
"Will! Wake up," she teased. "Now, come on, tell me what happened today at Dad's."
He could not refuse her. She had moved close to him, snuggling close and listened to him tell her the entire order of events. She began to draw away when he reached the part about the threats which had been made to his father and reviewed the occurrences of the night before and the interview with the intern-of seeing Ziggy sneak out of the apartment house the day of his disbarment-everything. Virgie sat there, like a queen on a chessboard, woodenly stiff, yet attentive to his every word and betraying no emotion that would interrupt. When he had finished, she looked at him and took his hand in hers.
"Of course, darling, now you see how useless it is, and, you'll do the right thing."
He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, silly, that you'll give up and drop this idiotic fight you have with Judge Caesar."
"Do you really mean that? Is that what you want me to do?"
"Of course I mean it! Every word of it. Can't you see-this will only bring you more and more trouble. Besides, what have you to gain personally? You're hurting everyone around you-your parents-your associates-even me."
Will could not believe that Virgie was serious. He seized her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Darling, do you know what you're asking me? Do you actually know what you're saying?"
"Certainly I know what I said! But," she said, "I want you alive and healthy and successful."
Stiffly, he moved away from her. "You know I've been fighting this thing for more than ten years, don't you?" He paused, waited until she shook her head. "Well, even you should know that you can't expect me to quit now! Not now, especially in face of what's happened to Judge Curtis and Susan. Not now, in face of the death I caused."
"You caused?" she exclaimed. "Will, what are you saying? What death-whose death did you cause?"
"Why, Mr. Peccocini's, of course."
"Oh, Will, how can you blame yourself for that?"
"It is my fault. All I had to do was take that five thousand Mullens offered me, to sell Mr. Peccocini out, and he would be alive today."
She was exasperated and she cried! "Will! You-you haven't told me everything-this is all over my head-what did Mr. Peccocini's death have to do with Judge Ceasar? What did Ken and Sue's deaths have to do with Judge Caesar? I don't understand. I-I'm confused and all I can say is that you haven't been honest with me and if you want me-really and truly want me, Will, you'll stop this-this whatever you're doing and-either you think of your parents and me and stop this silly thing at once, before more people get hurt-or you can just forget me! I mean it!"
"Is that all you have to say?"
"It is."
"Well, it will have to be that way, then. I can't stop now. This thing is much more serious than you think-if you can't understand what I'm fighting and why-if you insist on interfering and demanding that I give up-especially now-now when at last I have them on the run...."
"But," she interrupted. "Why, you, Will? Why you?" There were tears in her eyes and she looked at him despairingly.
"Someone has to do it, Virgie. As I said before, someone has to collect the dues."
"Then," she choked on a sob that died in her throat, "Then you'll just have to do it without me!" She flung the door open and slammed it after her. "Goodbye!"
For a long while, he stared after her, a faint trace of moisture glistening in his eyes.
Suddenly he felt utterly foolish. Was it worth all this?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Judge Caesar to give communists maximum penalty!" Dennis was reading the headlines to Will and Buddy.
Will shook his head in disgust and walked around the office. "What else does it say? I haven't got the stomach to read it," he said.
"Margaret Jordan," Dennis read aloud, "one of the alleged ring-leaders of the local communist conspiracy group attending a 'cell-meeting' which was raided early yesterday, invoked the fifth amendment seventeen times today in Judge Caesar's chambers during the preliminary hearing. Alleged communist, Margaret Jordan, is shown here with six others of her party before Judge Caesar who today denied them bond."
Dumbfounded, they listened in shocked rapture as Dennis went on. "The obese Margaret Jordan; dressed in an expensive street dress, steadfastly insisted that she was just a poor woman who was not doing anything against the law. She claimed she was not holding a cell-meeting in her apartment at 1170 North Main Road. She stated that, at the time the raiding party arrived, her poetry group had been reciting. Mrs. Jordan went on to say that they were surprised and stunned to see the group of deputies, led by our eminent State's Attorney, Wilbur Rice, come smashing into the apartment armed with sledge hammers and riot guns."
Breaking off in a fit of laughter, Dennis fell across a chair. "Just listen to the rest of this," he said, sitting down. "It'll kill you!"
"Judge Caesar," he continued to read, "in a prepared press release, had this to say: I will not rest until these communist traitors receive their just desserts. The fact that they openly admit that they met in secret to plot against our American Government-that they invoke the fifth amendment in an attempt to use our great American Constitution as an escape vessel should be enough for any red-blooded American-to rise up in arms! I, Judge George P. Caesar will champion your patriotic cause, oh, America! I shall commit them to the perdition of their martyrdom by sentencing them to the maximum penalty the law provides!"
Dennis broke off in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, joined by Buddy and then by Will. "All we need now is some music and this would be a prize-winning musical comedy!" Buddy roared. "And did you get (hat prepared statement bit?"
"Ohhhh, wait!" said Dennis, regaining his composure, trying to keep from laughing again. "The eminent Judge Caesar," he continued reading, "has been well known throughout the state as a tireless crusader for many worthy causes. He has been the chairman of the Crippled Children's Hospital, a director of the Scouts, and a well-known authority and speaker on many subjects, among which are poetry and literature."
"Well," Buddy moaned, "Never did I realize what a great man Caesar is!"
"Eminent jurist!"
Buddy and Will enjoyed their joke and continued to sit there watching Dennis go through the paper. "Wait a minute! Here's an item that should make Judge Gibson very, very happy!"
"Judge George P. Caesar," he read, "before hearing the infamous Jordan communist conspiracy case (see page one) today reinstated to the bar, attorney-at-law, Sigmund Kiev. Upon overruling Judge William Gibson's earlier disbarment action, Judge Caesar stated that a grievous error had been made and he was certain that Judge Gibson had not intentionally meant to do more than warn the 'over-zealous' attorney. Judge Caesar added that he believed the overworked Judge Gibson needed a well-earned rest and he would see that a special master would be appointed to relieve Judge Gibson of his enormous backlog of pending cases."
The three men sat there looking at each other as if they had been paralyzed. Will could see that they knew too the extent of Caesar's wild power. There was no telling how much he would get away with before he could be stopped.
Miss McKay's voice came through the intercom box interrupting his thoughts. "Mr. Little," she said, "there's a Mr. Jordan here to see you."
Will scratched his head. "Jordan, Jordan? Where'd I hear that name?"
Dennis remembered first and pointed to the front page picture, reminding Will. The light of recognition brightened his eyes and he nodded at Dennis, asking, "Could he be her husband?"
The two men shrugged and Will nicked the key. "Have him come in, Miss McKay."
Introducing themselves around, Will and his associates offered Mr. Samuel Jordan a chair. The balding, portly little man was shabbily dressed and spoke with a thick accent. "Mine wife," he told them immediately, "is being called a communist by Judge Caesar." He looked anxiously from face to face and when he saw the folded newspaper on Will's desk, a crimson flush drowned his fat cheeks in color. "You read this story in the newspapers, no?"
Will nodded. "What can we do for you, Mr. Jordan?"
"I would like for you to represent mine wife," he told them meekly.
"Mine lawyer, Mr. Shapiro, said you might be the only lawyer who could get mine wife off."
Will nodded recognition of the attorney's name, turned to the others and said, "Teddy Shapiro-in the bank building. Tort claims and collections." They nodded and realized why Mr. Jordan had been referred to them. The man's lawyer specialized in certain types of cases that required him to remain on friendly terms at all times with Judge Caesar.
He blinked, settled back in his chair and asked the man to tell them what he could.
"Veil, I'll tell you," he said, "Mine wife was once a secretary to the People's Peach Party-" he broke off chuckling and corrected himself, "I meant, the People's Peace Party. Dot's all there vas. to it. Mine wife worked from them before we was married and I made her quit when we got married twenty-six years ago. Dot vas all there vas to it. I haff a boy in the Army and annudder boy going to medical school to learn to be a doctor. I haff a dry cleaning business and mine wife does my bookkeeping. She ain't no communist und I sure as hell ain't no communist, though I only went to the third grade I am proud to be American citizen?"
The sincerity of Samuel Jordan impressed them and the three attorneys exchanged glances and listened attentively. "Veil, they come busting into mine apartment banging down the doors with great big hammers and locked up mine wife and the udder ladies of the p-po-pe-poetry club. When I wanted to get mine wife out of jail they said no, mine wife had to stay there until Judge Caesar let her out of jail. For why they keep mine wife there, Mr. Little? She ain't no communist. Ain't they supposed to have a trial first before they send mine wife to jail?"
Whenever Will smiled that way at a prospective client, Dennis and Buddy knew he had already accepted the case. "Don't you worry, Mr. Jordan. I think we may be able to help your wife. We've read the papers, and if certain things which we read there are true, then you may be assured that everything will be all right!" They then settled the business of the fee and Mr. Jordan left them.
Frowning, Dennis looked at Will. "What in hell is Caesar trying to do?"
"That's apparent," Will told him. "No doubt he's trying to drown out other things, like the gas company issue and so forth with these communist 'witch hunt' tactics."
Buddy, looping his leg over the arm of the chair, yawned and asked, "What about this Jordan thing? Do you think we'll have any trouble? Could be rough, you know."
"No trouble at all. Now that we think we know what Caesar is up to; now that we are sure this is just a publicity smear of sorts and of course, to suit his propaganda needs-I am confident we can win this thumbs-down in the high court if it will go that far." He grinned, then added, "Which I doubt."
They saw the wisdom of his words and they laughed expectantly, charged with the enthusiasm of knowing they were right and knowing-if the newspaper reports were true-that they had a good case.
"Actually," Will mused aloud, "it seems to me that Caesar crucified himself with that statement of his in the paper. Not only that, but according to the way I read, he convicted this woman and her poetry club without a fair and impartial trial or hearing. The whole thing certainly seems to be illegal. What do you think?"
"Will," Dennis said after a moment of thought. "I know you're right!" He grinned jubilantly, adding, "as soon as we can check the facts and the records and can talk to Mrs. Jordan, we can be in a better position to figure out how to win this."
Buddy shrugged. "That's good enough for me." And then he sat down.
"You may as well get up again," grinned Will. "We're going visiting. Do you have any more appointments for today?" he asked, putting on his jacket.
"No. I'm not expecting anyone else. How about you, Den?"
Dennis shook his head and together they left instructions with Miss McKay and Miss Butler.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At the women's detention home, the three attorneys introduced themselves to their new client. They were somewhat taken aback when they first met her, if she was worried about the charges against her, she did not show it.
Will was shockingly blunt. "You don't seem to be very concerned about this, Mrs. Jordan," he told her, watching her carefully, knowing that Dennis and Buddy were observing her too.
"What for should I worry?" she asked, her palms upturned. "I didn't do anything. I am not-and never have been a communist. So why should I worry?"
There was a pure ring of truth in her manner and there was a sincerity of purpose in her complacent confidence.
Dennis cut in. "What Mr. Little means, Mrs. Jordan," he explained, "is that serious charges have been brought against you and-innocent or guilty-you could be convicted by that judge. We know you didn't do anything. We're here to help you."
"Forget trying to understand, Mrs. Jordan," Will told her, trying a new tack. "Suppose you tell us in your own words what happened and just answer my questions. Okay?" He looked at her, chin on his chest, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. If Virgie could only see this woman-she would know that what he had to do, must be done because it was right!
Nodding, the woman told them word for word what her husband had related. "Und den, ven they took me into that judge's office, and those newspaper reporters was all crowding around and the others in there, oy vay," she broke off, holding her ears, "and those flashlight bulbs going pop-pop."
"Didn't you know what was going on?"
She shrugged. "The judge, he said the questions and I didn't know what to say. Oy, such a mishmash!"
"Well, can you tell us this, who told you to invoke the fifth amendment?" Will frowned when she looked at him dumbly and repeated, "The fifth amendment! Who told you to say that you refuse to answer?" When he saw that she still did not know what he was talking about, he rephrased his question. "Mrs. Jordan, did you refuse to answer any questions they asked you?"
"Oy, I said I didn't do nothing and I didn't know what they wanted from me and I couldn't answer dose questions because I didn't know what they wanted from me."
"Well, tell us this," Will said, pressing, "What did you keep on saying?"
"Same thing. Same thing," she threw her hands out and shrugged. "When they asked me those questions again and again, I said, same thing." She screwed up her mouth and looked up at the ceiling. "Mmmm," she reflected noisily, "come to think of it, a man asked me-he did say something about the fifth something mish-mash."
"Did you know what that was? Do you understand what the fifth amendment is?"
"Is it a crime-what is that-what do you mean?"
Will looked at the others with amused disgust.
"What did you say when he asked you that?"
"Oy vay, was I mixed up! Und dose flash bulbs and cameras and-you know what, even moving picture men was there!"
"Mrs. Jordan, did you ever work for the People's Peace Party?"
Her face brightened and she nodded with enthusiasm. "I was the recording secretary," she said proudly. "Wasn't that an honor?"
"Didn't you know that the People's Peace Party was listed as a subversive organization by the Attorney General?"
"Not ven I was secretary! We do good things, then. I belonged there for six months and when I married Sam, oy, that Sam! He made me quit and start having babies. He used to laugh and tell me ven I was going to bring home peaches from the party. Oy, that Sam, vat a joker!"
Returning to the car, Will told them, "Caesar really put his foot into a noose this time!" He turned to Buddy and grinned, "Well, Buddy, what have you to say now?"
"What's next on the agenda, Will?" Dennis asked as they drove away.
Yes, he told himself, if only Virgie could have been there at that interview with Mrs. Jordan. Although having had lost Virgie was a serious blow to him, Will still could not accept their separation as anything but temporary.
One or two weeks-perhaps longer, and all would be forgiven and forgotten. Just a little more time. He had to have more time. Why he felt the need to drive himself so ruthlessly, he did not understand.
There was something pressing him-impelling him-to fight with all the will-power he could muster.
"Why you, Will? Why, you," Virgie's words echoed and reechoed in his mind-he was constantly appalled by the disinterest, the utter apathy other attorneys displayed when they shrugged and shirked their calling-evading their duty to see justice done!
The inner awareness of his urge to fight Caesar had grown until it had achieved titanic proportions, driving him on and on mercilessly, almost without abandon, so that nothing else mattered except his craving to vanquish Caesar's bench of injustice.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Caesar was not leaning against the bar, he was propped against it. He was conducting himself in the manner befitting a patriotic American jurist! To some of the guests at Moon Mullens' houseparty, Caesar was another Oliver Wendell Holmes. It was an honor to attend the same party with him. There he was. Up close. The man of the hour. The judge who had his picture on the front pages of every newspaper in the country. The chief judge of the circuit court who could be the next governor.
Caesar, flushed, his senses reeling, spinning, tumbling, intoxicated by the attentions being showered upon him, rather than by the bourbon inside him, glared at his wife, Anne, who stood in a corner watching him. Anne had long since given up trying to reason with George when he had a glass of bourbon in his hand. She was careful to remain in the background, fearful of a scene. As long as he was "good" to her and gave her what she wanted, she had no cause for complaint. What George did with his own life, was his business and he had told her that so many times it had ceased to be an argument.
The second hour of the party began to prove too much for Caesar. He had had his fill of the limelight and the party guests ceased to crowd around him and laugh and gush and talk and listen. He thought of his little white Jaguar, parked outside, the top down, and he thought of his secretary, Sally, and her deliciously long legs. Fresh air. That was what he needed. Sure, he needed fresh air.
Tires spinning, a great cloud of dust remaining where he had parked the little white car, Caesar was gone.
"Victor's bar and gill-Victor's bar and gell-Vicoter's grill and bar, just ahead!" he yelled at himself. He aimed the little car in that direction and braced himself to hit the curb. The Jaguar thudded over the curbing neatly and he drove down the sidewalk and whipped around onto the cindered parking lot, spinning into a full 360-degree turning stop.
Without opening the door, he jumped over the seat and fell over the car. Then he managed to right himself and then staggered across the lot into the side entrance of the bar. "Hi yah, Tony!" he greeted the bartender, "gimme a double usual. Boy oh boy, do I feel good tonight!" Caesar stood there fumbling in his pockets, looking for change. "Gimme a dime. Gotta make a dame-'scuse-gotta make a call." He took the coin from the white jacketed Tony and went into the booth.
When he emerged from the phone booth, Caesar, drunk as he was, did notice how empty the tavern was. "Hey," he yelled, getting careless because he realized there was no one else there to hear him. "Where the hell are all your customers. Hey?"
Tony grinned, shrugged his shoulders and handed the judge his drink. "You were really getting rid of a lemon when you unloaded this joint on my boss," he laughed.
"Gimme, 'nother un." He looked around and squinted at the door. Then he peered around the empty room. "Where ish she? She shaid she'd be right over. Where ish she?"
"Give her time," Tony reassured him.
"Jush for that-jush for keeping me waiting, I won't whup her ass so good tonight. No sircccee!"
The door opened and Tony motioned Caesar to keep quiet. It was Sally, dressed in a full white dress, white shoes and a matching handbag. She laughed when she saw Caesar and ran over to him, putting her arm around his waist. Caesar laughed and patted her buttocks, moving her around so Tony could see where he had his hand. He winked at Tony, said, "Hey, Tony! Wanna see a pink lil ass? Hey, Tony? Where ya going? Wanna see the pinkest, the cutest lil ass you ever did see! Commere, Tony! I'll show it to you!"
He stopped yelling when the bartender leaned over the bar confidentially and leered at the girl. Then Caesar yanked her dress up and held it above her waist. "Lookee here, Tony! Didja ever see anything as cute as this? She never wears panties. Does you, Sally?"
The girl, giggling, laughing, pulled away from Caesar and took him by the hand. "Come on, George. You've had enough." She straightened put her dress and glared at the leering bartender.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Gotta get some gash!" he shouted, laughing, driving off the lot before she had a chance to close the door. "Then we gonna go shumplace where you can yell your lil head off! We're gonna have a bawl tonight-haw haw, git the joke, Sally? We're gonna have a b-a-w-l!"
They pulled into the first gas station they came to and the judge yelled, "Fillerup!" He paid the attendant with a five dollar bill which he had to fumble with because it had been stuck in this thick wad of bills between some notes of large denominations. After they roared out of the station and went through a red light, Caesar laughed at her and said, "Hey, didja see that jerk's eyes when he shaw my bankroll and all these hundred dollar bills? Didja see 'is eyes?"
Frightened at the terrifying rate of speed they were going, the girl choked out a stifled giggle, more afraid of admitting that she was scared to drive that fast for fear the judge would drive even faster.
The thin wail of a siren in pursuit could not be heard by the judge and his secretary. The engine made too much noise.
Faster and faster they went, eighty-eighty-five-ninety-five-they had just turned into a wide boulevard straightaway, unaware of the police car behind which was unable to gain on them. Ahead, the street narrowed suddenly and the four-lane highway became a two-lane narrow road at the blind junction of a crossroad marked with a yellow warning light. Judge Caesar made no attempt to slow down. Instead, he rammed the pedal to the floor and as they shot through the intersection, it was too late.
The man and woman riding the motorcycle did not have a chance. The flashing white car smashed broadside into them with a nauseating crunch and crash of metal tearing against metal and bone and flesh. Horrifying screams of terror and agony ripped through the night air.
The Jaguar, its once sleek cowling now twisted out of shape and now bearing the remains of the motorcycle imbedded in the wreckage, spun out of control, skidding, spinning around and around and then grinding to a stop more than two hundred feet in the opposite direction.
A pall of death, like misty layers of smoke in the still air over a bog-the quietude that always comes after an explosion-settled over the scene.
In the distance, the thickening wail of the police car's siren, still in hot pursuit, grew louder and louder.
Fifty feet from the impact, lay the girl who had been riding the buddy-seat behind the motorcyclist. Fifteen feet from the girl's lifeless body, was that of the man-his crumpled body squirting blood and gore in rivers that gushed over the road.
Miraculously enough, Sally had escaped without a scratch. She was sitting there, shaking the judge's unconscious form. He was slumped over the wheel, blood slowly trickling from a superficial head wound. Sometime during the impact, the entire windshield had been sheared-off, as if neatly clipped by a pair of gigantic snips.
The police car pulled alongside, it's siren still wailing, the red beacon light spinning around and round. One of the officers alighted and ran toward the Jaguar, while the other man played his spotlight around and drove slowly down the road, going to the assistance of the people he saw in the street.
Within minutes, from seemingly out of nowhere, dozens of people and automobiles began to arrive on the scene. The ambulances were arriving.
