The first thing he did was to look up the Vice Squad lieutenant who’d been in charge of the raid. “Why?” Frank asked him. “Off the record, why? With all the honest-to-badness cat-houses operating more or less openly in Flintsburgh, for Pete’s sake, why pick on an honest-to-Hippocrates scientific project to bust?”
“Search me.” The lieutenant shrugged. “I only take orders. I do know there’s been a few squawks from some biddies call themselves ‘Mothers for Morality.’ A few other bluenose outfits too. Maybe they put on more pressure than it looked like. I don’t know. I just know I got orders to bust the joint.”
“Orders from who?”
“Captain of the precinct. That’s who I always get my orders from.”
“You sure it wasn’t your own idea?” His years of practice had made Frank cynical and suspicious. “Like maybe the Observatory forgot to pay off.”
“Why, Counselor, you shock me. Are you suggesting that I’d be on the take?”
“Wouldn’t think of it. But suppose my clients kick in a little something for the Vice Squad Benevolent Society? A charitable donation, you understand. Could you maybe see your way clear to finding you don’t have sufficient evidence to support the charges?”
“Gee, I’d like to cooperate, Frank. You know I’m a softy and you can always work with me. Particularly on a first offense. But, honest, this one’s out of my hands. The precinct captain ordered the raid and no ifs, ands or buts about it. You want to make a donation, I guess you have to, talk to him first.”
“Will do.” Frank went to the nearest phone booth and dialed the precinct.
“Well, hello there, Counselor,” the precinct captain greeted Frank after the switchboard shunted the call to his office. “What can I do for you?”
“The Venus Observatory case.” Frank minced no words. “My clients want to contribute to the Welfare Fund.”
“Now you wouldn’t be trying to bribe an officer of the law, would you, Counselor?” the captain asked jovially.
“Never! You think I want to be disbarred? I just thought you might want to consider the extenuating circumstances, the genuine humanitarian purposes behind my clients activities, and drop the charges.”
“I’d like to, Counselor, but this one’s too big. The raid wasn’t my idea. The chief himself ordered it.”
“But why?” Frank wondered.
“You’ll have to be asking him that.”
“I will.” Frank said goodbye, jiggled the receiver, fumbled another dime into the slot, consulted his little black book, and dialed the private home number of the chief of police.
“Frank Pollener here,” he identified himself when the chief answered.
“Do you know what time it is?” The chief sounded angry and sleepy.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on your cousin Oscar’s coming up with the low bid on that sewer contract,” Frank said smoothly.
“How did you know—?”
“Oscar drinks too much. And when he drinks too much he talks too much. Particularly since the bids aren’t due to be opened until day after tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if the papers came up with the exact difference between Oscar’s bid and the next lowest?”
“I’ll have a talk with Oscar,” the chief promised. “And thank you, Frank. I do appreciate your concern for my family. Any time I can return the favor—”
“How about like right now?”
“Ahh,” the chiefs voice was syrupy. “Somehow I thought you might have something in mind. Now what is it?”
Frank explained the Venus situation.
“Laddy,” the chief said earnestly, “if there was anything I could do, I would. Believe me. But this wasn’t my doing. The order for this raid came right from His Honor himself.”
“But why?”
“I’m not sure. Some of those bluenose pressure groups maybe. But believe me, it’s out of my hands. You want to square this beef, you’ll have to talk to His Honor.”
When Frank hung up he looked at his watch. It was too late to reach the Mayor. It would have to wait until morning. He went home and back to bed.
His conversation with the Mayor the next morning was roundabout. “The gubernatorial election comes up next fall,” Frank mentioned. “I hear your name’s been mentioned as a possible candidate.”
“I am most actively" not actively seeking the nomination,” the Mayor assured him. “My sole concern is the welfare of the city whose government the electorate has seen fit to entrust me with running. On the other hand, if the will of the delegates should express itself in so overwhelming a favoritism for my candidacy as to constitute a draft call to run for the position, then I—”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Frank interrupted. “Because the talk is that even if the party ran you, you could never get the support of the Better Government League.”
“Why not?” the Mayor sputtered. “I’ve always had their support!”
“Well, you know those eggheads. They’d never support a politician who persecuted a humanitarian scientific institution.”
“What do you mean? I never—”
“Come now, Your Honor. Didn’t you order the raid on the Venus Observatory last night?”
“Oh. That. . .”
“Yes. That. Now the question is, why?” Frank wanted to know.
“Protests from the mothers of our fair city, other groups concerned with maintaining a high moral climate, even an anti-vivisectionist group. . .”
“All that may be true,” Frank conceded. “But somehow, I don’t believe that’s all there is to it, Come on now, Your Honor, you don’t want me to start organizing the opposition against your candidacy for the governorship, do you? Level with me and maybe we can find a way out of this situation that could save you the egghead vote. What’s the real reason you cracked down on the Observatory?”
“Mr. X.” The Mayor’s voice was a hushed whisper.
“You mean the brotherhood’s mixed up in this?” Frank was beginning to see the light. “That’s where the order originated?”
The Mayor’s silence was confirmation in itself.
“So long, Your Honor. It’s always a pleasure to talk to an honest politician.” Frank put the receiver back on the hook.
He thought a moment, then dialed Carrera’s number. After a moment he was put through to him. Frank came straight to the point. “I want to reach Mr. X,” he told him.
“You been watching too many Bogart movies on the Late Show or something, Counselor? What Mr. X? There is no Mr. X.”
“What happened? Did the statute of limitations run out on favors?” Frank asked.
“Anything you want.” Carrera was genial as always.
“I told you. I want to talk to Mr. X.”
“Don’t know anybody by that name.”
“Look, I don’t have time to play cat-and-mouse,” Frank told him. “I need this favor real bad.”
“If there was such a gentleman and I knew him, I’d put you in touch with him. But then if there was a Mr. X and I knew him, who knows? Maybe he’d call you. If there was a Mr. X and it was within my power to arrange such a call, my advice to you would be to stay close to your telephone. But there is no Mr. X. Sorry, Counselor.” The receiver clicked in Frank’s ear.