"Thank you for yours," said Heller.
They shook hands.
Madison and his crew left.
Me? I didn't get it. This Madison was mild as milk. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was up to. Then I had a clue. Confidence. He had spent all that time building Heller's confidence in him. I thought it was pretty inane. Bury had overestimated the danger in Madison, that was for sure.
For two whole days, watching the viewer or replaying its strips, there was no slightest sign of J. Walter Madison. I began to think he was just a fizzle and that I myself would have to get in there.
Heller was working on his carburetor. He had stored the Caddy and trailer in a garage in Spreeport. He had brought over the old Caddy engine on its trailer and put together a little shop. It was not very far from New York and Bang-Bang was happily driving him back and forth in the old cab. He usually got to his Empire State Building office around four each day.
He was making too much progress. I was worried.
On the third afternoon, just as he sat down at his desk, J. Walter Madison sailed in. He was very conservatively dressed, very mild of manner, smooth of voice: an epitome of the most socially acceptable young man you ever cared to meet.
He greeted Heller politely. He said he was sorry to bother him but Heller might be interested in the Chemistry Today, just out, and here were a dozen copies for his files.
Heller opened it. The item was a two-inch-square picture on the next to last page, down at the bottom. It said, Jerome Terrance Wister, a young student, plans to make a career of finding a cheap fuel. That was all. The picture, however, was one of Heller in glasses with a pugnacious jaw and buckteeth. It did not look the least like Heller. It amused him.
In reply to thanks, Madison said, "It was a great temptation to say more. There are rumors all around about this new fuel. I don't know where they are coming from. My editors wanted me to put it more strongly because of tips they'd gotten. But I said no. Mr. Wister, if you need any help or advice about publicity, be sure to phone me. I fear someone is getting excited about this fuel." He gave Heller a card with a phone number on it. "Papers can get quite hyperbolical. I don't have any influence, being just a freelance, but I may be able to give you some tips to keep you from straying into some of the pits and traps of the press." They shook hands warmly and Madison was on his way.
I thought I had better have a copy myself. I went down to the newsstand. "Chemistry Today?" said the hotel-lobby news vendor. "Never heard of it." He looked up in a big book they apparently kept for out-of-town guest queries. He phoned Hotaling's Foreign Newspaper Center down on 42nd Street. "Can't find it," he said. "And they never heard of it. Must be some little, tiny house organ."
I was relieved. Heller's "great discovery" was buried in a newspaper nobody had ever heard of. Great! I saw Madison's strategy now. It was simply to prevent a whisper of news. Clever. He, I supposed, would lay all over the media like a blanket. Good man! I was sorry I had doubted him.
The next morning, having ascertained that Utanc apparently was not up, I was breakfasting in the penthouse sitting room, the hazy autumn sun warm through the glass, feeling at peace. I opened up the Daily Fits to find Bugs Bunny.
I gaped!
On page two, there was that weird picture of Heller.
STUDENT DISCOVERS CHEAP FUEL
SAYS WILL REVOLUTIONIZE AUTOS
J. T. Wister, an undergraduate, claims to have found a magic fuel. It is very cheap.
Known to his classmates as the "Whiz Kid," a twist on the name "Wister," he already has a considerable reputation for brilliance.
When asked about the fuel, he modestly said, "It will revolutionize the whole industrial world, the whole automotive industry, as well as our entire culture."
I seethed! (Bleep) that Madison! This was one story he hadn't blanketed. The worst of it was, it was TRUE!
If Heller began to use atomic conversion, it wasn't one cheap fuel he'd have but thousands!
I rushed down to the news vendor and got every daily paper they had! On page two or page three in every one of them, same story! Varied in word formation. But the same story!
I tried to call Madison. His mother said he was out. I raged. I paced back and forth. This was the thing which mustn't happen! He really was going to make Heller famous!
A walk in Central Park cooled me off somewhat. I returned and passed the lobby newsstand.
Slime Weekly News Magazine had just been delivered. The vendor was opening the packet.
And there on the front cover was Heller! Glasses, buckteeth and all!
Same story! It was now going national!
Believe me, I didn't sleep well that night!
In the morning, it was worse!
The out-of-town papers were carrying it. And the New York papers had moved him up to page one!
They were all calling Heller the "Whiz Kid" now!
Gods! Madison had blown it!
I phoned. His mother said he was still out. I said in a deadly voice, "He better not be out!"
"Oh, is this Mr. Smith?" she said. "Mr. Smith, he wants you to come to 42 Mess Street, the loft!"
I made sure my Colt Python .357 Magnum-.38 Special was fully loaded. No wonder people wanted to shoot this Madison! He was incompetent! And now he must be hiding out!
A cab rushed me downtown into the industrial west side. Gritting my teeth, I went down an alley. There sat that Excalibur! The chrome exhaust pipes were all polished. A man was sitting in it. He had one arm in a sling. It was Jambo! The one that had tried to attack Heller with the camera!
"You Smith?" he said, holding a sawed-off leopard in his good hand. This was a strange turn of events. I eased sideways and got ready to draw, wondering if I could beat that leopard.
"Hey, Smith!" yelled a voice from above. It was Madison leaning out one of those tipped industrial windows.
"You're expected," said Jambo.
I went up some dirty flights. I entered a huge loft.
It was JAMMED with people and typewriters and desks. Birds with their hats on the back of their heads and cigarettes drooping from their mouths were giving typewriters a pounding. Others were rushing about, some with mail sacks sealed to go. News teleprinters were chattering against one wall. BUSY!
Madison was standing just inside the door to an office at the end. I walked through the turmoil, choked a bit by the marijuana smoke but more choked with rage.
He was bright and hot-eyed. "How do you like it? It was all I could get at a moment's notice!"
"You're making him FAMOUS!" I shouted at him.
He looked a little puzzled. "Why, of course! Quote Madison always does his job unquote subhead Famous Public Relations Expert..." He broke off. Then he said, "You still seem cross!"
"Of course I'm cross!" I screamed at him.
"My mother said you sounded cross this morning on the phone. So I thought I had better show you. Those men out there are thirty of the most imaginative reporters I could find out of work on short notice. They're writing and sending out news releases about the 'Whiz Kid' to every paper in the world. I've got Wister's confidence. I am giving him lots of coverage. You don't approve?"
"You know what you were really hired for," I grated.
He frowned. He sat down in a rickety chair. Then he said, "I understand, Mr. Smith. I will mend my ways. You'll see tomorrow!"
I went off. I was glad he had gotten the point.
The (bleeping) fool would have made Heller a folk hero or something if he had kept going on with his stupid campaign! A famous Heller was something we DID NOT NEED!