In mild shock, Sally, shaken, but in possession of her faculties was telling them how the accident happened and who had been driving the Jaguar. She broke down and began to cry when she couldn't find her shoes. Her new white shoes. She could not understand what happened to them.
As soon as they discovered who had been driving the sports car they had been chasing, the two policemen huddled beside the wreckage. This was no ordinary accident and it was not to be treated in the usual routine way. Routines have a way of tripping up good police officers who forget to use their heads.
No, they decided, the chief better know about this. A woman had been killed by a judge and a man was on the brink of death. No telling how serious the consequences might be if the newspapers were given the wrong facts.
Although the judge was unconscious and not apparently hurt seriously, they could tell he was anything but sober. That was evident from the erratic way he had been driving and was more evident when the ambulance attendants moved the judge from behind the wheel and he began to retch and empty the contents of his stomach all over the car and the street. The wind was not stirring and the stench hung heavily.
The newspaper men were there, already snapping pictures. One of the squadcar officers tried to keep them back, away from the wreckage. It was a futile attempt to keep them from getting the story, but one of the men immediately recognized the car. "That's Judge Caesar's Jag!"
Their attitudes changed immediately-the hounds on the scent-they became hostile and demanding, insisting on the details for tomorrow's front pages! Already they had found out too much and the officers were thankful that they had had the foresight to spirit the girl away in a squad car. They exchanged knowing glances and did not know what to do.
"How in hell did you newshawks get here so fast?"
One of the newspapermen admitted he and his partner had been returning from covering a holdup nearby and had happened to hear the radioed report of the chase. "That is the judge's roadster, isn't it? The one you were chasing?"
The policemen refused to answer. They had already sent word to their superiors who had been cautious enough to send immediate word back that they were to "dummy-up" and say nothing to the press.
"Why couldn't I have just taken the night off?" one of the uniformed men said to the other when they returned to their car. "I don't know if you realize it, but we're right in the middle of a story that could damn well cost us both of our jobs. Not to mention blowing the lid off things in this state! Remember, not a word to anyone about that dizzy broad being in the car with the judge. Remember, not a word!"
In an unmarked car, unnoticed, the chief had arrived and the two officers moved into the back seat and drove away with them. In the confusion, and the minor traffic jam which had been created, no one missed them and neither of the two newspapermen noticed. The policemen who took over saw to that.
The two officers told the chief in detail exactly what had happened. A police captain was with the chief and they were careful to make notations of everything that had occurred. They said nothing until they had every detail down. Then, the captain spoke to the men. "I want to congratulate you both for using your heads. That was a wise thing you did, sending that girl away. We can't be a party to letting a thing like that get in the papers."
"But, suppose someone saw the girl riding with him?" one of them asked. "What "will we say to that?"
"Leave that up to us. Just remember, you men saw no broad in that car with the judge. Got it?"
"How about those newspaper reporters who heard us on the air?"
The captain and the chief exchanged worried glances. They felt the urgency of the situation and admitted there was no way to conceal that fact. "Of all the rotten breaks. Who would have thought they would show up-not to mention, having listened in just then. Fourteen gunmen could have been shot dead by a rookie cop and they wouldn't even get that story-yet, let a thing like this happen and they're all over the place crawling up out of the sewers even."
The chief nodded to the captain and told him that he'd better get back to town. "By the way, I think it would be wise if we had someone, else take over their shift and drive their squadcar away."
"Good. I'll attend to that right away." The captain got busy at the radio and the two officers returned to a tight huddle with their chief.
"I want you men to know," the chief told them, "that I'm not trying to protect that bastard. I don't like the son-of-a-bitch as you men know," he grinned, winking knowingly, "But, he does control more damn power and more votes than you can machine gun down....We have to be very, very careful.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Lord, yes!" said Will as he entered his office, "I saw it!" Dennis and Buddy were excitedly discussing the accident and Will grinned at their delirium rather than at the sordid details of the smash-up.
Ray Bell, the detective was all smiles. He carried a brown manila envelope in his hand and he held it up for Will to see. "I have something here which will interest you, Will. Something that you can use to blow Caesar and his gang sky-high."
Seeing Will's interest mount, Ray went to the office door and closed it secretly. Then he hurried across the room and opened the envelope, removing a large glossy photograph which had been partially burned. Before he turned it around for Will to see, Ray told him: "This is a police photograph taken at the scene by the sheriff's men. The city police found out about it and the negative and all the other prints were burned-except this one-" Then, he slowly reversed the print and held it for Will to see. It was a clear picture of the wrecked Jaguar, showing the judge sprawled over the wheel and his secretary in the seat beside him apparently shaking him. Will was amazed at the sharp details of the wreckage which clearly showed the smashed motorcycle imbedded into the front end of the little car. "How about this!"
"Who's the girl?"
"What girl? Oh her, she's the poodle the papers say was supposed to have been in the car with the judge."
Will squinted at the picture, noting that despite the girl's disheveled appearance, she was still strikingly beautiful. "One thing I will say for the judge, he has good taste in women."
"That's his secretary," Ray laughed. "Quite a little tart too, from what the grapevine tells me. A real gone pervert--likes to have her fanny whipped." He looked at Will queerly and stood there holding the picture. "Well, don't you think you have it now?"
"Have what?" Will asked, looking at him squarely.
"The weapon you've been looking for to ruin the judge once and for all time."
"Give it to me." Will asked, taking the photograph. Then he moved around in his chair and looked at it under the desk, removing a book of matches from a drawer while he did so. Unseen, he struck a match and held it to the photograph.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing, Will?" Ray ran around the desk in time to see the picture disappear in flames in the wastepaper basket.
"I didn't need that to fight him with," Will said sourly.
"You're crazy, Will! Absolutely out of your mind!" Ray was furious and he glared at him, his fists hanging helplessly at his sides.
"Never mind that," Will said, "Why should I use dirt like that against any man? The harm already has been done. What can be benefited from hurting the innocent people like his wife and children?
"You'll be sorry," Ray snapped and slammed out of there.
Will sat in his chair and rocked back, sniffing the scorched air. He had acted on impulse-but, there was something that bothered him about the manner of the detective. Something wasn't right. Why did he bring him that picture? For money?"
"Your father's on the phone, Mr. Little," Miss McKay's voice said over the intercom. "He just said to tell you that he's coming right over to see you if you aren't busy. Can you see him?"
"Let me have the call. Which line is he on?" Will picked up the receiver and asked, "That you, Dad? What's the matter?"
His father's voice crackled excitedly, nervously on the other end. "Does anything have to be the matter for me to call you?"
"It sure does. The madhouse that your office is this time in the morning doesn't give you much chance to call me up just to say hello. Besides, you told Miss McKay that you wanted to see me."
There was a pause at the other end, then his father admitted, "Well, something is wrong. I'll tell you about it when I see you. I'll be right over."
With Caesar in the hospital and temporarily out of the way, what could be wrong now? Will was worried and he did not dare to think of what sort of trouble his father could be in. Without guessing, he knew that whatever it was, it was serious and had been instigated by Caesar's side.
The door opened and his father entered. Will noticed at once the cloud that had now dulled his father's eyes. "How are you, son?" he asked, coming close and putting his hand on Will's shoulder. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"
"Certainly not, Dad! Here, sit down." He watched the older man carefully as he extracted an envelope from his pocket.
"I got this by registered mail this morning," he told Will, handing it to him.
"At a glance," Will said, "this looks like bad news. Why would the SEC be sending you a subpoena?"
"Your guess is as good as mine!" He paused haltingly and fumbled for a cigarette. Grover Little rarely smoked and only when he was highly troubled. "From what I have been able to find out about this, Will, they're about to indict me for fraudulent stock practices. Carson, of the exchange told me there's talk that I've been operating a bucket shop."
"You're kidding! That's preposterous!"
"Preposterous or not, they're still going to indict me."
"What proof do they have?"
"None. None whatsoever!" He puffed nervously at the cigarette and then tamped it out in the tray. "Except.... But, no, that's silly."
"What's silly?"
"Could be trumped up charges by my two former customer's men. Maybe that is why they suddenly upped and quit-and that guy who trampled my rubber plant!"
"That, probably, is it!" Then, his face darkened and he looked hard at his father.
Grover Little nodded wisely, admitting, "Caesar's crowd doesn't let a little perjury grow under their feet. If anybody knows that, you certainly do!"
Will got up and paced the floor. His mind raced, searching for the right solution. He whirled around suddenly, snapping his fingers. "First, I'd suggest that you get a 'vote of confidence' from your employees, Dad. Make certain your books are all in order and make a summary of them and an inventory of all your records-financial statements-profit and loss-everything-even your personal records and so on. If they subpoena your books too, and you are caught short without the answer for everything, they might trap you into something that will take months of anguish to explain. In fact, Dad, I'd even have all of your records microfilmed or photostated. Don't you think that's a good idea? Then, there would be no slip-up-no margin for error!"
Will's father felt better and his face brightened. The cloud that was there when he first came in had vanished from his eyes. He nodded and smiled warmly. "That's splendid, son. I feel much better already. As long as I know I have nothing to hide anyway and I know I always went out of my way to run an honest business-I won't have anything to worry about."
"Yes," Will cautioned. "I know how those courts are," he admitted with reluctance. "I've seen complete sets of books-cancelled checks-and other documents disappear when they were most needed. I've even had that happen to some of my clients. But, whatever you do, make sure-make doubly sure that all of your records are intact-and, whatever you do, don't let them out of your sight! Including, your cancelled checks."
"Dad," Will suggested, sensing his father's thoughts, "why don't you hire a good public relations man? He'd know what to do. You have to fight fire with fire." He paused, thinking, then snapped his fingers as the glimmer of an idea crossed his mind. "Why not call in Buzz Adams?"
"Maybe I'll do just that." Grover Little got up abruptly and buttoned his jacket. "Thanks, son. I feel better again."
"By the way, Dad. I'll hold onto the subpoena. We'll go together, Monday." He grinned at his father and braced his shoulder with his hands. "Now, don't worry."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Anne Caesar showed Ziggy into George's bedroom and removed his empty dinner tray.
Ziggy made his way to the other twin bed and flopped down across it. His shoes were on the spread. "You've been a bad boy, Georgie," he said, "a very bad boy. And you know what happens to bad boys, don't you?"
"Well? Do you, Georgie?" Kiev's mouth twisted into a sneering laugh.
"It-it was an accident, Ziggy." Caesar offered weakly, his hands suddenly rising and falling beneath the sheet. "And you know how accidents do happen, don't you?"
Caesar appeared to grovel on the sheets and Ziggy took pleasure in watching him squirm. "You're going to be punished-sooner than you think-you, naughty, naughty!" Ziggy got to his feet. "It's going to be a surprise and you won't like it because it is going to be a lesson to you."
"Wha-what are you going to do? Please...." Caesar's voice crackled with terror and he started out of bed, not knowing if he would crawl on his knees to Ziggy or if he would just clutch at him and beg for mercy.
"Just wait and see," Ziggy said, over his shoulder. "You'll know, sooner than you expect-when it happens!" And then he left. The judge needed a drink.
"Anne!" Caesar screamed at the top of his lungs. "Anne!" he shouted, I gotta have a drink. I gotta have a drink!"
She brought him the bottle and hurried out of the room. Once she had thought she'd stay to tidy up the things and to get some of the items of clothing she would need while she stayed out of his sight and slept in the guestroom, but, she thought better of it and hurried out.
He drank voraciously, until he could not move-to reach the night stand an arm's length away to take the bottle and drink from it....
"Grampaw, grampaw." Little George, III shook Caesar's arm and tried to rouse him. "Wake up, grampaw 'n play wif me."
Caesar snorted and rolled over on one side. The child, amused, thinking his grandfather was playing, climbed onto the bed and pounced on him, his little hands slapping the judge's face. "Grandpaw, wake up, grampaw."
Through the spinning vortex of his drunken stupor, Caesar tried to awaken. It was like looking through the carooming funnel of a tornado, like trying to peer down through the hazy holocaust as if from the heights above. The screaming laughter that was Ziggy, blasting him. Tiny blasts of sound pummeling his face, his neck, his chest. There was no pain, just numbness. He felt no discomfort through the thick pads of his whiskey benumbed flesh. He had to thrust it off. He could not move. A weight was upon him, pinning him to the bed and he could not thrust it off. Caesar groaned and suddenly nailed out his arms, striking out with all his might.
The instant the child was thrown to the floor onto the broken glass, Caesar leapt up screaming. His vision blurred, his senses reeling, the nausea retching deep in his entrails.
Vicariously Caesar scooped up the bleeding, unconscious child and pressed him in numbed arms, to his breast. He could say nothing, could manage to do nothing except sit there rocking back and forth holding the moaning little boy in his arms.
Anne and the maid burst into the room. Both women were hysterical and after a cursory examination discovered that the baby had been badly cut only on the shoulder and there was a small brush-burn and a laceration on his forehead. "Quick! Tie up his arm. I'll take him to the hospital."
Caesar let them take the child from his arms and he sat there, staring out at them as though through a river of blood. He continued to sit there, crying over and over, "My God, what have I done? May God forgive me."
His wife ignored him. She took her grandson tenderly and ran down the steps and into the drive. Carefully, very carefully, she lay his whimpering little body down upon the seat and jumped behind the wheel. The hospital was only ten blocks away. She could make it before he lost too much more blood.
Just as she backed the car into the street, the maid came running down the walk shouting to her. Anne turned to see what she wanted. The girl was trying to warn her that a truck was rushing toward her car on the wrong side of the street just as she pulled out. She saw it too late. The huge vehicle, apparently driverless, was wavering erratically at a high rate of speed, bearing down upon her.
An instant later, it hit the Caesar car head on, the force of the impact grinding the sedan under the rear wheels of the truck, popping the doors open, throwing the child into the windshield, crushing the life out of the small body instantaneously.
Anne, covered with blood, holding the child's inert form in her arms, staggered from the wreckage. In the following few moments she managed to get to the front lawn where she collapsed, weeping, her face buried against the child's still body.
Caesar, his bare feet slapping the sidewalk, ran to her. Then upon seeing what had happened, upon seeing the child's lifeless twisted body, he collapsed. Moaning, wailing, holding his head in his hands, the painful realization of Ziggy's threat vibrating through his consciousness, Caesar could do nothing more than suck in the fragrant sweet smell of the earth and think that the same earth was soon to contain the remains of his little grandson's body-forever.
On hands and knees, he dragged himself over the grass to the child, the tears streaming from his eyes, blurring everything. Violently, he thrust his wife away from the little body, cursing her, shouting, "Goddamn you! Goddamn you!" Again and again he cried out at the top of his hoarse voice in hysteria, "Goddamn you to hell!" His mind, distorted with shock, blamed her.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust....
He buried his face in the grass and cried bitterly, tasting the salt taste of his tears and the acrid bitterness of the earth beneath the grass.
Anne, laying face down on the lawn, her prostrate body still where she had dropped, did not seem to hear her husband's accusations. Intense, violent sobs wracked her with convulsions.
"Goddamn you to hell! Murderess!" he cried, "You were never fit to drive a car! Murderess. You murdered my little grandson!" And Caesar was silent and he remembered Ziggy's words: "It's going to be a surprise and you won't like it because it's going to be a lesson to you!"
"Goddamn you to hell, Anne! You murderess!" he cried again and again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Only one newspaper made equal mention of Judge Caesar's previous accident two weeks before, taking care to review in detail and to allot just as much space on page one to the story about his grandson's death, as they did about the collision in the Jaguar. Of course, public opinion was now back on the judge's side, with people everywhere "tsk-tsk-tsking" and shuddering and remarking how terrible it was-a thing like that happening to an innocent four-year-old child. Wasn't the judge punished enough?
Less sympathetic people remarked about the accident and murmured something about "poetic justice." Others said nothing. Among those who had nothing to say (except of course to remark it was a horrible thing to happen to a child) were Judge Gibson, and of course, Will.
Strangely enough, despite the reporting of the facts and the events which had befallen the Caesar household, neither of the newspapers reported the fact that Mrs. Caesar was rushing her little grandson to the nearest hospital when the run-away, driverless truck smashed into her car.
Sitting in his office, Ziggy went through the newspapers, carefully clipping out the articles and pasting them into a huge scrapbook. Nodding with self-approval as he again and again reread the articles, he was quick to perceive the recalcitrant swing of public opinion back to the judge's side. The columnists displayed a more pronounced empathy toward Caesar than ever before. The scrapbook was the weekly record which Ziggy kept up to date as reliable proof to show them that he was doing his job and doing it well!
Mullens had been waiting in Ziggy's outer office for more than an hour, while the bald-headed attorney purposely found other things to do. Perfectly relaxed, his feet outstretched, he tapped the buzzer once, the signal for his secretary to show Mullens into his private office.
"Afternoon, Ziggy," Moon said, bouncing into the room with a springy step.
"I sent for you," Zizzy said without opening his eyes, "because I want you to make sure there are no further slip-ups concerning our plans to get the final okay on that gas company rate increase. I have orders that demand I collect the agreed-upon half-million dollars as soon as the Utilities Commission hands down its ruling!"
Mullens held up his palm quickly. "Oh, don't worry about that. Willard Massey is taken care of."
"What did he tell you when you let him know we'd have him appointed to the FCC?"
"The nitwit was fit to be tied," Mullens laughed.
"Although Caesar had let the cat out of the bag before I saw Massey, he was still pretty excited. He didn't know if he could believe Caesar."
Ziggy opened his eyes and spat in the wastebasket. "Caesar!" He hawked and spat again. "Before we get to him, let's finish talking about Massey. What do you think of him?"
Feeling suddenly important, Mullens drew out a cigar and clamped it between his teeth. He thought a moment and answered, "Weak. I think he's a weak sister. We'll have to watch him."
"How do you mean, weak?"
"Well, he doesn't drink or fornicate," laughed Mullens thickly, adding, "Like Caesar." He stopped laughing, thought another moment and said with a frown, "He could break down under pressure-if you know what I'm driving at?"
Kiev hummed to himself for a time and then closed his eyes. "See that he gets more stock in Rudy Whiteman's insurance company. That should make him a little stronger!"
"Excellent!" Moon was all grins and he lit the cigar. He found himself thinking about the death of Caesar's grandson and the expression on his face dimmed. His daughter had just given birth to a little girl. How glad he was not to be in Caesar's shoes!
"The right time for Caesar's trial to come up is now," Kiev said, "being that public sympathy is back on his side. I'll have Jackson A. Patten defend him. Yes," he thought aloud, "suppose we have that traffic court hearing tried in absentia." Ziggy's eyes opened, bright with the light of his thoughts. "Good old Charley Diamond-let him try the case in traffic court." Ziggy paused, absorbing Mullens' smile of approval. "In fact, we'll make it easy for good old Charley Diamond-we'll have Caesar plead guilty-admitting he caused the accident and Charley can fine him a hundred dollars."
"Brilliant! Just brilliant!" exclaimed Mullens, excitedly biting the end off his cigar. "A touch of genius." He sat there nodding his indorsement of the idea, waiting for Kiev to go on.
Again closing his eyes and resting back in the chair, he was lost in thought, oblivious to his audience of one. His features contorted with a twitch, as if a fly was on his nose. "The newspapers will make a big thing of it. We'll need something else for the front pages to drawn-out the bad publicity Caesar's going to get."
"I have it! I have it!" cried Moon, the cigar dropping out of his mouth and the ashes spilling down his shirt. "That little bastard, little Willie is going to appeal the gas company case-so why not play up the fact that only the Utilities Commission has the power and the jurisdiction to decide the issue? That will be easy to get on the front pages!"
"As much as I hate to see that little son-of-a-bitch get the publicity, I have to agree that that is a pretty good idea. If we time it right, Willard Massey could get the credit for the Commission's ruling." Kiev's mouth snapped shut with a click and he frowned at other thoughts which entered his mind. "I have orders to raise another hundred thousand dollars a month for the next six months," he told Moon as an aside. "Any ideas?"
Moon was quick to reply. "Caesar was telling me about an estate case he reassigned to himself. Took it away from Gibson. I think he told me the name was Darling or something or other. Assets of over two million."
Even Ziggy had to whistle. "That son-of-a-why didn't he tell me about it?"
Mullens remained silent. He had no reason to defend Caesar and would offer Ziggy no explanation which he might have volunteered if he wanted. To hell with Caesar, Mullens thought. He wanted Ziggy to realize Caesar was the wrong man to groom for the big things to come!
