"You aren't worried?"
"Oh, PRs, catarrhs, Inkswitch. One of them, sooner or later, will get us into World War III, anyway. What do you expect? At least we got him into action."
"That's just it," I said. "He's not in action. He's under the care of three doctors and he's lying in bed screaming. And I can see his point. After the failure of his plan, he can't figure out how to get any more headlines. The paper today was blank."
"The Sunday papers? They're all printed on Saturday. They were in the delivery trucks before that race even started. Now, I'll admit you have a point. It is probably infeasible now for him to make Wister immortal for starting World War III. And it is very unlikely that J. Warbler Madman will come up with another gem like that. And he probably will have to work like a dog to get back on the front page. And I surely want to thank you for getting me out of there."
"You mean your wife?"
"Oh, no, no, no. The mayor! We were scheduled to have dinner with him."
"Is he that bad?"
"Oh, no, no, Inkswitch. You don't understand. The mayor is just a fat slob. It's his wife! She's a former Roxy showgirl and she's never forgiven anybody for preventing her from becoming a Hollywood star. My wife is nothing compared to the mayor's wife. Her voice ought to be arrested for assault and battery with intent to kill! I shall remember your kindly act. Even though kindness is an awful weakness, Inkswitch, and you've got to guard against it. But come, we're wasting time."
"You've got another emergency?"
"Indeed so. I was going to go to the Bronx Zoo today and I couldn't possibly figure how to manage it until you came. Because of the Rockecenter gifts to the place they specially open the snake house for me on Sundays and let me feed live mice to the most delightful reptiles it's ever been your pleasure to meet. Want to come?"
I shudderingly declined.
"All right, then drop me at the subway station and I'll be on my way. And guard against kindness, Ink-switch. It can be a fatal flaw. It can even open the door to the Madisons of this world."
With this threat, I hastily started up and dropped him at the subway station.
I watched him go down the steps with his attache case full of live mice.
I have seldom felt so uncertain of the future.
Chapter 4
Late that night, around 10:00, fearing that Madison might not be dead, I again called his mother.
She stunned me!
"Dead? Oh, no, he's not dead. I've seldom seen him look more energetic. Is that you, Mr. Smith?"
I managed to say that it was.
"He flew out of here hours ago. He said he knew you would need reassurance and encouragement and for you to call 42 Mess Street right away if you rang."
I rang 42 Mess Street. I said, "This is Smith. I want to speak with Mr. Madison."
A bright male voice said, "Smith? Ah, Mr. Smith, owner of the National Enmirer, of course. Listen, Smith, have we got a scoop for you!..."
"No, no," I said. "I'm not a publisher. Tell Madison it's the Mr. Smith."
Whoever it was left the phone. A mad chatter of telex machines and barking voices assaulted my ears. Hey, that office was busy! But Madison had been dying!
Madison's voice, "Oh, Mr. Smith. I do thank you for calling. I knew you would be worried."
"I thought you were dying or dead!"
"Quote Medical Miracle Unquote. Intramuscular morphine followed by Benzedrine and intravenous transfusions of black ink saves Madison's life. Smith, we must cease to dwell upon the nostalgic and roseate glow of yesterday. Now is the time to get the shoulder to men's souls. For these are the times that try men's grindstones.
We are the masters of men's fates and I thank God for my indomitable will...."
"Wait," I protested. "What are you going to do now?"
"Smith, we must rest content that there will never be another chance to pull the PR coup of the century again. We have to let sleeping dogs tell lies and abandon all that. We must not look back but sternly face the future. Inspiration and genius would have triumphed had it not been for that undependable client. But never mind. I will now resort to standard press policy and though it will be hard and long, the end will see us riding in the triumphal procession, crowned with laurel leaves, never fear."
"What," I demanded with growing fear, "are you going to DO?"
"Smith, we have the first C of PR, Confidence. What we have lost is the second C, Coverage. We are OFF the front page! But never fear, Smith, we will regain it! For we have the third C, Controversy! Riding through the icy night, determined to make good, it came to me in a flash. CONTROVERSY! We can rebuild our campaign upon the sturdy headsman's block of Controversy without end. We will succeed! And you will have to excuse me now as I am told the publisher of the Los Angeles Grimes is on the other wire." Click! He was gone!
