Sin In Their Blood | Page 6

I sat on
one of these ultra-modern chairs that's supposedly molded to the shape
of your behind. After the first few seconds, it was comfortable.
Harry said, "That wound and the hospital didn't do you any harm, you
look fit. Those nurses as tail-happy as the jokes go?"
"Stop it." Harry, knew more dirty jokes than any man alive, or maybe
dead. And all of them funny--to a high-school kid.
"But you do look fine. I don't know, expected you to limp in with half
an arm. Never did get that wound business straight--where were you
hit?"
"In the head. Forget the wound and the war. What did you want to see

me about?"
Harry gave me a small grin, examined his nails. "Same thing you
wanted to see me about--get us both straight. Thought we might start
off by getting things settled. Righto?"
"You're talking." The "righto" was a new word for Harry.
He pressed a button and the bottom drawer of his desk gently slid open.
He fumbled around with some papers--a few of our old
letterheads--tossed them on the desk. "That's all that remains of our old
agency."
He waited for me to say something, then added, "Got a hundred and
twenty bucks for the office furniture, but we owed that much in back
rent, phone. Have it all itemized if you care to see it."
"Take your word."
Harry filled a straight-grained pipe and lit it. He puffed on the pipe
greedily, watching me. He was smoking something that smelled like a
mixture of sugar and Under The Arm No. 5. The whole pipe idea must
have been part of Harry's new "executive" look. Finally he said, "What
I'm saying, Matt, is, you're not a partner in this new set-up I have. But
that doesn't mean you're not in. Want to work for me? Hundred a week
to start."
"No dice."
"You mean you expect to get a slice of this deal? It's all mine, you want
a job, okay, but no partnership." His voice grew shrill like it always did
when he was angry.
"You can have it--all of it."
He looked at me like I was bulling him, then leaned back in his red
leather chair, sent out a big cloud of smoke that stunk up the room. I
thought how odd it was that a weak character like Harry, a bag of bones,

knowing almost the same people I did, going the same places, never got
the bug. And with all my muscles, I had to get it.
"Matt, you're not sore about anything?"
"No."
"This job is a snap and..."
"I'm not going to work--for a while."
"Loaded?"
"Just my pension. Rising prices are cutting it to hell, but I'll manage."
Harry sucked on his pipe again, studied me. "There's one more
thing--Flo. I took over while you..."
"You can have her too, along with the letterheads."
"Matt, you've changed."
"That's right."
"Flo fits in with my plans. I like a stupid girl, just a plain stupid one,
not one of these educated stupid broads that drive you nuts with their
complexes. Flo is..."
I stood up. "So long, Harry. I got to get some sleep."
"Wait a minute. Sit down. I canceled two appointments so we could
chat. Matt, I'll level with you, I have a gold mine here, but I need
somebody I can trust to work with me. Give you a hundred and fifty a
week, and it's no work. Sit down, let me show you something." He took
a four-page printed newsletter from the top of his desk, handed it to me.
I read the first paragraph which had some hooey about "inside trends in
America." Across the top in big red letters was printed,
CONFIDENTIAL! Destroy This After Reading!

Harry said, "I write that. Got a guy at the printers who goes over it for
mistakes, does a polish job."
"What is it?"
"Costs fifty bucks a year to subscribe to my newsletter, and I got over
1,800 suckers. Send it to them registered mail--big deal. Was going to
charge them thirty dollars, then I thought of the registered-mail angle,
added twenty to pay the postage. Impresses the hell out of 'em."
"Out of who?"
"Businessmen. And if they don't subscribe, or let us screen their
employees--for from five hundred to a grand, depending upon the
number of workers--why then I smear them in the newsletter. It's
surefire.... I can put a small concern out of business within three issues
of my newsletter."
"Screen their employees for what?" I asked, tossing the newsletter back
on the desk.
"For Reds, or anybody they want to call a troublemaker. I don't care, I'll
screen anybody for anything--long as there's a bundle of that green
stuff on the line.. Hell, Matt, this makes