Now if J were judge-the chief lower-court judge, Mullens thought to himself, things would really be different! He almost smiled and just in time he caught himself. Ziggy was watching him with a queer look in his dark, bottomless eyes. The expression was frightening to behold and Mullens had to fight with his emotions to keep from twisting his hands and squirming in the seat.
"Mullens," Kiev said suddenly, "have Caesar's secretary draw-up the court order appointing yourself attorney for the estate." He paused, then said, "Also have Charley Diamond appointed as the Administrator." He halted again, came up grinning, "And have Princely appointed the Curator."
Incredulous, Moon Mullens sat on the edge of his astonishment-his mouth opened as if to speak, but he could find nothing to say. He stared at Ziggy, who put up his hand as if to quiet him and added, "and have Rudy Whiteman appointed the Special Master." There was a smug, self-satisfied expression on Ziggy's face and he enjoyed contemplating Mullens' astounded perplexity with a raised smile that stood out on his face like something just painted on.
"But-why why appoint a special master when there isn't any reason for it?"
"Before we get through with this thing we'll have enough trumped-up litigation to justify it."
Mullens was absolutely dumbfounded.
"It's legal, ain't it?" leered Kiev.
"It sure is."
"Is that all you can say?" Kiev was rather disappointed, although he did not show it. He rather looked forward to a gush of praise.
"Hell no!" Moon grinned. "I'm like that crowd at Gettysburg after hearing Lincoln's speech-speechless!"
Ziggy grinned. "Just get those court orders and take them out to Caesar and have him sign them." He paused, glanced at his watch. "If you step on it, you can have the court clerk enter them in the records today."
Mullens shrugged and frowned. He was reluctant to admit a thought which had just occurred to him. But Ziggy spotted it on his face and snapped, "What is it?" His tone was sharp, biting.
"Suppose someone in the Darling family raises a squawk?"
"Then we'll have the old man-or old woman-whatever it is-declared mentally incompetent-a ward of the state!" He paused, nicked a fingernail against his tooth as if trying to remove a piece of tobacco, then added, "Better have the old lady-or whatever it is-appointed a ward of the state just to be on the safe side."
Mullens laughed. "You think of everything. My head's swimming."
"And just so you don't get careless," Ziggy warned him harshly, "just remember-the thing that happened to Caesar's grandson was Caesar's punishment!"
Mullens did not answer because he could not answer, the dark lights of fear deep in his eyes. "I'll see you later. If you want all this done today, I'd better get busy."
CHAPTER TWENTY
"We didn't lose the appeal, Will," Dennis was saying, folding up the decision, giving Buddy a chance to speak.
"Even though not one of us admitted it, we knew beforehand that when we filed the appeal in the high court that they would take it "under advisement." Then, they'd pass the buck and the jurisdiction down to the Utilities Commission." Buddy grinned, feigning cheerfulness. "And now, we know that they own Willard Massey too. He certainly made sure the commission's decision was made public, didn't he?"
Will unfolded the newspaper and frowned at the headlines. "There's something mighty peculiar about this. Mighty odd." Then he began turning the pages, cursorily, almost idly, as if looking for-but not expecting to find-anything else of interest.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Will excitedly. "Wait a minute!"
The others reached the desk in a rush, bumping shoulders in their haste to see what it was. The column was buried beneath a hodge-podge of advertising.
"Traffic Court Magistrate, Charles Diamond today fined Circuit Court Judge George Caesar $100 for failure to give right of way in an accident that occurred at a badly lighted intersection several weeks ago. Judge Caesar's automobile collided with a motorcycle in the fatal accident which killed a woman passenger riding on the buddyseat. Attorney for Judge Caesar, the eminent Jackson A. Patten said the accident was unavoidable because of poor street lighting and bitterly chastised city officials for allowing such conditions to exist.
The trial was heard "in absentia" as Judge Caesar is still convalescing from serious injuries sustained in the collision."
"Wow!" Dennis was astounded and he began to laugh. "I see what you mean, Will. Now we know why all the hoop-(-do's on the front page. You'd think they owned the newspapers with the lies they get away with!"
"If that isn't propaganda, my pet dog, Humphrey will be appointed the next dog catcher," Buddy laughed, "just look at how they distorted the facts-and Patten's quoted as having chastized the city officials. Not one word about the judge having been drunk and being chased by a police car who couldn't catch him doing almost a hundred!"
"Why do they bother to print that drivel at all?" asked Dennis in disgust. He went back to his chair and lit a cigarette.
"I'm not a bit surprised, gentlemen," Will admitted with a grave smile. "Everything's so obvious-so contrived-any fool can see that."
"Yes," Dennis snapped, "but the fact is-the paper prints it-the distorted truth!"
"Yes," Will frowned, "It looks like they all joined Caesar's camp now."
"Oh, yeah," Buddy laughed, "I almost forgot.
The round table is supposed to meet today to discuss how to chop off the dragon's head."
"They're supposed to be here promptly at three," Will said, explaining to Dennis who had been busy with the Peccocini estate case, "to work out plans to free those old women of the poetry club."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The four attorneys crowded into the conference room, shaking hands all around. Bill Lloyd acted as opening spokesman for the group and stood up. "Will," he said, coughing nervously, "I may as well come right to the point. Not one of us can afford to buck Caesar. We'd like to make a big fight of this thing, but we're licked before we can get started."
"Will you say that again!" Will was on his feet, fighting mad. He passed by Lloyd's opening remark himself, saying bitterly, "Don't tell me that you men are really defending real, live, honest-to-goodness dyed-in-the-red commies?!"
He stood there glaring, then his face broke out into a grin. "So what are you afraid of?" He addressed his question directly to Lloyd and watched the young attorney flinch under his gaze.
"Dammit!" Dennis cried, "not one of those old ladies know what a commie is-let alone being a communist!"
"So what are you afraid of?" Will asked again, dropping back into his chair.
Dennis and Will had made their point and it had struck home. Everyone knew it. "Well," Lloyd admitted half-heartedly. "Let me put it this way. None of us are courtroom lawyers. Our clients are poor. They don't have enough money for a long involved fight. Although we know they are innocent-we can't possibly win before Caesar. He already committed himself in the papers didn't he? Saying that he was going to "throw the book" at the old girls."
The obvious fear of Caesar was written on each-face and Will shot sidelong glances at Buddy and Dennis, catching their attention, asking if they too could see what he read on their faces.
"Yes," another lawyer added. Will remembered having had seen him around. He had just started a practice a year or two before and was still struggling along. "He could ruin us!"
"Then why in hell are you defending the accused?" Will shouted angrily. His tone was caked with ice of defiance. "For the money?"
"No."
"What then?"
Stony silence. No one offered to speak. Only Dennis and Buddy dared to look around the room, to watch their faces. The air was charged with fear-fear of Caesar and the power he represented. The young attorneys were afraid to try to try to win that case before Caesar. Each man knew his professional career would be marked from that day forward, never again standing a chance before Caesar's bench if he made a valiant fight on the client's behalf. The power Caesar held over the Bar was invincible. They could envision the loss of hundreds of cases they would unsuccessfully plead before Caesar for many, many years to come. He would retaliate again and again, handing them defeat after defeat. And what kind of a practice would any attorney have if he had the reputation of losing all of his cases?
Will went to the window and stared outside.
"I'll say it again!" he exploded, pounding the conference table with his fist. "Don't throw up your hands and give up just because a sadist like Caesar has the whole damned Bar Association crawling under his bench like a bunch of cockroaches instead of men! Let me be your spokesman! Just let me handle the defense-let me-but don't-whatever you do-don't let me down!" Will was shouting, empassioned, his voice rasping hoarse with emotion. "We can win if you stand with me!"
There was a charged trading of glances among them-ashamed glances.
"I wouldn't feel this way," Will continued, his voice now low, subdued. "If it wasn't that I sincerely believe my client, Margaret Johnson, to be innocent. It's obvious that everyone here knows what Caesar is trying to do. That's the rage of the day-red-witch hunts by crusading idiots who want to dramatize the records of their terms in public office-idiots who never get enough publicity-who thrive on cases of this sort-trials without hearings by infamous courts of treason! There is no other name for it-treason! Treason in the courts!" Swallowing hard, Will tugged in the nets of his anger. "Please, don't misconstrue what I'm raving about-I'm not a crackpot, as you well know. It's just that we must fight and fight together!"
Lloyd took his cue after reassuring glances from the others. "I think we understand, Will. But I don't want you thinking that we're that afraid-of-well, you know. But, not one of us can afford to take an unnecessary chance. Nevertheless-"he broke off, glancing around at their faces, "I'm speaking for every man here--we're with you!"
"I'm pleased you see it my way," Will said, beaming. "And I'm glad. Very glad! Just think what might happen to those innocent old women if we didn't stand together in this? What about them? Could any man here live with himself knowing an old lady is serving a prison term for having been at a poetry club?
Will's impassioned diatribe left them with an enthusiastic feeling of confidence they did not have when they first entered the offices.
Lloyd, sitting upright, his face radiant with new confidence, looked at Will and asked, "Where do we go from here?"
Will slapped Dennis and Buddy on their shoulders and continued to laugh. "What a joke!" he roared, "What a joke! Probably for the first time in your lives as attorneys you have a case that isn't-even a case at all and you all were so worried!"
Frowning, but still smiling, Lloyd asked, "What are you driving at, Will?"
Snaking his head as if to shake off his amusement, Will laughed, "You mean, you really don't know?"
Lloyd did not know and he turned to the others to see if anyone there knew. They were still in the dark. "I don't get it?"
"Here is the first real chance we've had to make a jackass out of Caesar!" He was surprised to see he was still talking over their heads. "Look, fellows, the most obvious thing in the world-that you, as attorneys should have noticed right at the kickoff-has happened. Did Caesar give any defendant a fair and impartial hearing?" Will looked at them and nodded. They were beginning to get what he was driving at.
"That's right!" he gestured, "Caesar held a kangaroo court in his chambers that was nothing more than a press conference. And in that prepared statement of his (which I'll bet he didn't even write himself) he promised to throw the book at those old ladies. He went on record-public record-as having already convicted them!"
Dennis interrupted, adding, "Any sentence that Caesar hands down will be illegal! Then, all we have to do is ask the high court to overrule Caesar. It's as simple as that."
"And I promise you one thing," cut in Will, "he won't get away with it this time!"
"Will," one of the attorneys asked, "Why-what made Caesar go out on such a limb? Surely he knew better than that, didn't he?"
"That's easy," Will told him. "With all the notoriety given to these alleged communist conspiracies, who would dare lift a finger to help those old women? And that is what he counted on.
Will's remarked. "I am sure that none of us are murderers, just because we defend a murderer. I am sure that no one here is an embezzler, just because he defends an embezzler. So why should we be afraid to defend people who are accused of having communistic allegiances? Further, I am also sure the state has no evidence whatsoever to offer. I am also convinced they don't even have a simple prima facie case. How can they indict without it?" Will paused, then answered his own question. "Simply, the good judge can stooge-up the court enough with his cronies-in his chambers-and convict them. Bam! He is a hero, defending the public from ladies who read poetry."
"But, Will," Lloyd asked, "Your client, Margaret Jordan. She was once affiliated with the People's Peace Party. That is a known communist front. And they are incriminating by her known, former association!"
"Yes," Will told him blandly, "But that was a quarter of a century ago. She was merely a paid employee-not an associate-not a member of the organization, but a paid employee, innocent of all complicity-even then." He paused, then added in a firm voice, "People are also known-and judged-by the company they keep out of!"
Still laughing among themselves, they left in a group, confident and pleased with their lot.
They hurried along the sidewalk, walking quickly toward the restaurant. As they rounded a corner, Will pulled up suddenly. Virgie, walking along the street toward them, approached.
"You fellows go on," he said, hurrying to meet her.
"I have nothing to say to you anymore, Will. If you haven't gotten any sense yet."
"Be reasonable, honey. You don't know what you're asking. I just can't give up a thing I've been working at for more than ten years just like that.
He caught her by the arm. "Darling!"
"Now, what is it?"
"Virgie, don't go. I need you."
"Don't be silly. You only need that silly law fight."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"It isn't silly and you know it. Now stop talking like that!" Will shook her so violently that passersby stopped to gawk and he caught himself, releasing her and apologizing. "I'm sorry, darling. Please, please understand!"
The tone of his voice and the intensity of his words and expression touched her and she smiled at him, although reluctantly. "I know, Will. But, I just can't stand going on like we have been-with you and-not with you-all the while watching you become more and more absorbed in this thing. My decision is final. Now, it's up to you. You either give up-for your own good-or give me up."
"I'm sorry, Virgie. You know I can't do that. If this is the way you want it-then it's got to be that way. If you only understood--"
"What is there for me to understand?" she demanded, pulling away.
"I can't tell you that now-maybe later-but not now."
"Goodbye!"
He watched her walk away, her-heels gently clicking on the sidewalk, mockingly, defiantly, tauntingly. Will, turned away and slowly went back to his office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Miss McKay came into his office and said, "Mrs. Peccocini and her sister are here to see you, Mr. Little.
Will went to the door and ushered the two women in. He showed them to chairs and then pulled up a chair for himself. "We just came from the funeral. My sister didn't want them to open the casket at the Chapel-but, she changed her mind and asked that they open it before they-before they put him to rest-at the cemetery. They wouldn't open it-it had been nailed shut."
Will swallowed hard, words were lost to him. He knew why they had refused to open the coffin and he realized Ho one had informed her that her husband's remains had been cremated. "Perhaps, Mrs.
Peccocini," he offered tactfully, as kindly as he could, "the funeral director didn't want you to suffer unnecessarily."
"I suppose you're right, Mr. Little," the widow said, "Perhaps he knew I'd go to pieces if I viewed his remains. It was better that I should remember him-in life!"
"Yes," Will agreed thinly, his guilty knowledge forcing him to look away. Will told himself he had to stop blaming himself.
"There are other matters," the widow's sister interjected. "The estate. Some of his business holdings require immediate attention."
"I understand," Will said, glad to change the subject and feeling relieved to find an excuse to turn them over to Dennis. "I hope you won't mind if my associate, Mr. Woodland, represents you. We all work together here, but he knows more about estate matters than I."
"Oh, that will be perfectly all right, Mr. Little," the widow said, rising. "You've been wonderful."
Will called Dennis in and introduced him again and watched them go across the reception room and into Dennis' office. Buddy had been waiting for Will and he followed him in. "Will, do we need Mrs. Peccocini for anything concerning the appeal?"
"I don't think so. But, you'd better get a Suggestion of Death Order ready for Judge Gibson to sign. She's automatically the executrix, but we needn't bother with that now. We can file the appeal in the name of the estate of the deceased."
Buddy went out and Will could not drive himself to go to his desk. He stood there for a long while, in the center of the office, staring into space. He thought of Virgie and felt a need to talk to her, but thought better of it and tried to get his mind on something else. The office had begun to grow smaller in his imagination and he got the sensation that the walls were closing in. All he could think of was trying to clear his mind and he had to get out of there! Suddenly, he went out and told Miss McKay that he had to leave and would probably be back late in the afternoon.
Not knowing where else to go, Will found himself going into his apartment. The maid had already been in and had tidied up. He went into the kitchen and got the buttermilk out of the refrigerator and drank a glass. Then, gloomily, he went into his combination living room-study and sat beside the window, looking out into the park across the street. Children playing on swings, fighting to get at the water fountain, the unharried mothers dawdling, conversing quietly at their baby carriages-the park was full of life and Will suddenly felt gloomier than ever and quite deserted. He found himself wondering if he and Virgie would ever make up-he tried to picture how she might look from that window, standing there in the park rocking a carriage that very well might even contain their son or their daughter-or maybe even twins! Will grinned sadly, twins did run in her family!
From the walls lined with books, untidy rows of books that needed assorting, to the hodge-podge of guncases, and golf clubs, and ship models, and autographed footballs-this room was William Little's room! The seemingly disorderly array of miscellany and bric-a-brac was shockingly his-and yet, surprisingly almost out of character too, for Will was ordinarily immaculate in his other affairs and although few knew him well, anyone who visited his tiny apartment would be certain to know him better after having once been there. Souvenirs of his college days-dozens of framed, autographed pictures of football teams; the relics from the past, the trophies, the diplomas, the things which were absent from his professional offices and his professional life were all to be found here-in their place. As Will believed, there was a place and a time for everything and his personal mementoes belonged not in his offices.
Mere possession of things material did not concern him-it was the holding onto of a vast collection of trivia which meant something nostalgically to him and he found himself smiling when he picked up Virgie's photograph on the table beside his window. He remembered her words, the way she made herself at home in his room-among his things! She had been occupied for hours, going from item to item, asking him about this photograph, or that trophy, or that football. It was as if she too was home-home with her future husband, feeling that his things were her things and his past belonged to their past.
Virgie told him so with the kiss she had given him and the look he saw there in her eyes. He looked at the photograph and swallowed hard, thinking all the while that he must not look back in time-that he must not remember-that he must do his best to forget her and to destroy his past. He wanted to hurl the photograph across the room, but could not bring himself to do it. It was dear to him and no matter what he told himself, Will knew, he loved her yet and would always love her. The tenacity of his love, the profundity of his devotion for Virgie was overwhelming and he was sick at heart because he had chosen to let her go rather than give up his determined fight against Caesar's bench.
He tried to tell himself-to ask himself if it was worth it and he knew he could not think of himself. Not after what had been happening. There was no telling how or when they would be stopped and how many others would be hurt. If they could be stopped at all. Although Will knew he was not qualified to slug it out with them bare-knuckled and toe to toe, he could fight them in his own way by fighting them time and again in court.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Well, your honor," smiled Sally, "How does it feel to be back?"
Caesar looked at the girl and winked, brushed by her and went into his private office. He was anxious to get to his mail and clear his desk and settle down to his busy routine again. The inactivity and the emotional strain had taken its toll on his system and there was a drawn look about his eyes.
She brought him a glass of orange juice and he shook his head in refusal.
Sally took the glass and went out. At the door, she turned, called to him, "Do you want me for anything this morning?"
"I'll call you," he said, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.
Ziggy walked in unannounced.
The judge had known Ziggy was going to show up the first thing that morning and he forced himself to slowly look up and nod. The fear in the judge's eyes was intermixed with the bitter hatred he nurtured for this man whom he knew was responsible for his grandson's death. Yet, Caesar swallowed the agonizing bitter taste of his "punishment" and defeatedly awaited whatever Ziggy was there to demand of him.
"Are you all straightened out, George?" The caustic tone of Ziggy's voice stung him and he leered at the judge, as if reading his thoughts.
Caesar, his mouth tightly closed, nodded. "Why didn't you wait until I got back before you had my secretary begin work on the Darling case?" Almost before he had closed his mouth, Caesar was sorry he said that.
Ziggy frowned at him, his probing eyes stabbing. "The money wasn't rolling in fast enough," he told him, adding, "as if I have to explain to you." He flashed his teeth and crossed his legs on the desk. "You'd better damn-sight be on the job from now on-and keep your nose clean!"
"Don't worry, Ziggy," Caesar said humbly, "You won't have any difficulty. I'll see Rudy Whiteman today and we'll put the cow in the barn for milking."
"Just you see that that Darling cow don't give us any trouble, hear me? Your ass will be in a sling if you screw this up. That estate is worth over two million and we want all of it," Ziggy demanded, his tone suddenly changing.
Caesar could not contain the grin that widened the corners of his mouth. Unconsciously, he rubbed his hands and made a swift mental calculation of what his cut would be and he nodded to Ziggy who promptly got up and began to leave. "Remember," he added, still leering, "Keep your expenses down for a change."
When the door had finally closed after him, Caesar breathed easier. Yes, Caesar told himself, he had had his punishment and he was fully chastened. He would not make the same mistake twice and he found himself fighting the desire to have just one drink. Hesitantly, he opened the drawer and fished around for the bottle. He cursed suddenly and whipped the drawer out, completely out of the desk. It held nothing. He had always kept it locked and filled with at least two fifths, but now it was empty. If Ziggy had told Sally or someone else to remove his liquors-that was one thing. Yes, he finally realized, it most likely had been Ziggy. He knew it because the intercom on his desk buzzed and Sally asked, "are you sure you wouldn't like your orange juice now, judge?"
"No!" he shouted. "Dammit!"