I sat there staring at the phone. He hadn't told me a blasted thing. I feared I did not understand this mysterious world of PR. I put the phone on the hook.
It rang instantly. Madison's voice, "See tomorrow's front page!" Click. He was gone again.
Needless to say, the next morning, it was with shaky hands that I unfolded the morning newspaper.
And there it was. Headlines!
WHIZ KID ACCUSED OF FRAUD
VEHICLE IMPOUNDED
Race officials last night obtained a court order to impound the car used by the Whiz Kid in Saturday's race.
No one could be found to comment.
The Whiz Kid refuses press interviews.
The racing world tonight was shocked by the ominous order...
I rushed out and got other papers. They all said more or less the same thing. They didn't say what it was really all about.
The TV and radio both were carrying the story. Apparently it was going national, for West Coast racing figures were being interviewed.
And so it went through the day.
Toward evening, I thought of my viewer. How was Heller taking this?
He had newspapers spread all over his desk. He was asking Izzy, "What in the name of blastguns is this all about?"
Izzy said, "It's about a ticket to South America. I got a book right here on soldier ants. They're a lot less deadly than the press. The ants just destroy everything."
"But," said Heller, "the remains of the Caddy are sitting right over at Mike Mutazione's garage. I called him. Nobody has come near it! And besides, it's so burned out you can't see anything but melted metal. And not a soul has called me. I haven't refused any press interviews!"
He started to clip all the stories, pushing the airline ticket aside from time to time as Izzy kept putting it in his way.
All day Madison's phone was busy or he wasn't available. But that office, each time I heard it on the open line, sounded like it was situated in the middle of a hurricane.
Tuesday morning came.
Front page again!
WHIZ KID CHEATED
GAS LINE FOUND
Officials today revealed that in investigating the smoldering wreck of the Whiz Kid's car, they had discovered a gasoline line cleverly hidden in the pistons...
It was in all the papers and on radio and TV. Well, I thought. That will be the end of it and the end of Heller, too!
But Wednesday morning came. Front page!
RACE OFFICIAL FLEES
WHIZ KID CULPABLE
According to unimpeachable sources we cannot disclose, a track official—whose relatives demanded he remain anonymous—fled the state after confessing he had accepted a bribe from the Whiz Kid to overlook a hidden gas tank in the Whiz Kid's steering wheel...
It was in all the papers and on radio and TV. Ah, well, I thought. Madison has cleverly scotched any future race. And that will be that.
So, on Thursday I was fairly relaxed when I opened the morning paper.
Front page again! With photos!
ANGRY MOB SEARCHES FOR WHIZ KID
EMBATTLED POLICE USE RIOT GUNS
Today, Manhattan huddled behind closed doors and listened with terror as the streets were torn to bits by the angry marching feet of a howling mob searching for the Whiz Kid. . ..
Photos of the mob, with placards which said Down with the Whiz Kid, showed flame and tear gas shooting from police lines. I looked out the window. Fifth Avenue never looked so calm.
The afternoon editions had new banners:
MAYOR CALLS CITY-WIDE EMERGENCY
And there were more photos.
Well, I said to myself, this Madison has really got what it takes. Really a genius. But he's shot his bolt now. He'll drop to page two.
Friday.
Front page again!
WHIZ KID HIDEOUT FOUND
Investigative reporters today stumbled upon the secret hideout of the Whiz Kid. Tipped off by a Good Humor Ice Cream man who was in a bad humor...
The story went on.
But the photograph! There was the Whiz Kid, buck-teeth and all, peering out from behind the Venetian blind of an upper window and looking very fearful.
I wondered if Heller really had fled. I ran through my recorded strips. He was going about his usual routine. At one point he came into his office, puzzled over the papers a bit and then went on with his schoolwork.
On Saturday, I knew Madison would have worn it out.
But no! Front page!
