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been keeping in reserve and it sweeps the dirt right off the front page and out of your mind.
    “Deamer’s straight. Because he’s straight he’s a target. Everybody is after his hide except the people. Don’t think it hasn’t been tried. I’ve come across it and so have the others, but we went to the trouble of going down a little deeper than we were expected to and we came across the source of the so-called ‘facts.’ Because it was stuff that was supposed to come to light during any normal compilation of a man’s background the only way it could reach the public without being suspected of smear tactics by the opposition was through the newspapers.
    “Well, by tacit agreement we suppressed the stuff. In one way we’re targets too because the big boys with the strings know how we feel. Lee Deamer’s going to be in there, Mike. He’s going to raise all kinds of hell with the corruption we have in our government. He’ll smoke out the rats that live on the public and give this country back some of the strength that it had before we were undermined by a lot of pretty talk and pretty faces.
    “That’s why I want to get the story from you ... if there is one. I want to hold a conference with the others who feel like I do and come to an honest conclusion. Hell, I don’t know why I’ve become so damn public-spirited. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired of taking all the crap that’s handed out.”
    I put a light to my butt and said, “Has there been anything lately on the guy?”
    “No. Not for a month, anyway. They’re waiting until he gets done stumping the state before they pick him apart.”
    Pat was right then. The police had kept it quiet, not because they were part of the movement of righteousness, but because they must have suspected a smear job. Deamer couldn’t have been in two places at once by any means.
    “Okay, Marty. I’ll get in touch with you if anything lousy comes up. Do me a favor and keep my name out of any conversation, though, will you?”
    “Of course. By the way, that judge handed you a dirty one the other day.”
    “What the hell, he could be right, you know.”
    “Sure he could, it’s a matter of opinion. He’s just a stickler for the letter of the law, the exact science of words. He’s the guy that let a jerk off on a smoking-in-the-subway charge. The sign said NO SMOKING ALLOWED, so he claimed it allowed you not to smoke, but didn’t say anything about not smoking. Don’t give him another thought.”
    I took a bill from my wallet and handed it to the waiter with a wave that meant to forget the change. Marty looked at his watch and said he had to get back, so we shook hands and left.
    The afternoon papers were out and the headlines had to do with the Garden fight the night before. One of the kids was still out like a light. His manager was being indicted for letting him go into the ring with a brain injury.
    There wasn’t a word about any bodies being found in the river. I threw the paper in a waste barrel and got in my car.
    I didn’t feel so good. I wasn’t sick, but I didn’t feel so good. I drove to a parking lot, shoved the car into a corner and took a cab to Times Square and went to a horror movie. The lead feature had an actor with a split personality. One was a man, the other was an ape. When he was an ape he killed people and when he was a man he regretted it. I could imagine how he felt. When I stood it as long as I could I got up and went to a bar.
    At five o’clock the evening editions had come out. This time the headlines were a little different. They had found one of the bodies.
    Fat boy had been spotted by a ferryboat full of people and the police launch had dragged him out of the drink. He had no identification and no fingerprints. There was a sketch of what he might have looked like before the bullet got him smack in the kisser.
    The police attributed it to a gang killing.
    Now I was a one-man gang. Great. Just fine. Mike Hammer, Inc. A gang.

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