Caesar frowned at the box and switched it off. That damn girl, he told himself, she gets away with more-than Anne, or any other woman! But he had put his wife in her place. No man in his position of power and politics coult let his wife divorce him, no sir! Anne had been packing her things after the baby's funeral. He had had it out with her and told her that she was not to leave. He emptied the contents of the suitcase on the floor and hurled the luggage down the laundry chute.
Secretly, Caesar knew he would have to answer to Ziggy if Anne left him. That was the last thing he wanted. And Anne had finally come to realize that the pressure Caesar could exert could destroy her ruthlessly. He had the power and the will and was cold-blooded enough to have her committed to an institution. The judge's wife could not win.
She could not somehow reconcile herself to the fact that she was still married to the same sincere, courageous man she had married a quarter of a century before. She was a nothing-unloved, uncared for, completely ignored. To Caesar, she was less than an ordinary servant. In effect, she felt as useful as a sexless castaway, discarded, abandoned on an island of loneliness.
Anne Caesar knew nothing of the business of politics. He ceased to confide in her and his professional life then became the dark mystery he divorced her for. She never dared guess-what he was involved with and how deeply he as a part of a machine.
The court business over for the day, George P. Caesar returned to his office. The Jordan woman and her confederates were on their way to prison by now, he mused, glad he had prepared the statement for the press weeks before announcing his verdict.
Caesar sighed with relief. He had seen Rudy before the day started. They were able to dispense with several of the cases then and there. Now all that had to be done was wait for the afternoon paper. He knew the Jordan case would make the front pages.
"Imagine that little bastard, little Willie," Caesar was telling Mullens, who dropped in with the first edition of the late afternoon paper. "Having the gall to hand me his motion for appeal after I had already sentenced those communists! To think that he knew I would convict them beforehand. I'll fix that cocky little so and so. Just wait and see what the SEC does to his father! And that's just the beginning!
Mullens cut in with a smirk of disgust. "It was your fault, George," he told him, "You never should have made those statements to the press when you called the hearing unexpectedly like that in your chambers. That was what gave you away. Now, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the Supreme Court reverses you and will that bring Ziggy around to crack your knuckles!"
Caesar's parched throat vainly cried for a drink. He countered with: "Rudy told me he's having some trouble with the Darling estate. Seems the old lady has a granddaughter who is giving him a fit. She wants to be appointed as the old woman's guardian."
Mullens shook his head gravely. "That won't work." Suddenly, he looked worried. "We've got to get rid of her!"
Caesar raised his eyebrows. "What would you have Rudy do?"
Moon grunted and slapped the arms of the chair. "Let Rudy, as special master, have her petition you, as senior judge. You then can either find her in contempt or you can throw her petition out."
"That's stupid," he spat, snarling at Moon's suggestion.
"What's wrong with my idea?" he asked, the color deepening in the fatty folds of his neck.
"We can hold her in contempt without bringing her to court! In that way we don't get any publicity and the thing is accomplished nice and neat.
"But ... But how can you-what do-what will you do?"
"We just don't notify her of the hearing. That's all there is to it," the judge told him. "When the hearing comes up and she isn't there-poof-she's in contempt!"
"Exactly how much is in the till?"
"A little over two-millions-."
"How much over?"
"About a hundred thousand."
"Negotiable securities?"
"Yes. About nine hundred thousand."
"Real estate too," said Mullens, looking at the ceiling, "better than one million, two hundred thousand."
"Appraised when?"
Moon smiled at Caesar's shrewdness. "More than ten years ago," he admitted.
"Worth double now," he said. "Is that all?"
"Just the house the old woman lives in. Dilapidated condition. Run down old mansion."
"We can't have her living like that," Caesar winked, "that's first. Have her house fixed up. You have to preserve the estate, don't you?"
"Hell, no!" laughed Moon, "I'm just the attorney for the estate. Your old buddy, Princely is the curator. Let him do it. Besides, his brother is a contractor too, isn't he?"
"Yeah," laughed Caesar, adding, "Maybe we can get it done wholesale? Spend one hundred thousand dollars fixing the place up and don't forget to bring the commission-all ninety-nine thousand back to the kitty!"
"Did Rudy have the incompetency papers recorded?"
"He did, this afternoon. You know, you don't have to tell him how to do anything. He's on the ball."
"Doesn't hurt to keep a double check on things," Caesar said dryly, "not with Ziggy Kiev breathing down my neck all the time."
"I'll get together with Charley Diamond, Princely, and Rudy and we'll work out the details."
"If I were you," Caesar said, folding his hands on his stomach again. "I'd take care of everything without unnecessary delay. Kiev is going crazy trying to meet the new quota. We don't want anything to go wrong."
Caesar watched Mullens agree and said, turning back to his desk, "If you four dump the real estate right now, you can get cash for at least three-fourths of the holdings. But, no matter what you do, be damn sure the deeds are chopped up into small parcels and recorded piece by piece. If you deal that way, no one will be the wiser. The boys at the bank will pay you cash and give you receipts for as little as two-percent of the property values. If anything happens, we can say that it was necessary, to preserve the estate, to sell the assets for only two-percent of value in order that we might raise ready cash. Do the same thing with the securities."
"How much should we leave in the estate's checking account?" he asked.
"Well, let's see," the judge turned to his figures and added them. "With thirty-thousand dollars apiece for the administrator and the curator, and forty-no, fifty thousand for you and Rudy, that should be a hundred and sixty thousand. Of course, I only want a twenty-thousand dollar kickback from you and Rudy-and, ten apiece from Diamond and Princely." Caesar chuckled. "That's sixty thousand for my expenses." He closed his mouth with a snap like a cash register and grinned at Moon, adding after a few seconds, "I'd leave about two hundred grand in their checking account-after we take out for our fees and expenses-she'll still have forty-thousand. The old lady won't live long enough to spend that."
Moon Mullens left and Caesar neatly recopied the list of figures.
The door had softly opened and the girl came in. She stood beside Caesar and touched him gently on the arm. "George," she said, "you haven't once told me all day long that you missed me." Her throat, long and white, was the vessel that contained her throaty whisper. "I've been going crazy all day."
George P. Caesar stood there looking out the window, contemplating the city. He did not answer the girl.
She touched his arm again. "George," she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his cheek, "I've been so hungry for what you have to offer me...." She pressed her body against his and did not resist when he seized her and knelt to the floor with her unresisting form in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ziggy stepped out of the lunchroom. Seeing it was almost time, he moved down the street, and entered the lobby of an office building. Taking the elevator to the eighth floor, he emerged from the cab, waiting until its doors closed, and then moved down the corridor to the stairs where he walked down two nights and entered a door marked "private." The little private office had connecting doors to the detective agency in the suite adjacent.
He slammed the door and locked it, making a clatter, then rapped on the door to the agency next door and stretched out on an old studio couch.
Ray Bell entered the little office and grunted. Then he sat at the desk and waited for the phone to ring.
"They're late," Ziggy said.
"Know where we're supposed to meet them?"
"Search me," the detective said. "Miss Three said she'd call at one."
"Any idea what's up?" Ziggy's eyes were closed and his voice sounded hollow.
"How the hell should I know?" Ray said. He was bitter in his impatience and thought about the many other things that required his attention.
"You're getting paid, aren't you?" Ziggy said. Of all those he worked with, Ray Bell gave Ziggy the most trouble.
The phone rang softly and Ray snatched it off the hook. He listened quietly. Then, without saying a word, replaced the phone, got up, went into his office and returned a moment later pulling on his jacket.
Ziggy had arisen and was stretching when Ray came in locking the door after him. He grunted something incoherent at Ziggy and together they left the office building.
They drove out the beach road in stony silence.
At a sudden washout, the road abruptly ended.
They got out and began to walk.
Quick to find an excuse to take a dig at him, the detective laughed and said, "Don't tell me you're afraid to meet Mr. One and Mr. Two."
"Go to hell," Ziggy told him. "As long as I am Mr. One in this territory, I've no one to be afraid of." And added, "and as for you, you'd better watch your step. I've had about enough of your sarcasm. You knew what you were getting into five years ago when we first made our little deal-and, twelve hundred bucks a month-you like that too-so shut your damn mouth."
"You don't scare me," Ray told him, "so why don't you just wade out into the ocean and cool off that egghead of yours. Red as it is, it could stand a little cooling-off."
"Now, look!" Ziggy snapped, seizing Ray by the collar. "This has gone far enough. If you can't take orders from me, you'd better start learning right now-and this is the best time and the best place to teach you. I've been waiting for this chance for five years now!"
With the sudden fury of an erupting oil well, Ziggy slammed the side of his hand into the detective's throat; the sharp blow cracking his windpipe just above the collar-bone. Ray Bell tried to to cry out. Tears of pain gushed from his eyes and he glowered there in the sand, looking up at Ziggy, the agony unbearable, causing him to gasp again and again.
"You're helpless now," Ziggy told him. "All I have to do is toss you in the ocean and your troubles will be over." Cxrinning broadly, he watched the detective cringe and shake his head pleadingly, the tears pouring from his eyes. Ray started to his feet, staggering, his hands still grasping his throat.
The shanty was set back from the beach and although he could see no one-Ziggy knew they were waiting. He waited for Ray to catch up. The man was still coughing and gasping, his hands at his throat, his glassy eyes avoiding Ziggy's vicious stare.
It appeared that something had been dragged ashore from the surf, as if a small rubber boat had been beached there. He could see no footprints and attributed that to the boat which had been carefully dragged over their tracks. They entered the rickety building through a makeshift door, and as their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they could see the table in the center of the room around which sat two men and a woman. Ziggy had seen Miss Three many times before and he nodded at her, waiting to be acknowledged. She introduced Ziggy to the two men sitting opposite. "Kiev-Mr. One, Mr. Two!" He grunted at their icy stares and jerked his head in the detective's direction. "Ray Bell."
The man called Mr. One was poring over a sheaf of typewritten papers and occasionally nudged Mr. Two in the ribs when he saw something that apparently met with his approval. Miss Three, sat at the table, her neatly manicured fingers folded over a small notebook.
Ziggy appeared to be quite relaxed as usual despite the presence of the leaders of the invisible government. It was his first face-to-face meeting with the new Mr. One and Mr. Two. He did not seem to care if he met them or not. Ziggy did not like changes. He preferred things to remain as they were. The old leaders had committed some grievous mistakes and had been replaced.
Ziggy knew Miss Three well-he had nothing to fear from her. Inwardly, he was smug in the knowledge that he, above all others in the invisible government-he was the only one who was indispensable! He looked at Miss Three-Ziggy knew he could trust her-he knew, because she knew there was more to fear from Ziggy than from the leaders.
Finally they closed the folder of papers and returned it to Miss Three.
"So, you're Ziggy?" Mr. One spoke for the first time and he nodded approvingly, his thick features cruel. It was apparent that he liked Ziggy at once. For once, he met someone who had less hair than he had!
"How's your protege?" Mr. One asked, winking.
"Caesar's back on the treadmill," he laughed sourly. "Sorry for the trouble he caused." The remark was not aimed as an apology. It could be taken both ways.
Mr. One asked the others, "Did he cause any trouble?" He burst into laughter at his own words. "Quite the contrary," Mr. Two said, his steady eyes probing Ziggy's face. "His notoriety and the publicity he's been receiving is grand! Just grand!"
"It couldn't have been more accurately timed!" Mr. One added. Although his words were a bit heavier, he did seem to speak more forcefully.
Miss Three ventured a tight laugh. "Already the people are muttering about how crooked the courts are-how crooked the judges are-the corrupt-"
"We know, Miss Three!" Mr. One rudely interrupted, "and I'm pleased to see things progressing so rapidly, but we must have more immediate action!"
"Action," said Ziggy, the tone of his voice catching their rapt attention, "I'll give you!" He paused a moment for effect and then-added, "The players are all in the theatre and the stage is set," he said thickly, proudly, his words clipped short after having been thought-out carefully.
"And the scenery?" asked Mr. Two, his eyebrows raised.
"Bell, here is responsible for that," Ziggy said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in Ray's direction. "He has all the inside dope on the gas company scandal-everything is in readiness. Even to the tabulations of Caesar's expenses, of Whiteman's gift to Caesar of that car the judge killed the woman with-the fees they helped themselves to-oh, and not to mention extra copies of the inside information to give to Caesar's "enemies"-!"
Mr. One cleared his throat to bring the meeting to order. "You are sure Caesar does not suspect how we are using him?"
"Not a chance!" interrupted Ray Bell, "We certainly the right one for our purposes."
Ziggy motioned to the detective. "Get by the door and stay there! You know what you're to do! Or do you want more of the same?" Then he laughed coldly and said, "If you ever wanted to find a more perfect political hack to be chief circuit court judge you couldn't find him except on a Hollywood movie set. Every time that idiot, Caesar turns around he makes a goof and half the population rise up in arms! What better man could we have found to destroy the Americans' confidence in their courts of law?"
Miss Three glanced at the sulking detective who had gone to the door and stood there, looking out through a wide crack. It was evident to her that they all ignored him completely and she tried hard to keep from thinking about what Ziggy had said to the man for fear that she might think about it too much and find herself being ordered about too. "Ziggy," she began, her self confidence returning as she realized she was necessary and was important to the cause: "I believe-and this is merely a suggestion-I believe you could do a better job if you goaded that William Little into putting up a better fight."
Sputtering, his face growing livid, Ziggy snapped, "I've been doing all right on that score! I've had the SEC indict his father-had Ray make threats to his girl which I know caused her to break off with him and she refused to see him anymore unless he gives up his fight with Caesar. I've also-"
"Wasn't that stupid?"
"Quite the contrary," he said smugly. "A man such as little Willie must fight a man who he believes is a traitor to his country. From what Bell has dug up in his detective work, my theory has been proved to be correct!"
"Very good!" Mr. One said. "But, why haven't you inflamed others to rise up in arms against our tyrant, the judge?"
Ziggy nodded his head wisely. "We've made our Caesar a bit too powerful," he laughed and added as an aside, "I did my job almost too well. As a result, he has every lawyer and public official in the state scared to death of him!"
"Just be sure," Mr. Two warned, "that you don't do too good of a job smearing Caesar-you might ruin him! We must continue to build him into an ogre-a werewolf-a money-sucking Dracula-that the voters will want to see put out of office, but cannot. If you over-do your job, you might set-back our program of cultivating the people's dissatisfaction with the American government. The very essence of our program depends upon frustrating the people-we've just hiet with several of the union chiefs and they are doing a splendid job-just you do as well with your job!"
"There is nothing to fear, gentlemen," he said' reassuringly.
"Will the newspapers play up the scandal satisfactorily?" Mr. Two asked?
"Absolutely!" smirked Ziggy. "That will be Bell's job-with the goods he has on those newspaper editors they must use our propaganda exactly as we want them to use it!"
"Yes," Mr. One agreed. "It was a stroke of genius that led our leaders to decide on this plan for victory without open warfare! America will fall when we have completely destroyed the American people's confidence in their judicial system. Once this is done, the rest will be easy. Their entire culture, their way of life, their economy-everything depends upon their code of laws-and this is where not their strength, but their weakness is! This is where we are just beginning to strike!"
"Yes," Mr. One said with pride. "It just proves America needs saving from those imperialistic capitalists!
"We all agree that the way to destroy a steel bridge is not by painting it-we must allow the rust to corrode it until it collapses."
"Yes," Mr. One philosophized, "the weight of the entire country is on that bridge-and when it falls-the whole world will know-because then, all the world will be ours!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"That is bad," Will was telling Dennis and Buddy. "Very bad. When you hear people walking around saying they didn't vote because they didn't know which crook to vote for."
"But, Will," Dennis said, "everywhere you go, you hear talk like that. It's almost as if it's a planned conspiracy."
"Mr. Little," interrupted Miss McKay, "there's a Miss Darling outside. Says that Judge Gibson referred her to you and it's urgent."
Dennis and Buddy went out, nodding, exchanging pleasant smiles with the tall girl who entered.
She removed a glove and offered him her hand, saying, "I'm Thelma Darling. Thelma Rogers Darling. Did Judge Gibson tell you what has happened?"
Will nodded, "No, not completely, that is."
"As you know, Mr. Little, the court-or rather, Judge Caesar-signed an order adjudging my grandmother to be senile and incompetent. They made her a ward of the court and refused to grant me custody of her. I've lived with my grandmother for more than six years and now, when I came back from a short trip to New York, I suddenly discovered that I am not even permitted to visit her and that I am not even allowed to enter her house-not even to get my belongings!"
"When did this happen?"
"Last week. When I returned a week ago today, and tried to move back into the house, a woman who said she was my grandmother's nurse would not let me in. She told me that I must get Mr. Mullens' permission. I went to him and he told me that the court appointed doctor had said my grandmother was incompetent and that she was to have no visitors whatsoever because she was also suffering from a nervous condition." She was surprisingly composed and her demeanor was slightly formal. Will found himself wondering how she would hold up under stiff cross-examination. Her gaze was unfaltering and her eyes steady. He guessed she was used to giving orders and somehow got the picture of her being in charge of a battery of typists somewhere in a large downtown office.
"Mr. Little," she went on, "I know my grandmother. She is not the least bit nervous and never has been! Frankly, I doubt if she could ever develop a nervous condition. She is not a high-strung woman-in fact, she is quite the opposite. Sort of on the dull side."
"A qualified court physician apparently thought she was," Will said, watching her eyes closely for some trace of a further clue to her personality.
"I don't care if they did!" she said vehemently, "I know grandma!-She may be up in years-but she is not senile.
"What do you think we should do?" Will asked her. There was something about her problem that bothered him and he was not sure if the story the girl was telling was a narrative of all the facts.
"Are you holding something back?" Will asked suddenly. "How did you know there was more?" Her tone was incredulous and she managed a smile.
"I know," he admitted and let it go at that. "Now, tell me the rest."
"I took it upon myself to go to Judge Caesar and demand that he get the court order lifted. He told me that he would do nothing and that I should see Mr. Mullens who was the attorney for the estate. When I told him my grandmother already had another attorney, the judge laughed and said that Mr. Mullens was now my grandmother's lawyer. When I told him I had already been to see him, the Judge got angry and told me not to bother him any more about it."
"Was this in court?".
"No, it wasn't. I went into his chambers at the courthouse."
"Go on," Will said, nodding, a slight frown narrowing his eyes.
"Well, when I told the judge I didn't think it was a fair thing to do without first telling me about it, he got blue in the face and told me I was in contempt of court and that I was going-that he had just sentenced me to six months in jail!" Her face was a trifle flushed with anger and she fumbled for another cigarette from the box on Will's desk. "I got the heck out of there when he told me that, Mr. Little."
"What did you do next?"
"I went to stay at my uncle's. The very same evening a constable arrived with a warrant for my arrest. He didn't know me when I answered the door so I told him Miss Thelma Darling wasn't in and would be back in a half-hour. When he went away, I packed up my things and went away too. Right now, I'm staying at another place-a friend's-."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Judge Gibson and Will got out of the car and crossed the expansive stretch of well-kept lawn to the Darling's freshly painted house.
Will had rung the bell several times before it was finally answered.
"We'd like to see Mrs. Darling," said Will.
"I'm sorry, she isn't seeing anyone," answered the woman.
"Judge Gibson is here to see Mrs. Darling."
"I'm sorry," the harsh voice said. "She isn't seeing anyone."
"Do we have to come back with a court order?" Will shouted.
"Why do you want to see Mrs. Darling?" Her voice was louder now and shrill with indignation.
"We merely wanted to see if she was all right," Will said, glancing quickly at the judge.
"Well," she said angrily, "Mrs. Darling is indisposed and can't see nobody! Come back next week."
Will had foreseen her intention to slam the door in their faces and he barred it with a sudden movement of his foot. "Listen here," he yelled, "since when does a common, ordinary housemaid give orders for her employer?" Of course, Will knew the woman was not a housemaid and he had sensed that he would provoke her, if he said something like that.
Her venomous eyes glared at them and she said shrilly, "Do I look like a housemaid?" Her face twisted into a bitter frown and beads of perspiration stood out on her face as it reddened. "I am Mrs. Darling's nurse," she said with haughty pride.
Will glanced at the judge victoriously and said, "we may as well get a court order, eh, judge?"
He watched her face for a moment and saw the fright in her eyes. Then he added, "Don't you think it would be better all around if you just let us see her? After all, the publicity and so on-if you refuse." Will's threat was effective. Without another moment's hesitation, she swung the door back and admitted them.
Judge Gibson exchanged curious glances with Will when they saw her produce a ring of keys from a pocket and unlock the door to the right of the hall. "Mrs. Darling," the nurse said, "some men are here to see you."
