The Shattered Raven Read Online Free PDF Page B

BEEN difficult to gain admittance to the nineteenth floor of the Biltmore Hotel, where the ballroom, that Thursday evening, was housing the final stages of a hardware convention. The layout of the place lent itself well to an intruder. Victor Jones had simply strolled in, mistaken by the waiters for a tardy guest, and by the guests for some management functionary checking on the proceedings.
    He knew a visit the following day was in order because the rostrum might be in a different position—but still, this gave him an overall view of the ballroom, and it was necessary before he could proceed with the final phase of his plan.
    He’d called Ross Craigthorn one more time, but the conversation had been unsatisfactory to both of them. He knew now there was no hope, that he would have to act.
    Later that night, he spent some time in a little home workshop he sometimes used. He had a number of things there, but the ones that most interested him at the moment were the transmitting and receiving units from a cheap citizens-band radio outfit, a piece of narrow metal tubing, and some thirty-eight calibre bullets. He had a quantity of copper wire, also—and a tiny drill which he used along with a soldering iron to carefully attach the wire to the cartridge case of the bullet. The wire had to go through a minute aperture in the back of the cartridge case—then almost, but not quite, connect with another wire. There had to be a bridge there—a bridge just the right distance for a spark to jump. That spark would set off the powder in the cartridge and propel the bullet forward. He tried it three times before it worked to his satisfaction. Then he packed up the gear very carefully in a small suitcase, ready for tomorrow night’s dinner.
    He turned on the television news at 1.00 a.m. on Amalgamated. Ross Craigthorn was long gone from the studio, but they had a taped replay of an earlier interview of his. Victor Jones sat and looked at the man he was going to kill, remembering those days long ago when they’d sworn that nothing could ever come between them. Something had, of course. Life had.

7 Barney Hamet
    F RIDAY WAS SUNNY, A good day for the visitors who would be coming from out of town. The weather would not interfere with the dinner’s attendance, and that made Barney happy.
    He was up early, because there were people to meet, things to do. He’d had a few drinks with Max Winters the previous evening, after the craft session, and although they’d parted before midnight, Barney still felt sleepy. The bed in his furnished uptown apartment was not the most comfortable in the world.
    Barney went first to the Fifth Avenue office of Harry Fox. Surprisingly, for the early hour, Harry was not alone. He was using his publicity ability on a sleepy gentleman that Barney knew slightly. Harry introduced them again, just for the record. “Barney, you know Skinny Simon, don’t you?”
    Barney had met Skinny Simon once or twice before, but knew the man mainly by reputation, as did almost everyone else in New York. Skinny Simon was not really skinny, being tall, with a fairly medium build, and whether his name truly was Simon, perhaps only his mother could say. But he had a reputation. He conducted an all-night radio show that made his name a household word within listening distance of New York. Once a week he also did an hour-long television show, but it was with the radio show that he had really achieved the sort of instant fame possible only in the media of modern American entertainment.
    He actually was following in the footsteps of a number of other personalities who attracted the weird, the controversial, the interesting, and managed to keep a good many New Yorkers awake from twelve to five every morning. The shows had been going on in Manhattan and Los Angeles for years, and seemed as popular and as exasperating as ever. Skinny Simon had survived longer than most. He wore a fashionable brown beard and close-cropped hair, that gave him