WHIZ KID HIDEOUT BOMBED
Today mobs converged upon the hideout of the Whiz Kid, ten thousand strong, and with ferocity hitherto unknown in city annals bombed the house to bits!...
Photos of an exploding building. I looked at it closely. It could not have been the same house the Whiz Kid had been shown peering out of. It looked more like a factory. Hard to tell with all the flame and bits flying about.
I went for a walk and saw Madison's earlier advertising signs about the Whiz Kid, that had been so neat, were now all covered with graffiti derogatory to the Whiz Kid.
Sunday, of course, would be a blank news day.
But it wasn't! Front page again!
MAGAZINE CANCELS CONTEST
In an unprecedented action today, the sports magazine, Dirt Illustrated, cancelled the $100,000 contest to guess the secret fuel of the Whiz Kid.
The full details, according to magazine officials, will be released in this week's issue.
But unimpeachable sources leaked that it had to do with a criminal act of the Whiz Kid relating to the contest...
Hey, a second front page story! Madison was really pouring it on!
"SECRET" FUEL DISCLOSED
WHIZ KID FUEL LEAKS
According to the Attorney General's office of an undisclosed state, investigators today obtained vital information on the supposedly "secret" fuel of the Whiz Kid that was to revolutionize industry and automobiling.
Using forensic air hoses on a gas station attendant whose name was withheld, they obtained the name of the actual fuel.
According to the indictment which some believe to be under preparation, the "secret" fuel was no less than Octopus Gasoline!
The gas attendant sought immunity from conspiracy charges by testifying that someone who looked like the Whiz Kid bought, in North Carolina, 39 gallons of Octopus High Test Supreme Unleaded the very day of the race!
With variations, the story was in all the Sunday papers. But there was much more. Dirt Illustrated had full-page ads announcing the coming expose. And double-page ads were carried by Octopus Gasoline, "The Drink of Industry and the People!"
By the Gods, he had even made the Sunday papers! I was really pleased. Bury's faith in Madison had not been misplaced!
I hastily went down to get the newest copy of Dirt Illustrated and there it was! A complete expose! According to the leading story, the Whiz Kid himself had tried to win the prize! He had submitted an unsigned entry that simply said "Octopus Gasoline"!
I really chuckled. This Madison was a howling genius after all.
I tuned in on Heller. He was at his Nature Appreciation 101 class with Mr. Wouldlice as his instructor. The snow was all over the place and the class looked cold. Wouldlice seemed a sort of chinless young man. With an ice saw, he was trying to cut a hole in the frozen Harlem Meer in Central Park and lecturing on the nesting habits of carp. He wasn't making much headway with the ice cutting. Heller, hands in pockets, finally finished the job for him with some strategically placed kicks with the heels of his baseball spikes. Heller handed the resulting slab to a girl and the students began to use it as a sort of belly sled. Mr. Wouldlice went on lecturing with Heller as his sole attending student. He didn't seem antagonistic to Heller; well, that would change with the next term when Miss Simmons got back on the job.
Heller did act sort of depressed. He was stirring the soot-covered snow with his foot. It made me very cheerful.
Monday, however, made me sort of wonder whose side this Madison was on.
He got his front page again. But a new twist.
OCTOPUS OFFICIALS
DENY INSTIGATING
WHIZ KID RIOTS
The mayor today denied that he had been summoned before a full-scale meeting of the Octopus Oil Company. However, unimpeachable inside leaks reached this paper just before dawn that a secret meeting of the Seven Brothers had occurred over the weekend to discuss the Whiz Kid riots.
All officials reached denied the meeting and the discussion.
"In admitting that he used Octopus gasoline in the race," a spokesman said, "the Whiz Kid obviously sought to implicate the oil companies in his vicious and villainous plot to undermine the entire oil industry with a felonious breach of racing rules. I deny vigorously that the oil companies financed the rioters. Besides, the Whiz Kid, being only 17, could not legally drive in Nassau County. This is an effort to link the great American patriots of the oil industry to an illegal act and imply that by selling the Whiz Kid Octopus gasoline to use in his fraud, the oil companies are also party to the crime."