"Isn't that nice!" she said, her thin voice sincerely pleasant and bright with the pleasure of receiving visitors. It was apparent that she enjoyed seeing new faces, but her smile disappeared when the "nurse" came back into the room.
Mrs. Darling said nothing for a long while, then she finally turned around and said, "Miss Grace. Do you mind leaving us alone for a few moments?"
"Now, now," she said with an affected smile. She was trapped and tried to conceal it. "You know the doctor said I mustn't leave you alone for a single second! You mustn't get excited."
"But, I won't be alone. These nice gentlemen are here with me," she said, a merry smile in her eyes.
Hesitantly, Miss Grace backed away, careful to leave the door open after her. Mrs. Darling glanced at the door to see if she was being overheard. "I've heard of you, Judge Gibson and I know you're different from those other judges. This isn't fair. Why, you'd think I was insane or something the way they carry on-locking locks-locking my door-watching me all of the time-they don't even give me any of my own money or jewelry! I never heard of such a thing."
The nurse appeared in the doorway. "I'm sorry," she snapped, "but you'll have to leave." Her manner clearly said: I have orders to run you out of this house!
The judge was furious. "How dare you?" He turned to Mrs. Darling and shook her hand gently. "I was delighted to see you, Mrs. Darling. Mrs. Gibson and I would like to take you out to dinner and a show. Would tomorrow evening-at seven-be convenient?"
The old lady smiled her acceptance. They nodded and left, aware of other unseen eyes watching their departure.
His pent-up fury now getting the better of him, the judge burst into an angry tirade. "This is the last straw, Will! I am so ashamed of being a-a strangled judge-strangled by that rat Caesar."
Will restrained him with a hand to the shoulder. "Judge, but wouldn't it be better to stay on the bench and fight?"
"How the hell am I going to fight them?"
"I've been doing it for ten years now-you know that."
"That's different-what this country needs is more lawyers with the guts and the integrity that you have! ... I think I could serve my country better if I devoted the rest of my life to teaching young law students that it is up to them to save our judicial system!"
"Perhaps you're right, judge. Things are in a sorry mess. Remember when you-and I were law students? In those days, we had three profs to every two dozen students. Now, there are hardly large enough classrooms to hold the hundreds of students who barely manage to share one professor between them! Is it any wonder they emerge like armies of diploma wielding hotdogs? Control of the government-control of the law-by a single class must end! Both the function of making and that of administering the law must be restored to the people!
"First, we must indict the lawyers who are nefariously responsible for (as you say) strangling the judges. Second, we must stop selling justice! Third, we must simplify and modernize the so-called 'due-processes' of law!
"In order to do all these things, it becomes necessary to streamline and overhaul our entire judicial system. If we do that, Caesar and the men like him, will never again threaten this country again.' We must make a judgeship a lifetime calling-put the judicial career-in all courts, from the lowest small claims court to the traffic court to the lower court to the supreme court-all the courts above politics! Once we do this, dignity will be restored to the courts!"
"Commendable thinking," Judge Gibson said, his temper cooling. "But how do you propose to 'police' the courts-to keep the politicians and the others from gaining the upper hand?"
Will nodded sagely. "That is a good question, judge, and I believe I have the solution to that problem too. It is the legal profession itself which is guilty for the sorry state of affairs in our courts today! Even the American Bar Association and all the state associations have never dared to admit this fact! And that is because they realize the American lawyer hasn't got the guts to scrap their antique system of justice! I believe, that a man should be trained to be a judge! Not appointed by some politician.
"For the first time in my life, Will, I now know that there is hope! The ideas you expressed are indeed revolutionary and I've never been so excited about an idea than I am at this moment! I'm astounded!"
Will started the car. "So am I, judge," he said. "Astounded because no lawyer is brave enough to admit we need a judicial revolution!"
"You certainly are," the judge smiled.
"Yes, and given the opportunity, I'd gladly put my head on the chopping block if it would do any good to stop this miscarriage of justice!" He frowned and looked at the judge. "Now do you begin to see Caesar's tie-in with the invisible government?"
"And how!" the judge cried. "Keeping an old lady a prisoner in her own home while they milk her estate for over two million dollars is big doings! It stands to reason that it would take an organization-not Judge Caesar alone-to get away with an undertaking like that! Hurry up, man. Can't you drive any faster?"
"Hold on, judge," Will laughed. "What's the rush?"
"You'll read about it in the papers," he laughed, winking. "And it won't be on the comic pages either!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Gentlemen," Will laughingly told Dennis and Buddy. "There will be no demonstrations when I show you this newspaper, agreed?"
JUDGE GIBSON DOFFS OFFICIAL ROBES! ALLEGES TRAITOROUS DISGRACE OF THE COURTS BY UNFIT JUDGES WHO OPENLY FLEECE THE INNOCENT AND WHO REWARD THE GUILTY! CITES DARLING ESTATE AS EXAMPLE! DEMANDS GOVERNOR ACT! Astonished, Dennis and Buddy rushed for the paper. They carefully read the caption under the photograph of Judge Gibson removing his robes of office.
"Will!" It was Dennis, excitedly shouting, "did you see this?" He shoved the paper toward him and read aloud: "Grand Jury investigates alleged rate-fixing by gas company. Following on the heels of an attack upon Judge George P. Caesar's professional ethics by Judge William Gibson, the Grand Jury today released a statement to the press that it had just completed a full investigation into the complicated gas company rate dispute. Judge Caesar had recently awarded the gas company the right to indiscriminately increase their rates."
"Good old Judge Gibson," Will said laughingly, taking in their puzzled expressions. "If he hadn't done that, I'll bet the Grand Jury would have continued to hold up the publication of their findings."
"Do you really think so, Will?" It was the detective, Ray Bell, who unexpectedly interrupted them when he opened the door suddenly and popped his head in.
"Come in, Ray," Will invited with a wave of his hand. "Join in the fun. We were just enjoying the newspapers for a change."
The detective entered laughing. He winked at Will and made himself comfortable, the incident of the burned photograph apparently forgotten. "Got some news for you that isn't in the papers yet," he told them thinly.
"Well, man," Will laughed impatiently, "out with it!"
"The Grand Jury has learned that our old friend, Rudy Whiteman, the attorney for the gas company gave Caesar that new Jaguar after-the day after he handed down his decision in the gas company thing. Just wait until you see how the papers play this story up!" he added, "they're going to feature the judge's smashed-up Jaguar on the front pages-and they won't forget to mention that the automobile was the same 'gift' car that was involved in that 'hushed-up accident' where that woman was killed."
"How do you know all this, Ray?" Will asked him quietly.
Ray winked. "Oh, I've got friends-on the newspapers," and added. "They say they're talking about impeaching Caesar!"
"Impeachment!" cried Dennis, jumping up excitedly, "That's the shibboleth!"
Although Will turned around to look at Dennis and smile, he was conscious of the detective's cold gaze on his face. He knew the man was trying to draw him out-to learn what his next move would be-but why?
"Now, I have a little surprise for Caesar too," Will told him, his steady gaze never for a second straying from the man's face. "We're going to sue Caesar and we're going to sue the special master he appointed-and the attorney-and the curator-and let's not forget the administrator too!" Will stopped talking and began to laugh.
Dennis and Buddy exchanged glances. Something was going on right under their noses and they did not have the slightest idea of what it was.
"Tell me, Will," the detective asked, "what kind of a suit are you filing?"
"You know I am now representing Mrs. Darling's granddaughter, didn't you?"
He nodded and eyed Will suspiciously.
"You also knew that Caesar sentenced her to sixty days for contempt?"
Although the detective was shaking his head in a weak attempt to feign ignorance, it was apparent to everyone in the room that he knew more than he admitted.
"Well, you certainly must know how Caesar conspired to defraud the Darling estate, do you not?"
Ray was forced to admit that with a silent nod. Will glanced quickly at Dennis and Buddy and noticed that they too had been watching the man's suspicious behaviour.
"That's it-that's my case. I'm charging Caesar and his gang with conspiracy and fraud!"
"Whew!" said Ray weakly, mopping his brow, "for a moment there, I thought you were about to give up your fight against Caesar."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" Will cried, slapping the top of the desk. "Me, give up?" he poked his necktie with a jabbing thumb. "Don't make me laugh. I'd rather give up eating first!"
"That's the stuff, Will," he told him rising to leave. "Give the son-of-a-bitch all the hell you can!" His words sounded convincing enough and Will found himself wondering if he had been wrong. He walked to the door with the detective. "I'm glad you could drop in, Ray. Nice to see you."
Will stared at the closed door. There was a frown on his face and he looked at Dennis and Buddy. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Both men were slightly confused. "I don't get it, Will," muttered Dennis.
"Oh, well," Will shrugged it off, "maybe it's nothing. Unless I miss my guess," he said, changing the topic, "Caesar is going to be in for a rough time from now on!"
"What way?" Dennis was stopped cold.
"If anybody in this office should know, you certainly should."
"Know what?"
"Know that only the legislature-and then, in a majority-can impeach a lower court judge." Will laughed thinly. "I'm ashamed of you, my chief research man!"
They all laughed and nodded. Then waited for Will to continue.
"And even if they did impeach him, then what? Who will take his place?"
"But, won't that make you happy, seeing Caesar impeached?"
"Nothing would make me happier, Dennis," Will told him, "what he has done is more than enough to warrant disbarrment and impeachment! When I see a louse like Caesar getting away with treason like that day after day, do you think I like to sit by idly and do nothing? But, we must remember, he is too powerful-and there is no other power-except God's-in this state, greater than Caesar's! I know-because of the pressures and hardships he brought to bear against me-and my friends and family-don't you think I know how powerful he really is? In fact, I have a better idea of his power than even Caesar himself does!
"I'm surprised at you, Will," Dennis interjected, "you sound as if you're defeated by all this power you talk about."
Will shook his head gravely. "You know that isn't the case at all, Dennis. If admitting how strong an enemy is implies that I'm giving up, then you'd better get your thinking straightened out. In order to beat Caesar and to rid the courts of him for good, we first must know exactly how much power he commands and exactly where it is deployed in order to devise a way to defeat him!"
"Will," Buddy said quietly, "you knew all along that you're no match for Caesar."
"Will you listen to that?" Will laughed, "ganging up on me!" Then he winked and said, "Caesar doesn't know I'm not a match for him, does he?"
"No, but every member of the Bar knows it-and what's more-every lawyer in this town is saying that you have a one-track mind!"
Will laughed and said, "Yes, but that isn't so bad-if the tracks lead somewhere!"
"Caesar would never be able to get away with the things he does if there was a competent legal judicial superintendent on the job, overseeing what goes on there in the courts!" said Buddy thoughtfully.
"A better idea," Will said, "would be a sort of secret board of review. All the courts could be put in one building and a private television monitoring system could be used to watch over the courts.".
"Wow!" exclaimed Dennis. "That's a terrific idea! And think, not only could they listen to, but they could watch the proceedings. They would be able to better watch the gestures and the inflections of the lawyers as well as the judges. If there was such a secret board of review, they wouldn't dare take the chances they now do, would they?"
"What's the use," Buddy said, throwing up his hands. "They'd never do such a thing. Too much red-tape and politics. Unfit judges like Caesar are too powerful to let a thing like that happen."
"There's only one thing that matters," Will told them in a grim voice, "and that is that we know what we're righting for-and if we do our best-in time-we will win!"
"Sometimes I wonder," Dennis admitted. He shoved his hands in his pocket and tilted his head at Will.
"What?"
"What is the use. What are we getting out of all this? Except fewer and fewer clients and more and more heartaches."
"That isn't the issue," Will stormed to his feet. "We know how rotten it is in Caesar's court-it is our moral duty-our obligation to our trust as attorneys to uphold the Constitution of the United States-to see that traitors like Caesar are kicked out of office!"
He sought to-find another subject of conversation and Will returned to his desk and opened the drawer and leafed through a file. "My father's trial comes before the United States District Court on Monday."
"Any new ideas concerning the brief?"
Dennis shrugged. "We know the charges are contrived. And we have the accountant's audit of your father's books. Everything is on the up and up and is in order. What is there to worry about? We're not dealing with Caesar here, this is Federal business, thank God!"
Will laughed thinly with a quality of faint amusement in his tone. "I wish my Dad would hear that. He'd really feel good."
"I didn't mean it quite that way, Will," said Dennis, "I meant that I am confident that not even Caesar can taint the Federal courts! I don't believe he's that powerful yet. I am sure we can prove in Federal court that the charges are false and that they have been instigated in an attempt to slander your father's business and perhaps-we may be able to show that it was an attempt to get at you!"
"I wish I had your confident outlook on this," Will admitted with reluctance, returning the folder to the drawer. "I have to admit that this thing has me scared to death!"
"Is it any wonder? Your father is on trial here!" Will nodded and thought about Caesar and wondered how he had managed to engineer this one....
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Thank the Good Lord," Judge Gibson told Will, "there are still men like you around who will go to great lengths just to see justice done! There isn't a lawyer in this city who has guts enough to continue fighting Caesar year after year as you have been doing."
"And, losing battle after battle with him," Will mused.
"Yes," the judge said, "I see you also just lost the gas company case too."
"Uh, huh. Massey of the Utilities Commission handed down the ruling that the rate increase was justified. Now, the people also have to pay all of the company's court costs too!"
"That isn't the half of it," the judge said grimly, "after handing out his ruling, he resigned."
"You're kidding!" Will exclaimed.
"The hell I am. He resigned to accept a post with the FCC."
"I see." Will was silent with his thoughts for a time. "So that's why they had him appointed? I wonder what they've got planned next-appointing him to the FCC?"
"You shouldn't be surprised, Will," the judge told him. "You yourself told me that Judge Curtis had said they even have connections in the White House!"
"We might get some good news, one of these days," Will told the judge.
"The Grand Jury releases its findings today. Perhaps we might read something encouraging in the papers for a change."
"All about Whiteman's gift car, I suppose," Will told him.
The judge was flabbergasted. "Yes, how on earth did you possibly know?"
"You know that detective, Ray Bell? He told us."
"I know him," the judge scowled, "but how could he know?"
Will shrugged. "He said he had friends on the newspapers."
"Impossible!" he told Will, "those reports were secret! In fact, I personally know that the press will not see them until late this afternoon! This is most peculiar."
Will nodded. "I agree, judge. When Ray popped into our office yesterday, there was something mighty odd in the way he acted. I've known him for a good many years and never before had any occasion to doubt him-as far as I know, he's on my team!"
"Does he know everything you're up to?"
"Certainly not!" Will cried with indignation. "He does know some things we are doing-like filing the conspiracy and fraud charges against Caesar and his gang-but, nothing else! In fact, I was rather tempted to have him investigate those ex-customer's men who left my father in the lurch. But, something held me back. I know Dad's records are unimpeachable and when the Federal District Attorney sees the audit and goes over them, I know they'll throw the case out!"
"You can't ever be too sure about those things, Will. You know that."
"Yes, sir, I do! And I also know I can't take unnecessary chances when my own flesh and blood is involved. Still, I am confident they will drop the charges. It's all rather hazy, but I would like to know who's responsible."
"You know!" the judge told him, watching his reaction. The young attorney shook his head and smiled.
"I don't have the evidence. And if I don't have it-neither do they have anything on my father. It's just an attempt to scandalize his firm and smear him."
"You look like you could use a rest. Will. Why don't you get together with your girlfriend, Virgie, and take off a few days?"
Will nodded and smiled. The judge did not know they were not seeing each other anymore. But being reminded of her made him feel empty inside and he arose suddenly, offering the judge his handshake. "I'll be running along, your honor, keep me posted."
"You be careful, Will!" the judge warned. "When the public sees that story break about the Grand Jury's investigation, they'll be howling for blood. And so will Caesar's gang. Watch your step. If anything happens to you...."
"Nothing is going to happen."
"If it does-I just might resign and accept one of those teaching jobs."
"You're not serious about that, are you, judge?"
"I most certainly am."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
In the booth, Will was waiting for Virgie to be called to answer his call. He had been putting off calling her day after day and he could not bear any more waiting.
"Virgie! Virgie, darling! I had to call you. Please listen to me, don't hang up."
"Will," she said, her voice sounding strange over the receiver, "I told you and I told you. It's no use! When you get some sense in your head and give up that silly fight and make your peace with Judge Caesar, I'll make up with you."
"But, Virgie, you know all about what's going on, don't you? You know that I must do what I'm doing. I have to be honest with you. If I can't tell you the truth, I don't know-I just don't know."
"That's silly! You're a lawyer-a dratted good one too-you could be making a lot of money with a big practice, but you're not. Fighting Caesar is ruining you. Instead of you hurting him-he's ruining you! You can't possibly win-the odds are against you...."
"But, Virgie-why are you so insistent that I stop fighting him?" he demanded.
"It's for your own good, Will," she said, her voice coming over stubbornly, softly, unyieldingly. "Sooner dr later you're going to be hurt. And I don't want to see anything happen to you. There isn't any use arguing further. When you decide to change your mind and buckle down to some other kind of legal work, you can have me back."
"Don't you love me anymore?" he demanded, his voice pungent, acute with emotion.
"Certainly-I haven't changed. It's just that I love you so much I can't stand seeing you so unhappy. Precious darling, you're so obstinate I could scream!"
"Well," he said, his voice failing to a low register, "if you haven't changed, why do you persist in demanding I stop fighting Caesar?
"I haven't changed, Will. You know that. It's just that you've been changing! I've watched you blame yourself for Peccocini's death-and now, with all this publicity about your father's indictment, you'll be blaming yourself for that too-if, they convict him, which I hope they won't!" She stopped to catch her breath and went on: "I hope to God you can get your father off-and I pray that you will only listen to me!"
"All right, Virgie," he told her, "if that's the way you want it; that's the way it's going to be."
"You mean," her voice came over the receiver in a startled crackle. "You mean you will give up?"
"No, my darling," he said sadly. "I can't give up. This thing is bigger than us-there's more important things at stake than our happiness. I won't call you any-"
"Will," she interrupted, "please reconsider. Please?"
"But, Virgie. Listen to me. You'll have to trust me-you must accept me for what I am and what I have to do. This thing is too important to just drop as if it was nothing!"
"I'm sorry if you think that, but my mind is made up! I won't change it unless-and until-you get some sense."
The loud click of the receiver in his ear stunned him, and he sat there for several minutes, staring at the receiver. Then he finally hung up and left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ziggy paced to and fro before Caesar's desk. He was angry and his livid bald head glistened with nervous perspiration.
From his desk, Caesar watched the man, and fought to contain his own growing apprehension.
"You stupid ass!" Ziggy shouted, turning suddenly and slamming both fists down upon the judge's desk.
"If you'd only tell me what's wrong now?" Caesar said quietly, feigning innocence. "What did I do now?"
"It's not what you did-it's what's you didn't do!" he stormed.
"Didn't do what?" Caesar fought to remain aloof.
"You didn't let that Darling girl go-you had to hold her in contempt! Couldn't you .wait until you got my advice? If you had any sense you would have known she'd run right to little Willie!
Still looking dumbfounded, Caesar turned his palms outward. "I thought you said you wanted her out of the way!"
Ziggy shook his head in disgust. "You ass! That's what you are! You sentenced her and also found her guilty of contempt without a proper hearing. That little lawyer son-of-a-bitch will make mince-meat out of you yet! And I hope he does!"
"Psaw!" Caesar scoffed. "He'll do no such thing. I-I'll throw it right out of court."
"And tell me," Ziggy shouted, his fist menacingly an inch from Caesar's face, "exactly what you will do when he takes the case to the high court?"
Caesar's rotund body made the chair creak as he shifted his position and appraised Ziggy haughtily. "This is something not even you knew-I have power and influence in-the Supreme Court! They'll rule with me! Haw!"
With the suddenness of an unexpected whiplash, Ziggy's hand cracked against Caesar's cheek with a blow so powerful that the judge's head bobbled and he fell backward, the chair and all spilling over onto the floor.
"Listen to me, you pig!" spat Ziggy. "I made you and I can break you. You will do exactly as I tell you and from this moment on you will stop thinking and only obey! Is that understood?" He paused, glaring, his thick chest rising and falling, pumped by the bellows of anger within him.
Ziggy went to a chair and opened his briefcase. He removed a newspaper and held it up, folded. "You'd better be sitting down when you read this!" He tossed it across Caesar's desk. "Now read!" DEATH CAR WAS GIFT FROM WHITEMAN -- JUDGE CAESAR TO BE SUBPOENAED!
"This was your doing! How could they have found all that out? What good will I be to you if they run me off the bench?" Caesar's face contorted into a mass of wrinkles. "Why are you doing this to me? Why!" he screamed again, the wrinkles flooding suddenly with his tears.
Ziggy stood there rocking back and forth on his heels and he began to laugh. "That's the way I like to see you, Georgeeeee-porgie, dry your eyes!"
He went to the desk and folded the newspaper to the second page. "Here, read this." AIRLINES AWARDED NEW TV CHANNEL.
Caesar grinned through his twisted face. "The least you could have done was warn me."
"How could I warn you?" Ziggy said, smiling again. "This is so big that we had to sacrifice you temporarily."
"But, why me?" Caesar whined.
"Because," Ziggy said, "you are the most powerful and biggest man in the state. We had to temporarily use you as a scapegoat in order to keep this big story on the back pages and played down. Tomorrow, it will not even make the papers-while the story about you will be plastered all over the papers! Don't worry," Ziggy said with a casual wave of his hand, "I'll build you up again, stronger than ever!"
Caesar nodded. He could not speak. He just sat there looking blank and saying nothing.
"Don't forget. By controlling this TV station we control a powerful voice now-just wait and see-that TV station will make you governor yet!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Will hung up and stared vacantly at Dennis and Buddy. "I'm afraid we're in for it, fellows," he said, his voice low and without enthusiasm. "That was Judge Gibson on the phone. He just told me that Caesar reassigned our Darling Estate hearing to himself."
"How in hell could he do that?" yelled Dennis, raving, jumping to his feet and banging around the room. "It was assigned to Judge Gibson. Of all the-"
"Now, hold on," he warned him quietly. "After all, isn't Caesar the chief lower court justice?"
The young attorney looked up and watched Will's face with curiosity. It was evident that he knew Will had figured something out, and he tried vainly to guess what it could be.
"Tut, tut, my boy," Will chided, holding up a finger, "that is a surprise. Shall we be going?"
"So early?"
"That's one good quality Caesar has," Will said, "he never keeps us cooling our heels in his courtroom. Most likely, he'll call us first."
As they were leaving, Will took a packet of documents from Miss McKay and brandished it before them. "Here it is boys," he said in a voice that boomed, "our secret weapon!"
When they arrived in the courtroom it was already crowded. Dennis and Buddy were squeezed in on each side of him. There was something challenging about a thing like this-especially when Will had a surprise he was going to uncork for their enjoyment.
Suddenly, Caesar, pompous in his flowing black robes made his grand entrance. Will and the others stood up as the clerk called the court to order and then everyone sat down. He fixed his gaze momentarily upon Will. There was a cold twist to his lips and his dull teeth were bared in what would have ordinarily seemed to have been a pleasant smile. Will knew different. The judge rapped his gavel and asked the clerk to call the first case.
The clerk motioned to Will. Hurriedly, accompanied by Dennis and Buddy, they went before the judge. Saying nothing, Will extracted the documents he had had Miss McKay prepare in secret and handed them to Caesar. Then, Will drew back a step, as if to get a better view of the judge's face. They did not have to wait long.
"How dare you file a motion to disqualify me from hearing this case!" Caesar's wrath was magnified glaringly behind the eyeglasses. There was a cadaverousness of complexion now on his face and his lips trembled.
Unsmiling, but very polite, Will spoke in a quiet voice, "My client, your honor, as you know, has a suit pending against you, together with the honorable Charles Diamond, Mr. Rudolph Whiteman, Mr. Herman Mullens and the honorable Laurence B. Princely ... as you know."
Flustered, his red face now muddier than ever, Caesar had been caught in a corner and was completely disarmed. The smiles he saw on Dennis' and Buddy's faces enraged and infuriated him.
"If your honor pleases," Will continued in a voice not familiar to Caesar, but, certainly that of Will's, "we pray the court to honor our motion to disqualify and respectfully ask, that your honor "recuse" himself in accordance with the law of the land! As your honor knows, the law specifically states, that the governor of the state must be called upon to appoint a fair and impartial and unbiased judge to hear our cause."
All Caesar could do was instinctively rap his gavel again and again. This was the first time he had ever been so publicly trapped by little Willie! The courtroom was spellbound, hanging on every word, transfixed by every gesture.
Mustering what was left of his dignity, Caesar drew himself erect. "I don't need you to quote the law on recusation to me, mister Little!" he said. "I shall take your motion under advisement." He banged his gavel and fired a furious look, at the court clerk as if he was to blame for allowing Will before the court. "Next case," he said, his voice a sudden hoarse cry.
When they were finally outside in the car, Will was already probing his mind for an answer to what he thought Caesar would do next.
"What do you think Caesar will do next, Will?" asked Buddy, urgently leaning forward on the back of their seat.
"He'll take the initiative and appoint a judge of his own choice!"
"Judge Gordon Bailey."
"No! He's Mullens' law partner. He wouldn't be that stupid."
"And if he does it-that will be exactly what I want," Will added, doggedly. "It's almost too easy. We have him on the run at last-with all that adverse publicity in the papers, he's grabbing at straws. We must win the appeal in the Supreme Court and Caesar knows it too. For the first time in years, I have him trapped and right in the corner where I want him. Caesar knows that, too!"
"You know Judge Bailey will rule against the Darling client," said Dennis.
"Absolutely. He must. Caesar gives the orders on the bench. He has no other choice. Remember what happened 'to Judge Curtis?"
Dennis and Buddy started at his cryptic remark. Will had never openly discussed the Curtis' disappearance with them before and had avoided any mention of it or anything pertaining to it. His sudden fatalism was revolting.
"Wait a minute, Will!" cried Dennis heatedly. "You're not implying that Caesar had anything to do with the Curtis' disappearance? Or are you?"
"I said nothing of the sort, Dennis. But I will say this much: The same organization that Caesar is a member of, had plenty to do with it!"
Reaching the office, Miss McKay and Miss Butler gave them their telephone message memoes.
Returning his briefcase to the desk drawer, Will stood there idly rummaging through his effects. He picked up a miniature football and hefted it from hand to hand. "If the Bar Association ever gets guts enough, they can consider disbarring Caesar. However, it seems logical to assume that even if they did, they would think a dozen times about all the harm such an action might do. First, they don't know the true extent of Caesar's powers-they can only guess at that. Second, do they have the right to depose a duly elected judge from his office! Well, that raises a third question-only the legislature, according to our state law-only the legislature can impeach an elected judge-therefore, why should the Bar bother and go to all that trouble and expense?"
"What of this organization that you said was behind him?" Buddy asked, daring to break the unspoken rule that they should never probe Will about things which he did not volunteer to tell them.
"I was afraid you might ask that sooner or later," he admitted with deep apprehension, a cold light in his eyes. "I suppose you have a right to know, inasmuch as you're involved in this too. According to what Judge Curtis told me before he mysteriously disappeared, there ta an invisible government existing in America today!"
Buddy was impressed by the nakedness of Will's words. "We know that, but what has all this to do with Caesar?"
"Suppose," Will explained, his voice an octave above a whisper, "that Judge Curtis was right in what he had told me. Suppose they have decided that the only way to destroy the United States is by eradicating the people's confidence in our law and in our justice and in our government? What better way would there be-than to find weak men like Caesar throughout the United States and exploit them by giving them more and more power. Then, working the strings to these puppets, they can manipulate them and have them do all sorts of things to achieve their aim. Didn't both of you tell me that already people everywhere are saying that the courts have lost their sacred dignity? They are becoming afraid of going to court for fear of what might happen-what can happen to them!? That they say all judges are crooks and they actually go on searching parties to find a crooked lawyer who is in cahoots with a crooked judge and who pays-off the judge for his dispensation of his crooked justice-Isn't this the truth? How many times have prospective clients approached us and offered us bribe money to buy the judges with?"
He paused, watched them shake their heads in curious agreement. Then, with his breath held tight, he went on: "This invisible government actually does exist among us today! You know what happened to the Curtis'-you know what happened to Peccocini-you know what's happened to the Darling estate-you know what's happening to my father! I am convinced this is all part of a master plot-an incredible plan of trtason-for that is exactly what it is!"
Dennis stood up and inched toward Will. "Caesar will destroy himself! Look at the publicity? The Grand Jury investigation. Everything. Isn't he ruined already?"
Hollowly, Will laughed and repudiated it at once. He sunk down to his chair, "Far from it, Dennis! Far from it. People forget-in time, they'll forget all about this scandal. If Caesar was not the bastard that he is, he would have resigned long before now-at the time of the accident. Now, under fire from all sides, the scoundrel still won't quit. I wouldn't be a bit surprised that even if the governor himself tried to do something, Caesar would laugh at him. The power he represents-the power behind him is mighty. In effect, the tentacles of his power even reaches out to lofty places in our government and I wouldn't even be a bit surprised to see it reach right into the White House in Washington!"
"I can see," Dennis admitted, "that there's no end to the probabilities of their infiltrations."
"Quite true. They are thoroughly and spectacularly organized. This is a fact! It's high time this country of ours did something about this!"
"Were you to the FBI with your story of what had happened to the Curtis?" Buddy asked discreetly.
"I was there and gave them my statement. Never heard another word...."
"What can they do?" Dennis asked succinctly. "Without proof-just heresay."
"Not a blamed thing," Will told them, his frustration smoldering. "They must have absolute proof. He dropped his feet to the floor and stared at the toes of his shoes. "And I could not give them one iota of proof!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Caesar had been warned by Sally that Ziggy was in his office waiting. Gingerly, Caesar closed the door and went across the room. Sally had said there was a letter on his desk-
"It's about time you showed up," Ziggy hissed, holding his head high, sitting on the window sill with his arms folded.
"The governor sent you a letter, Georgie," Ziggy told him, laughing. "Aren't you going to read it? "The governor wants your resignation."
Blinking with disbelief, Caesar's voice trembled with terror. "W-what do you want me to do about it?" he asked meekly.
"That's the way I like to hear you talk," nodded Ziggy, moving away from the window. "Now get up and let me sit there. Get a pencil and paper, George. This is what I want you to write the governor."
"Your Excellency," he began, licking his lips, sucking air through his teeth as if to cleanse his mind. "In time of strife, when one old friend fails to come to another's aid, it is a breach of fidelity and of moral ethics. Remember, for instance, all the campaigning I did for you when you were running for office? Remember how I did my very best to cover up (underline that, Georgie) to cover up some of the things they accused you of?"
"It is difficult to understand why you, your excellency, could forsake me in my hour of need. The things they say of me are lies! Vicious lies! I am an innocent victim of scandal-mongers who would see my political career ruined. I am innocent and yet, you demand my resignation without giving me the benefit to defend myself at a fair and impartial hearing."
"Now, that you have made your stand, your excellency, and I know now that you are not a true-blue friend and that you have deserted me when I most depended upon your support, I, George P. Caesar, Chief Justice of the Circuit Court of this county, do hereby refuse to comply with your hypocritical and biased and unfair request. I will not resign! Sign it," said Ziggy, "and send it special delivery."
Ziggy squinted at his fingertips as Caesar finished and he warned, "If I were you, I'd make myself unavailable!" Then, he stood up and stretched. "You'd better get Sally straightened out on what to tell the reporters. They'll be howling at your doorstep as soon as this leaks out."
"But," stammered Caesar, "I have a full docket today."
"Postpone it then!"
"Do as I say," raved Ziggy, shaking a fist in Caesar's quivering face. "You do what I tell you, you damned ass! I made you what you are and I pull the strings and I tell you where to jump and how to jump. Just remember,-any more disobedience out of you and they'll be dragging your fat carcass out of the bay with a chain around your neck!"
The judge leaned forward and pressed the buzzer on the desk. "Bring your notebook, Sally," he said dryly, his voice scratchingly hoarse.
He gave her the letter and watched her untroubled face as he dictated. The girl had more sense than he gave her credit for having. She betrayed no emotion when she heard the contents of the letter. Her loyalty to Caesar was beyond reproach and the judge felt a strange emotion assuaging his jittery nerves as he watched, out of the corners of his shifting eyes, Ziggy saunter out of the office.
"Is that all?" she said, avoiding his gaze discreetly.
"Type it up neatly, make two file copies and bring it right in for me to sign. I must send it off by special delivery right away!"
A few minutes later the buzzer sounded and he moved slowly to the desk and picked it up. "Your honor," Sally told him, "there are two gentlemen here to see you."
"I'm sorry, but tell them I cannot see anyone."
The door burst open a moment later and two men entered. "Judge Caesar?"
"How dare you?" he shouted, "who gave you permission to violate my premises!?"
One of the men handed him a paper. "This."
Dumbfounded, the judge, openmouthed, gaping at the subpoena, did not hear or see them leave. It was an order for him to appear before a special session of the Bar Association. In shocked turprise he realized that it was and his numbed state of mind reeled and he found solace in the knowledge that he would have to disobey Ziggy's orders to leave town. A busy docket would give him the excuse he needed to stall off the Bar Association board of inquiry and to hold them in costly obeyance.
The thought pleased him and he let the false surge of confidence take his ego soaring upwards to dizzy heights once again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Waiting for Dennis on the steps of the Federal Court Building, Will had just bought a paper and with his father and Buddy at his side, looked at the front page.
JUDGE GEORGE P. CAESAR DEFIES GOVERNOR'S DEMAND THAT HE RESIGN! BAR ASSOCIATION BOARD OF INQUIRY MOVES TO CONSIDER DISCIPLINARY ACTION AGAINST JUDGES AND ATTORNEYS!
Grover Little felt pleased, assuaged by the headlines. "For a change," he told his son and Buddy, "the fur is really flying off those wolves."
"It should be, Dad," Will said in his composed voice, handing the paper to Buddy. "This is a test of power-I doubt if it's anything more."
"You mean you actually think there's nothing to it?"
"I'm inclined to think that way. Yes." He paused, that sorrowful smile on his face. "What happens next is anybody's guess."
Apprehensively, Will glanced at his watch. "I can't imagine what happened to Dennis. Where did you say he had to go?" he saked, turning to Buddy.
"He was in the courthouse all morning checking some records. Told me he'd meet us here promptly at two."
. Will led his father into the building and they entered the elevator and rode up to the District Attorney's floor.
The Federal District Attorney seemed friendly enough. After they were seated he said, "Before we begin, gentlemen, I have several things to clean up.
Do you mind waiting several minutes?" It was an apology, rather than an excuse and Will was quick to perceive this so he said, "Certainly, take all the time you need. We don't mind waiting."
Will's father, sitting on the edge of his seat, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief, nodded and said, "When this mess is over and done with, I'm going to take a trip to Switzerland and find a nice mountain top and yodel my head off."
The District Attorney returned to the office and sat at his desk. "I want to thank you gentlemen for coming in voluntarily like this before the scheduled hearing-and," he smiled, "for waiting." He turned to a folder of documents and fingered them idly. "These cases can be trying to both sides," he said.
Will arose and went to the desk. "If you will fill us in on some of the charges-at least, a little more specifically, we would certainly appreciate it. My father-my client-had always conducted his business affairs in the most ethical and above-board-"
"I know," cut in the District Attorney, "Mr. Little has always had a fine reputation. We went over the books carefully and government auditors have found nothing amiss. That is why I had asked that you might appear unofficially like this before me so we might clear up a few matters. It is odd that a man who is respected in the community and who for more than thirty years has always conducted his affairs in a manner beyond reproach should suddenly be accused by ex-employees who have testified under oath that he was conducting a bucket-shop operation." The District Attorney broke off laughing, and he nodded at them.
"My office will not be a party to an attempt to smear the good name of some upright American citizen. I assure you gentlemen, that by the time the hearing is called, I will have gotten to the bottom of this and the charges against you will be withdrawn. Instead of attempting to prove a case against you," he laughed thinly, "we'll be attempting to build a case proving perjury against your accusers!"
Astonished, Grover Little happily turned to Will and Buddy. He was speechless and he looked at them in open mouthed wonder.
Sitting back in his chair and toying with a pencil, the District Attorney addressed his next remark to Will. "I have been following your career, Mr. Little, with a great deal of interest and I want to say that I admire and respect what you have been doing. Incidentally, I might add that I was forced to ask you to wait before our little talk began because I was just receiving some more information pertaining to this case. I wanted to be sure before I gave you the good news. Goodluck." He arose and extended his handshake genially.
"Dad," Will laughed, "I don't think you can get out of that trip to Switzerland now!"
"Thank the Good Lord the Federal Courts aren't run like Caesar's laboratory of injustice," mused Buddy, at Will's right, walking beside them down the steps.
On their way to the parking lot, Will pulled up short to greet a man he knew. "Hello, Cal." He introduced him to his father and Buddy. "Cal here runs that daytime radio station."
"Maybe not for much longer," he said grimly, ending on a note of anger.
"What's wrong?"
"I was one of the applicants for the new television channel-one of the losing applicants!"
"I heard," Will said sympathetically, "That's a crying shame."
"Now that's over with," he said still grimly, "they're trying to run me out of business and lift my FCC license. When I protested the FCC's unfair award of that station to an airline, those inspectors have been hounding me to death and threatening to have my broadcasting license revoked."
"Do you need any help?" Will asked.
"No, thanks anyway, Will. The senator's law firm is representing me. We're really going to make a fight of this. Those crooked so and so's and push me around like that and get away with it."
Will gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "The senator's firm won't let you down, Cal. Keep your chin up. There's going to be quite a ruckus in Washington. Mark my words'" he said cryptically with a wink.
Cal was suddenly avid with interest. He seized Will by the arm and squeezed familiarly. "Come on, laddie, out with it. What do you know?"
Will laughed. He did not have the heart to continue the cruelty of teasing Cal. "All right, I'll tell you. The day Willard Massey was appointed to the FCC was-the day you lost your chance. The day after he took office after serving for a short time on the Utilities Commission, he saw to it that the award was made to the air line!"
"The hell you say?"
Will nodded. "Check into that, Cal. You'll be mighty surprised to discover what you find out!" Will waved and walked away, his father and Buddy joining him. They reached the car and Buddy took the wheel. "This is fantastic," he said in utter defeat, "how powerful they really are! With the years of experience and the thousands of friends Cal has, you'd think he'd win that TV channel award standing on his head. If anybody deserves it, he certainly does. Imagine how he feels, vieing for a thing like that for years and years and then suddenly, a newcomer, and an airline to boot, is awarded his TV channel!"-
"Do you think they'll call you before the Bar hearings?" asked Buddy.
"I suppose so," Will admitted drearily. He did not look forward to that aspect of his fight with Caesar. Will smiled inwardly and then wondered what had detained Dennis. Somehow he knew something was wrong and he was suddenly struck with an incoherence of thought....
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It had been fifteen minutes to two when the two men approached Dennis who had been waiting for Will and the other on the steps of the Federal Court Building.
"Pardon me, but are you Dennis Woodland?"
"Yes, I am." He looked at them, the two men standing on the step below him, dressed rather tidily, although not particularly stylishly. The man who spoke was thickset with dark ruddy features and unusually large ears. The ears, perhaps were the most extraordinary ears Dennis had ever seen and he caught himself chuckling inwardly, wonderingly.
The other man advanced from his left and seemed to close in, to approach them as if relieved that their search was over.
"What is it you want?"
"William Little asked us to see if we could find you. He said that he would be late for the appointment and that he had cancelled it anyway and said that you should come with us."
Dennis drew back a step and tilted his head, eyed them with suspicion. "He said I should come with you?"
The other man cut in. "Yes, we're going back to the office anyway and he asked us to give you a lift."
Dennis was suspicious, but he shrugged it off and nodded. "Lead the way."
As they roared away from the curb, Dennis caught a glimpse of Will, Buddy and Mr. Little approaching the Federal Building. He knew then his first intuitive suspicions were well founded. Slowly, stiffly, like an aged man, Dennis edged toward the door. His intentions were to leap from the car the next time they stopped for a traffic light.
Big ears was holding a gun. It was pointed at Dennis' midsection. "In case you got any funny idears," he growled with disdain, "this should keep yuh in line." He gestured with the gun, a foreign automatic.
For all his life, Dennis had often wondered what he would do in a spot like this."Now, look, fellows," Dennis said throatily, "I haven't done anything to you men have I? What is this all about? Where are you taking me? What's going on?"
Big ears prodded him in the stomach with the steel gun barrel. "We are sorry tuh cause you any trouble and we hate to do this, but, orders is orders."
An hour later they turned off the highway and bounced along a secondary road which was in sore need of repairs.
He knew they were there because the road dead-ended abruptly at an abandoned farmhouse. They got out and he got out and entered the desolate building. Big ears motioned Dennis to a chair.
"Well," Dennis tried to sound cheerful, "now that we're all here nice and cozy, how about you guys telling me what this is all about?"
"We can't tell yuh nothin'. Tie him up, Heels," Big ears said to the man who had been driving.
They tied him securely to the chair, his hands behind his back, his feet to the chair legs. "Hey!" Dennis exclaimed, "don't make the ropes so tight, you'll cut off my circulation."
"Listen at him," Heels said, standing back when he was finished to admire his handiwork. The other man who had been with Big ears on the court house steps, had been out of the room while Dennis was being tied to the chair and had just returned with an automobile battery refilling kit. He handed it to Big ears and drew up a chair as the man called Heels double checked the knots.
Knotted securely, the ropes that held Dennis fast were unyielding. Dennis had no way of getting loose and he began to feel the first throes of panic grip him. He fought with himself to keep calm.
Dennis stared at the battery refilling kit in wonder. Then he saw the battery the man brought in from the trunk of the car. From the window, Dennis could see the black sedan, the stretch of narrow highway that diminished like a straight motheaten ribbon into the flat horizon. The eroded sandy soil of the abandoned farm that was overrun with weeds and wild bushes-Dennis calculated that they were at least ten to fifteen miles from the main highway.
He watched Big ears unscrew the caps on the battery and inject the syringe into one of the cells. He squeezed the bulb gingerly and let the acid fill into the syringe. Then, he filled the other syringe which was in the battery refilling kit and approached Dennis.
"I don't like to do this, but, orders is orders," Big ears said, a smile of disdain twisting his lips into a sneer.
One of the men seized the young attorney by the hair and pulled his head back grotesquely over the back of the chair.
"Wait!" Dennis cried. "What the hell is this? What is the meaning of this? For God's sake tell me!" he screamed at them, the rage in his voice echoing and reechoing throughout the abandoned farmhouse.
"Now that's all right, yuh just yell and holler all yuh want 'cause ain't nobuddy around fer miles and fer miles."
"This is senseless!" yelled Dennis, the irrepressible terror pervading his consciousness as he realized what they were about to do. "Why are you going to do this to me?-What have I done to you? In God's name!"
Big ears held the syringe with the acid over Dennis' eyes. Dennis writhed futilely in his bonds. He twisted and jerked his head, trying to free his short hair from the fist that held his head back, looking up at the crumbling ceiling.
"Two drops, let um set a little while, then squirt yuh eyes with the water. Will just burn some. Holler all yuh want."
"Why are you doing this-Dear God in Heaven!" Dennis screamed with agony. The burning hot liquid splashed on his eyes which he squeezed shut with all his might. It felt as though they were being drawn open, the searing acid eating through his eyelids. The screams that filled the empty house again and again resounded and died, resounded and died, the three men seemingly unperturbed going about their task.
Nature has a way of defending man from too much extreme pain. That defense is unconsciousness. After a half hour of unrelenting treatment, Dennis wavered on the brink of sanity and his screams grew weaker and wearier and his neck felt as if it was broken from being bent backward over the chair. At last he lapsed into unconsciousness and the great pain of the searing acids tortured him no more....
MY eyes-my God my eyes-why are they doing this to me? What have I done to them?-Is this what they did to Judge Curtis? Why are they doing this to me? I am nobody? Is this the invisible government at work? They didn't tell me why they are doing this to me. Is this a warning to little Willie? My God! My eyes! If only they'd stop throbbing and burning and burning and my God am I in Hell is this the Oh, My God!
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
"Well now, Georgie," Ziggy taunted with disdain. "I see you made another mess of things for a change." He was referring to the latest news, that of Mrs. Darling's published letter of thanks to Judge Gibson for bringing about her release from the custody of the court.
"You're an ass, Georgie, an ass!" Ziggy snorted. The least you could have done was get her a regular RN. Instead-you got her a hatchet faced housekeeper and paid her a hundred and fifty dollars a week (out of which she probably had to kick-back half to you)-that the newspapers loved you for! What a blunder!
"So what?" Caesar snapped, lolling back in the chair. He watched Ziggy and suddenly felt innocent of any wrong doing when the thought passed through his mind. "You got every red cent of the estate's money, didn't you? What are you raving about?"
"We have troubles in Washington," Ziggy told him pointedly, changing the topic. He stretched lazily and grinned. "Your boy, Massey is under fire by the FCC investigating committee and it looks like you'll have to take a flyer up there to get him squared away."
"We also took your boy friend's associate for a little ride," Ziggy chuckled. "I know the news delights you."
Caesar screwed up his eyebrows and looked at him quizzically. "Who?"
"Little Willie's confederate in crime, Dennis."
The judge jerked backward with surprise, then, in his disorderly mind the idea assumed a daring character on account of its novelty. At once his face brightened and he asked in a hushed voice, "What did they do to him?"
"I knew that would get a rise out of you!" screamed Ziggy with laughter. "We gave him the battery acid treatment. Drop a few drops into the eyes, let him scream and holler, then squirt the acid out with water. Quite the thing, eh?"
Even Caesar felt an irrepressible tremor of abhorrence sweep over him and he stared at Ziggy with eyes as hard as blue glass. But then, he snook it off with a smile. "You-then-they didn't blind him, did they?"
"And what if he's a little bit blind? So what?" Ziggy drew himself up to his feet haughtily. He scowled down at Caesar and went to the window. There, he sat upon the window sill and glared fiercely. "Little Willie's testimony at the Bar hearings could be a threat-" he left the remark hanging in midair and then rubbed his chin. "After he sees what happened to his associate, I don't think he'll be so willing to shoot his mouth off."
Caesar swallowed hard. He frowned at his hands and stared at the desk blotter.
"Now, Georgie, boy, I want you to haul that leaden carcass of yours out of here on the next plane out and get your boy Willard Massey straightened out good. If he opens that mouth of his, those congressional investigators will be sniffing around your other boy, Rudy Whitman and then they'll be smelling around you, too."
"But-but I can't go. I've been supoenaed before the Bar hearings," the judge whined in a weak protest, as if he was actually suddenly afraid to leave the city.
"Don't give me that. They won't be calling you for several days yet. Besides, you should be back tomorrow afternoon. You'd better be back tomorrow afternoon!"
Ziggy moved away from the window and stretched and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Don't screw this up, you dummy, or your ass is really going to be in a sling this time! What we did to Little Willie's playmate is going to be nothing compared to what is going to happen to you! Just don't forget that!" He shifted his feet and snorted. "By the way, how is the book coming I told you to write."
The judge coughed nervously. "I-I haven't had the time."
"Go to the blazes!" raved Ziggy. "When I tell you to do something, do it! You're going to need a book after this is all over! So you might as well get it going now. Let me see what you've accomplished when you get it going. You have the start I gave you-let's see you use your head for a change, instead of that fat mouth of yours."
Ziggy heard the judge mumble something incoherent under his breath and he let it pass. Without a word, he walked out and went down the building's service stairs.
It had been a good brisk ten minute walk to Ray Bell's office and when he let himself in, he welcomed the chance to rest again.
Several minutes later, the detective joined Ziggy and took up his position at the desk. Neither man exchanged a greeting, each loathed the other in turn, but their circumstances compelled them to be together.
"How're we doing on the Little's stock conspiracy case?"
"I did all I could," the detective told him sourly, his open resentment in rebellion at having to answer to Ziggy.
"Well, you didn't do enough," snapped Ziggy scornfully. I want more action and fast. He's turned off the heat and you know it. I really want him to turn it on good. How about that associate of his? The boys didn't blind him, did they?"
"Hell, no!" the detective frowned. "They said Dennis fainted dead away after about a half hour. He was more scared than hurt."
"Just enough to rile up Willie-that's all I want. He'll think we're doing that just to keep him from talking to the Bar-haw! I want to make him hopping, righting mad again. We really want a scandal. We have a job to do and we must keep driving."
"I respect that little so and so," the detective admitted reluctantly. He's got what it takes to keep after something. This thing that you had done to Dennis should really drive him crazy. When do you plan to let him know about it?"
"Ah," Ziggy waggled a finger. "The time and the place-the most opportune, dramatic moment-just before he goes in to testify!"
The detective looked at Ziggy wearily. He intensely loathed the man, but never ceased to tire of his despicable craftiness. It was almost as if Ziggy Kiev made everything happen the way he wanted them to happen.
"Who have you decided to get to defend the judge?" asked Ray.
"None other than the great Jackson A. Patten. He'll make ground beef of those interrogators!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Caesar was pacing the floor like a squirrel in a revolving cage. As soon as Ziggy entered, he seized him by the arm and firmly rushed him to the desk. "Here, sit down, sit down, Ziggy. You won't be able to take this standing up!"
Ziggy had a half-smile on his face and he made himself comfortable behind the judge's desk. "You're back early. I didn't expect you until after noon."
"Cut the baloney!" Caesar ranted, "I've been up all night long-didn't have a minute's sleep. That Massey son-of-a-bitch is ready to crack. I never dreamed he'd be that weak."
"What did you say to him?" Ziggy toyed with the unopened mail on the judge's desk and examined the envelopes with idle curiosity.
"I gave it to him right off the shoulder. I reminded him of what happened to Judge Curtis-and, my grandson. And I told him that he'd better keep quiet or-"
Ziggy nodded approvingly and interrupted, "That's fine. Fine. And how did you leave him?"
The judge shook his head and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. His bleary eyes were swollen from lack of sleep and his face was drawn. "He was all broken up-says those investigators have been at him day and night, tearing him apart with questions. Told me they're even asking him questions about his insurance company affiliations with Rudy."
"Jesus!" exclaimed Ziggy. "What else?"
Caesar was on the verge of panic. He leaned over the desk and clamped anxious hands over Ziggy's wrists. His eyes bulged as he spoke in a hoarse whisper. "He says there's talk that the White House is going to demand his resignation."
"What do you think?" Ziggy said, pulling away from the judge's grip. "What do you think he should do?"
Caesar stood up, drawing his shoulders erect, exhaling and then drawing in a deep breath. "I told him to-to resign if they asked him."
Livid red streaks suddenly flashed on the great bald head. Ziggy stormed to his feet. "You goddamned slob!" he thundered with savage vehemence. "Who gave you orders to tell him that?"
"I did! I did!" screamed Caesar, banging his palm on the desk. "He's weak-he isn't strong like me-he would never manage to hold together under that kind of pressure. Never!"
"I give the orders, do you hear? I give the orders!" screamed Ziggy louder than before. "Why didn't you pick up a phone and call me first? Why didn't you, you son-of-a-bitch!"
Caesar, suddenly grew weak and he unsteadily reeled on his feet. "Don't you see," he said hoarsely, leaning against the desk for support, his body limp as a freshly killed chicken. "I couldn't call you-long distance calls could be traced. They're calling him to the stand this afternoon. He'll spill everything! I had to think of something. I had to-I had to. There was nothing else I could do. Besides, you're fooling with the Federal Government, the FBI and the works. We're not ready to cope with all that!"
Ziggy flung himself into a chair. He drummed his fingers on the desk and sucked his upper lip. "Well, it's done. Over with. We've used him all we could anyhow. He's useless to us. He served his purpose."
Then he looked at Caesar. There was a soft light in his eyes that the judge was surprised to see and he immediately reacted by relaxing somewhat.
"Forget it, Georgie. We have more important matters to discuss now."
"What are they?" asked the judge, sinking to a chair, alarm written into every line of his fleshy face.
"Jackson Patten will be over as soon as you let him know you're back in town. I've arranged to have him defend you at the Bar Association hearing."
Puffing out his cheeks, Caesar breathed with relief. "That's the best news I've heard in weeks," he admitted, mopping his face again with the handkerchief.
"Here's some more good news for you," Ziggy told him with a sardonic grin. "I've also arranged for a neurologist and a psychiatrist to testify in your behalf. In case you didn't already know-you were suffering from 'retrograde amnesia' due to the accident. They will testify capably and effectively."
"I'm worried, Ziggy."
"I told you, you ass," Ziggy said disdainfully, "that this will all blow over and will be forgotten. I'll see to that. You must hold onto yourself and be confident! Nothing's going to happen to you!"
"Don't give me that, Ziggy. When they ask me about those fifty-thousand dollar legal fees I authorized Whiteman and Mullens to receive from the gas company and from the Darling estate and when they see those thousands and thousands of dollars worth of expenses we padded into the court costs-they'll chop me to mince meat!"
Ziggy smirked. "Don't you go and pull a 'Massey' on me, George. Don't forget, I have Patten groomed to take over on your behalf. He knows about everything and has a ready answer for anything!"
Again Caesar mopped his face. "That little bastard, that little Williel This is his doing. None of this would have happened if he would have kept that gas company rate appeal quiet. Or if he would have accepted that five thousand dollar fee Mullens offered to pay him. All this because of a lousy six dollar a year rate increase!"
"That's the stuff, Georgie!"
"Yessir! It's that little bastard's fault!"
"Why don't you fix him real good, Georgie?"
"And those lies-those terrible lies the papers have been printing about me!"
"Yes, those lies, Georgie! Why don't you sue them?"
"Yes! I'll do that. I'll sue them for malicious slander! I'll sue them for a hundred thousand-no-a half-million-no! A million dollars!" Caesar excitedly jumped up and ran to the office door. "Sally, come in here at once! And bring your notebook. We've got a million dollar slander suit to file!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Will and Buddy were crowded into a corner of the smoke filled corridor. Everywhere, attorneys, reporters, photographers and witnesses were standing, sitting, leaning, waiting for the committee hearing doors to be thrown open. A reporter stopped to talk to Will.
"Have they found Dennis yet?" he asked politely his manner prosaic, merely to make conversation.
"No. Not a clue to his whereabouts. Nothing-no trace."
"Don't worry. He'll turn up. He's only been gone two days now."
"I am worried," Will admitted, glancing at Buddy. "There's something wrong, somewhere."
"There must be some explanation," Buddy said, "what does the press have to say?" he addressed the reporter.
The man looked at them blankly and shrugged. "Do you think they'll call you today, Willie?" This was the question he wanted to ask when he paused to talk to them. Will and Buddy brushed shoulders, their perception agreeing.
"I've been here since the hearings began and they still haven't called me. Your guess is as good as mine."
"What have you to say about these hearings?" he probed Will, inching closer to them in the corridor. "Do you think the Bar Association is throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars on these hearings?"
Will shrugged and glanced at Buddy.
"Do you think they'll disbar Caesar?"
"No comment." He shrugged again.
"Aw, come on, Willie. You know me!" The reporter was pleasant enough in his mild insistence and he grinned widely, his pencil now poised over a notepad.
"Frankly," Will said, "you know about as much as I do. Why they ever called me is a mystery to me. Of course, what does go on behind those locked doors of this investigation is secret. And no witness is permitted to talk about the issues he's called upon to give testimony about."
"Well, then," he said, carefully rephrasing a question, "speaking off the record, would you be in agreement with some of the other lawyers hereabouts who claim that the Bar Association has no power to discipline Caesar?"
Will frowned, deep in thought. "Off the record?" he asked, a sly grin on his face, "and not to be quoted?"
"That's a promise!"
"I don't know." Will laughed and Buddy laughed and the reporter had to smile with them, although his face reddened and he was visibly angered.
One of the other attorneys slapped Will on the back. "Did you get the message that you were to call your office?"
Will shook his head and looked at Buddy. "Go see what they want, will you, Buddy? I want to be here when they call me."
He shook his head and walked through the crowd to the phone booths. Will turned to the message bearer and grinned. "Always something, isn't it?"
"Sure is, Willie." He paused to glance at his watch. "I hope they call me today so I can get this over with. This is costing me money, hanging around here."
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," Will said matter-of-factly. "What can we do? This is the first time anybody's had guts enough to try and do something about Caesar and his gang." He broke off smiling and winked. "Should make you happy too, if they succeed."
"I doubt that," he frowned, "it's only going to make matters worse for those who testify against him."
"The testimony is secret," Will reminded.
"Is it?" The attorney sourly frowned and walked away.
Several moments later, Buddy came scurrying through the crowd. "Will! Will i They found Dennis."
"I knew they would...." Will grinned, grabbing Buddy by the arm. "How is he? What happened?"
Buddy had paled markedly. Shocked disbelief in his eyes, he contemplated Will. "He's in the hospital. The state police found him wandering along a deserted road sixty miles out of town. It's his eyes-"
"His eyes?" Will shook Buddy. "What happened? What is it?"
Buddy swallowed hard. A hush fell over the people in the corridor as they listened and watched Will and Buddy. Overpowered by the tense sentiment of horror, Buddy stood there dumbly, despite Will's urgent questions.
"In God's name!" shouted Will, "What happened to him?"
"Three men kidnapped him. Tortured him by splashing acid in his eyes." Buddy's voice trembled with shocked outrage. The smoldering fury within him burst into flame. To say that Buddy was shocked would be an understatement. Dennis had been his close friend. He was appalled; beside himself with rage; and he began to speak in a tone that was vibrant with enraged passion.
Will did not add a word to the torrents of Buddy's curses and epithets. Shocked by the naked exposition of his foul words, the crowd shrank back, settling down to listen.
"His eyes?" Will stammered. "Will they be all right?"
Buddy nodded. "Miss McKay said the doctors thought he might ... Might see-they couldn't tell how extensive the damage had been. She said that Dennis sends you a message-that you should not let this thing stifle your testimony today...."
The clerk suddenly appeared in the corridor from behind the closed doors and called: "Mr. William Little, please. Mr. William Little."
Will seized Buddy by the arm. "I'm going to be in here a long, long time. I've got ten years of talking to do! You get over to that hospital and see what you can do for Dennis."
As he hurried toward the door, he could feel everyone's eyes watching and without the slightest hesitation despite the great struggle taking place in his mind, Will followed the clerk into the secret hearing room and took his place on the stand. Will had waited a long time for this.
CHAPTER FORTY
"So what!" Caesar screamed at Mullens. "I don't give a damn who calls a special session of the House to impeach me-they can't do a goddamned thing!"
"George," Mullens argued, "the legislature has already voted on the articles of impeachment. As of now, you're not even on the bench until you're cleared." He coughed nervously and added, "That fiasco the Bar Association tried to pull was a flop and the entire southern end of this state is out howling for your hide. They'll impeach you!"
"I don't think Ziggy can save your neck this time," Mullens remarked.
"You seem to be enjoying this!" he growled. "Why don't you let me worry about my troubles and you worry about yours? We're here to discuss the conspiracy suit that little Willie's shoved down our throats.
"And you gave him that chance," Mullens said tersely.
Caesar spun around glaring. "How the hell was I to know that he was representing Thelma Darling?"
"You should have known better. Ignorance is no excuse for a judge. Even a school kid knows that little Willie is the only lawyer to go to when a case is to be fought against you."
The judge, sputtering incoherently, turned away from him in disgust. There were other things to think about. Soon Ziggy, Jackson Patten, Charley Diamond, Whiteman and Princely were due to arrive. It was to be their final meeting before the trial tomorrow. And the judge knew everything depended upon their choice of the right strategy....
... In court the next day, Caesar, with Jackson A. Patten the defense attorney, were the last to arrive. Moon Mullens, Charley Diamond, Rudy Whiteman and Laurence Princely were already seated at the defendant's table and they were quick to greet the judge and their counselor.
The preliminaries were over and Will had concluded his arguments with a brilliant alacrity that nearly caught Caesar and his group off-guard with his concise brevity. As Will went back to his seat, his gaze met that of Ziggy Kiev's from the spectator's seats in the back of the room. He was conscious of the fact that Kiev was not smiling, but rather, was laughing at him. Even from that distance, Will got the feeling that the man with the great bald head was, in essence, at the defendant's table. He seemed rather aloof and apart from the court.
Jackson A. Patten, championing Caesar's and the others' cause, swaggered slowly into the center of the arena.
"If your honor pleases," he began, "I will attempt to show that these proceedings were indeed brought about to harass, embarrass, discredit, disgrace and humiliate my clients. The plaintiff, your honor, has not presented one single, solitary shred of evidence to the court which proves undoubtedly that my clients are guilty as the false charges allude." The attorney finished his remark while slowly turning to glare at Will with a cold, dispassionate look of disdain.
"Further," he continued, strutting back and forth slowly in a most relaxed manner, "the defense offers as Exhibit A, one, seven hundred and thirty page scrapbook of newspaper clippings upon which rests our entire case. We, Judge George P. Caesar, Judge Laurence Princely, Judge Charles Diamond and messers Herman Mullens and Rudolph Whiteman, offer this evidence as documentary proof of what I am about to say to this court. Harumph," he pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Harumph, at the recent Bar Association's inquiry, the attorney for the plantiff, William Little, was called upon to testify against one of the defendants, Judge George P. Caesar. His testimony was undoubtedly the most viciously vindictive pack of lies ever told under oath to smear a-"
"I object, your honor!" shouted Will, leaping up. "The defense refers to secret testimony which is as yet confidential and which is known only to myself and the Inquiry Board members of the Bar Association. This is obviously an aside-brought out here to force the obviously damaging findings of the Board of Inquiry out into the open." Will paused, conscious of the awed hush that had befallen the court. He glared at Patten and then went on, "How could my colleague possibly know what was said behind those locked doors of the secret hearings?" Will sat down and looked at the bench, watched the judge rap his gavel.
"Objection sustained."
Unruffled, Patten was all smiles. He turned to face the judge. "If the court pleases, we would like to point out at this time that the plaintiff's attorney William Little, is attempting to use this court and his client to see the personal satisfaction of revenge against my clients. The scrapbook your honor sees before you is ample testimony to that fact!" Patten waited a few moments while the judge turned the pages. "Those newspaper clippings, your honor, represent some of the legal claptraps the plaintiff's publicity and vengeance hungry lawyer has stirred up against my honored and respected clients." He paused, bowing at Caesar and the others and he smiled when he saw the judge nod agreeably as he perused the clippings.
"At this point, your honor, to save the court needless additional time and expense, the defense makes a motion to dismiss and, if the motion is granted, we agree to dismiss the countersuit we have this day filed with the clerk."
The judge conferred for a moment with the clerk, then asked Will, "You do not object?"
"I'd like a moment to explain this to my client," Will said, "if your honor pleases?"
Will turned to Thelma Darling and leaned over her. Buddy, moved in to join the whispered conference. "If we allow them to continue, they're going to force this court to subpoena the Bar Association in an attempt to make public the secret testimony."
"Well, what's so bad about that?"
"The findings of that secret inquiry can prove to be damaging to the national security of our country. That's how bad it is," Will said, shaking his head sadly. "I'd like, more than anything else, to continue this-but, it's now up to you."
"Then you believe," she said, looking up with intelligent eyes that searched his face questioningly, "that if we go on, and let them continue, the Bar Association will be forced to make public their findings?"
"Undeniably."
"Well," she sighed, glancing away. "If our national security depends upon keeping those secrets, we'll just have to do what's right."
Buddy interrupted. "That's wonderful of you, Miss Darling. It's the only thing to do!"
Will moved away from the table and stood before the bench. "We do not object, your honor."
And then the judge rapped his gavel. "Dismissed." He turned back to Will and said, "Hold on there. I hope I never see you again before this bench. Using this court to seek your revenge against men who have served their community well and who have proved their devotion to the people and their nation time and time again! There should be a law-something that I could use as a deterrent to use against vicious men like you who attempt to use the courts as a tool to ruin respected men.
"How dare you presume to disguise yourself as an attorney-at-law when you blaspheme your trust to uphold the Constitution! If it were up to me, you have no right here before this court-I'd see to that! "Now, get out."
A clatter of moving chairs and murmuring voices filled the courtroom and Will gathered his notes hurriedly and stuffed them disdainfully into his folio. His ears buzzed and his cheeks burned and he blindly made his way down the aisle with the others.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
"I had no idea what was in your mind when you jumped up and objected like that, Will!" Buddy told him with astonishment.
"Yes," he admitted, "I saw exactly what they were up to and I felt it was better to drop the whole case than to let them get away with an attempt like that-to make the secret testimony a public affair. They wanted to do that badly, and I ruined their last chance."
"I'm sorry for the opinion the judge had-" stammered Buddy, putting his hand on Will's arm and giving it a friendly squeeze.
"That's what I meant when I said I'm just a poor, miserable lawyer! What chance would I have against all those powerful judges and attorneys?"
They went into the office and Will hurried to Miss McKay's desk. "Anything new on Dennis' progress?"
"Yes," she told him gravely. "One eye is definitely lost-and they're still trying to save his other eye. He's still in surgery."
Swallowing hard, Will picked up his telephone messages and went into the office. Buddy, following at his side, put his hand on Will's shoulder to comfort him. "He'll make it, Will-he'll make it!"
"It's unbelievable-to think that Dennis may be permanently blinded for the rest of his life." Buddy paced back and forth, then whirled around and banged Will's desk. "Why? Why, Will, why did they do it?"
"You know why," he growled, kicking the desk drawer in. "To keep me from talking at the Bar Association inquiry. That's why."
Will watched him turn away, drop his hands to his side and pace the floor for several minutes. Then he picked up the paper and tossed it to Will. "There's nothing to do about this that we can do. Poor Dennis."
Picking up the paper, Will tried to find other matters to occupy his mind. He glanced at the headlines and said thinly, "Massey was forced to resign. According to the papers, he was in cahoots with Rudy Whiteman. Seems as how Whiteman gave Willard Massey a piece of that insurance company of his."
Buddy was grateful that Will had changed the subject. "Sounds like Caesar's mob is having a little trouble with their White House connections."
"Yes. I see Whiteman has been summoned to appear before the congressional committee investigating the FCC methods of awarding TV channels. Their attorney was fired for his tactics."
Miss McKay appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Little," she said, "Judge Gibson is here to see you."
Will jumped up to greet the judge. "This is a surprise. Gee, judge. Come on in and sit down."
The judge entered and shook his hand. "That's awful-about Dennis. How is the boy doing?"
Will looked away and sat in a chair facing the judge. "Not so good. The doctors aren't sure if he'll be able to see at all."
The judge swallowed hard and looked grim. "What's the use. I dropped by to say so long, Will. I'm resigning from the bench."
"You're not!" Will exclaimed, lurching forward in his seat. "You're kidding."
"No, son," the judge said gravely, "I'm not kidding. I have accepted one of those teaching jobs. I'll go around the country, lecturing, teaching, doing some good instead of just wasting away here. Our only hope is getting the young students to stand up and fight with us! We must raise a better crop of lawyers. We have a powerful big job to do and in my small way, I believe I can do more good teaching than I can sitting on that bench day after day with Caesar's hands around my throat strangling me."
Will fell back into the shelter of the chair. He realized the judge was right and now he was left to fight alone. "But judge," he argued futilely, "the legislature is meeting Monday to begin impeachment proceedings against Caesar! Aren't you going to stick around a little longer. I don't think he'll get away with that this time. Not with the House against him."
The judge began to rumble with laughter. "You don't really believe that they will impeach him?"
Will frowned. "And why not?"
"Haven't you heard the news?"
"About what?"
"He sent a lobbyist up to the House."
"You're kidding!" cried Will, "Why that's like a-an attempt to bribe them!"
"You're damned tooting that's what it is!" the judge stormed.
"Diabolical!" Will said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wait'll the newspapers get wind of that!"
"It's in the papers!" the judge snorted.
"I didn't see it."
There was silence in the room for a long while and Will was not receptive to it. He hated to see the judge leave the bench and he tried to figure out how he might be able to talk him out of it, if it was possible to do that.
"Yessir, Will," the judge said, forgetting Caesar for the moment, "I'm going to devote my life to going around the country and speaking before law students. I must make them understand your fight-and why you fight-and why it's important for them to join your struggle against this invisible government of traitors!"
"That's a noble idea, judge," Will told him. "But, I'm convinced that you could accomplish a great deal more right here. I'd hate to think of who Caesar would put on the bench to replace you." The judge laughed sourly. "I know who he'd put there."
"Who?"
"Ziggy Kiev."
"Good God."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
And who is the lobbyist, why he's none other than the great-the famous communist fighter, Walter Jennings? No fooling. Is that who he is? Why, for sure he will be an excellent lobbyist and for sure he will do the job well and for certain he will see to it that the eminent judge Caesar is allowed to walk out of those committee rooms a free and exonerated man who was merely the victim of vicious scandalmongers. The poor man.
Will, tortured by the phantasmagoria of his thoughts drove through the city. A corner news-paperboy walked his dangerous route between the cars waiting for the traffic light to change. He held the papers so everyone could see the headlines:
CAESAR'S ATTORNEY CALLS LOCAL BARTENDER TO TESTIFY AS JUDGE'S CHARACTER WITNESS!
That's all I would have to do-call in a bartender to act as a character witness for me. Can't the people see what they're doing? Why can't they stop him? What can I do? I'm like the little woodpecker, chipping away, trying to chop down the big redwood trees in the forest.
God God God! Dear God in heaven. Why did they have to take Dennis' eyes? Why didn't they take my eyes instead.
Fight Caesar and get acid thrown in your eyes!
Will found himself at Virgie's door. He did not know what impelled him to go there except that he yearned for her and needed her and wanted to try to talk to her once more.
"I don't care, Will!" she told him, pulling her hand away. "If I told you once, I told you a hundred times-no!" She managed to wrest free of his grip and she stood there, looking up at him, her pale face drawn with apprehension.
"Honey," he said, his voice gently pleading, "let me come in for a minute. Just for a minute. And we can talk it out."
"No! My mind is made up!" Here she was, before him, her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip to keep them in check. "I've been following Caesar's impeachment proceedings-they won't do a single thing to him. Anyone who has any sense, knows better than to go against him."
"Bless you, Virgie," he said with an air of impatience. "You are one of the most intelligent women I've ever known in my whole life and you insist upon talking like this! I just don't understand your reasoning."
She looked at him with eyes that clearly told him their love was beyond the possibility of breaking, but she said anyway, "My reasoning is sound. I'd do anything for you, Will. Anything you ask-but I won't stand by day after day seeing you plagued by this useless-this futile obsession and I refuse to marry you-or go out with you, or see you again when I know it could very well mean-it could mean the loss of your life!"
Will was startled. He seized her wrists. "My life?" His eyes narrow, he probed her face in desperation. "Where on earth did you get that?" He shook her gently, then said, "Who have you been talking to?" She looked at him blankly and did not answer. "Tell me! For God's sake, tell me, Virgie!"
"Will," she said, glancing apprehensively up and down the corridor, "you're shouting. People will hear you."
"I don't give a hang who hears me!" he cried. "Will you tell me or won't you?" He paused, a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Has any one been around making threats? Have they? Is that what this is all about?" The discovery of revelation filled him with hope and he pressed her ruthlessly.
Virgie finally admitted to herself that it was useless to argue. She looked at him, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks and nodded. "I received some threatening phone calls, Will. They told me that they would kill you, and that something worse than what happened to Dennis would happen to you if you didn't lay off fighting Caesar. She broke down completely and threw her arms around his body, pressing him close. The way she felt beggared description.
She cried against his shirt front. "It's a wonder they didn't throw that acid in your eyes instead of Dennis'." On and on she cried, sobbing her heart out.
She finally moved away and stood off, looking up into his face. Her arm then crept around him and her other hand went to his cheek. Then she pulled his face down to meet hers and the steady pressure forced him to yield. From the kiss it was Will who first drew away. He rebelled at the power she held over him. Her lips, fastened to his, numbed his thoughts and smothered his desire to fight back-to insist-that she refrain from digging at him and his fight with Caesar. He struggled against such a giving up of himself. He had to remain the master of himself ... his work against them-must go on! He had to stand alone-without Virgie-if need be.
Will patted her on the back and held her off at arms' length. "You silly little fool," he said, gently shaking her by the shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me that was all that was bothering you?"
"That was all!" she cried, her eyes opened wide with indignation. "That was all." She paused a moment and said with a toss of her head, "Will, what on earth is happening to you?"
He frowned at her and released his grip on her shoulders. "Nothing is happening to me. I just happen to know that I'm right and I'm merely doing a job that has to be done."
"Will!" she cried, "You make it sound so-so innocent-so prosaic-so matter-of-fact-like it's nothing at all! But you are and have been doing something, haven't you?"
He smiled thinly and tried to touch her, to draw her close again, but she drew further away. "Will, can't you see they mean business?" She warned him, still backing away, going into her apartment, the door at her back slowly moving ajar. "Will, I meant every word of what I said. You give up that silly fight and promise me faithfully that you will never mention it again, then I will take up with you where we left off...."
"Virgie," he told her quietly, calmly, his tone clearly informing her that he was using another approach to the argument. "Today was the final day of the hearing in the capitol. Tomorrow the House votes. You'll see, they will impeach Caesar!"
Shocked, his remark jarring her, she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Will, I'm speechless!-you don't actually believe that they will impeach him, do you?
Will did not answer her ... he merely stood there looking at her sheepishly, feeling suddenly foolish, at a complete loss for words. He felt tired.
"Is preventing something from happening to me done by refusing to see me anymore?" He looked at her strangely, intently and added, "Is it?"
Pleading, she looked at him and cried, "Yes! I know you, Will, and I love you and perhaps I know you better than anyone else on earth. You love me too much to forsake me-to give me up just so you can continue this stupid, idiotic fight against a powerful judge that you cannot possibly defeat!" She broke off and fell against the door jamb, her face buried in her hands, her body weak with her anguished state of mind.
"Go away, Will. Please go away and leave me alone. Please," she implored him, her voice muffled in her tear drenched hands. "And don't bother to see me or call me again until you quit once and for all time!"
Hesitantly, Will started to put his arms around her, to draw her close to him, but she seemed to suspect his intentions and even though her back was now to him, she moved away, "Will, please go away!"
He slowly turned and left, the pathetic sound of her sobs still resounding in his ears.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
"Will," his father was saying, "I can't believe it's really true. Boy, oh boy! Switzerland, here I come." They drove into the airport's parking lot and found a space. Will took the keys out of the ignition and jingled them merrily in his hand. "Have you forgotten anything, Dad? Passport, tickets, list of things mother made you promise to bring her?"
Smiling, his father patted his pockets and shook his head. "I have everything. I've been up for days, packing and repacking and checking over everything I'll need. Even packed my chess set. I believe I started getting ready for this trip as soon as the district attorney threw my erstwhile customers', men in jail for perjury." He clucked his tongue happily and added, "I can't get over how clever that federal attorney was. He got those hypocrites to talk and boy! am I ever happy."
"That was a lucky break, Dad."
"Speaking of breaks-how's Dennis?"
"Saw the doctors outside his room this morning. They believe he may see out of one eye. The acid destroyed the delicate tissues of his other eye and burned through his eyelids. They're giving him plastic surgery for that."
"Any word yet about the charges against Caesar? Did they impeach him?"
"Now listen, Dad," Will chided, "you promised that you were going to forget about everything that's happened and you were going to settle down to enjoy a nice long rest in that Swiss chalet," he broke off in a grin and pressed his hand. "You see, I told you, everything always turns out for the best."
"I'm happy about everything, my boy," he said, getting out of the car, watching Will lift his bags from the trunk. "Here, let me take one."
"No, I have them." Will lifted both suitcases and carried them into the terminal, his father hurrying before him. "As I was saying, Will," he said, when they reached the baggage counter, "I'm happy about everything, except you and Virgie. Why don't you make up with her? She'll make you a splendid wife. You two go together like ice cream and cake."
Will did not answer. He lifted the bags onto the scale and his father handed the clerk his tickets, who immediately verified them and then checked him through.
"Thank you, sir. Everything is in order. Your plane will be leaving from gate three. You'll have a two hour wait in New York before you catch the five o'clock plane to Paris. The airline's ticket agent in Paris will book you on a flight direct to Geneva. Connections there are good. Have a nice trip, sir."
"Wish I could go with you, Dad."
"I wish you could too," he mused, then added, "and I wish your mother would go along, she doesn't know what she's missing," he said with a flourish of remorse.
"I guess Mom is happier staying here and receiving post cards and gifts from you. Besides, you know how set she is against flying."
They both smiled and thought of her remarks that had sent them both into hysterics every time they heard it: If God wanted man to fly, he would have given him wings on his back! Going into the waiting room, Will said, "Forty-five more minutes and you'll be on your way," he reflected, glancing at his watch. "Have you plenty of magazines to read? Is there anything you'd like?" He picked up a discarded newspaper and idly read the front page. He handed it to his father.
"Have you been following this FCC investigation, son?"
"Yes, I read about that." He thought about Massey and the TV station channel award to the airline and wondered how many other big things were going on that very moment which he would never live long enough to find out.
"What do you think about this insurance company link between Massey and that crooked lawyer, Whiteman?"
"It all makes sense. They undoubtedly have their own insurance company because it's a convenient way to pay each other off and bribe others they want favors from."
"Is Whiteman's agency a significant one? I'm afraid I never even knew he had his own insurance agency."
"No one else did either. They are general agents for some Swiss company." Will clamped his mouth shut suddenly as a thought struck him. "Wouldn't that be a perfect way to get money out of this country?"
"What's that?"
"It's simple, Dad. Suppose you were in Caesar's position-or Mullens'-or Princely's or even White-man's-and suppose you were able to get your hands on large sums of cash, say from bleeding estates and other sorts of graft. Wouldn't it be a safe bet to cart it out of the country in the guise of funds for your own insurance company?"
"By gosh, that's right! Switzerland is about the only country left in the world that will allow you to take your money in or out of the country whenever you want to."
Will laughed hollowly. "Just in case you happen to ski down one of those Alps, Dad, and happen to find yourself wandering around the city of Geneva, nose around that insurance company and drop me a line. Maybe you can-you know what I mean."
His father winked. "I'll see what I can do. I owe you something more for having worked so hard on this case of mine."
"Don't think of it, Dad. Everything worked out for the best."
"Take care of yourself, son. Give my regards to Dennis and tell him to get well quick. Tell him I want to see him back on the job with you when I return." He moved to the gate and had his ticket checked, then turned to Will and said, "Well, son, here we go. Take care of things." He moved away, went up the ramp and waved. "Don't forget to remind my secretary to water my rubber trees!"
Smiling, Will stood there, watching the passengers check in with the gate guard and then pass through to board the plane. Idly, he listened to the man, remarking to the passengers various comments about their destinations. When Will heard the words, Geneva, Switzerland, he turned around with more than just idle curiosity. He froze. It was George P. Caesar passing through the gate!
He was carrying a brown satchel and was followed by Sigmund Kiev, Moon Mullens and Rudy White-man. They stood, just a few feet away from Will, talking among themselves. Finally, it was the judge who spotted Will, standing there, dumbstruck. He mentioned something to the others and they walked together in a group toward him.
"Hello, little Willie!"
Will stood there, staring at them, as if seeing nothing except the spectres of their faces.
"Aren't you going to congratulate me, little Willie!?" he laughed, his red -rimmed eyes dim with drink.
"For what?"
"The legislature-my victory-they couldn't touch me!"
"You mean, their mercy for you," Will said sourly, his eyes held fast in a steady, unfaltering gaze that never for an instant strayed from the judge's face.
Caesar ignored the remark. "Is that how you address the next governor?" He laughed, drawing himself up haughtily.
"I'm going to Switzerland for a little business and a little pleasure. Then, when I come back, I'm throwing my hat in the ring for the gubernatorial race!!"
Will said nothing. He stood there numbly, listening, watching them, unable to move. At last, the judge moved away and carrying the heavy satchel, boarded the plane.
Ziggy Kiev moved beside Will. "I want to thank you, little Willie."
"Thank me? For what?" he asked, suspicious surprise evident in his voice.
"For helping me-and us-to do our jobs and make all this possible."
Will said nothing. He watched them walk away. Dumbfounded, his knees quivering, he watched Kiev, Mullens and Whiteman walk away laughing.
Then, suddenly, Will sprang into action. He rushed over to the plane and ran up the ramp and hurried into the plane. His father, sitting forward, had been watching him through the window and had seen him coming. "What is it, Will? What's wrong?"
Will stood there, grinning at his father. He could see Caesar, from where he stood, out of the corner of an eye, settling down in a seat to the rear. "No, Dad. Nothing is the matter. I'm afraid, though, that I'll have to insist that you postpone your trip."
"Something is wrong, isn't it!?" his father demanded, half-rising.
Will grinned. "No. I'll want you to be with me-at my wedding!"
He looked at his father and then looked at Caesar as they gathered up everything. Then they passed Caesar, and not a spark of recognition passed between them. They were strangers. Together, Will and his father hurried from the plane, Will carrying his father's bag, running to get to the phone booth....