Ayn Rand - The Early Ayn Rand

So when the unexpected roar of yelling voices thundered in the street, proclaiming some eventful news, Laury was not disturbed and only wondered dimly what the Globe could have an extra for.

But he did not have much time for meditation. He was summoned hurriedly to Mr. Scraggs' desk. His heart fell when he saw the Editor's face. He knew at once that something had happened, something frightful.

"What excuse have you got to offer?" Mr. Scraggs asked with sinister calm.

"Excuse... for what?" Laury muttered, steadying his voice.

"I had an impression that you were supposed to cover the Winford case, young man?"

"Well..."

"Then how do you account for the fact," Mr. Scraggs roared, "that a punk, lousy, measly paper like the Globe gets such news ahead of us?" And he waved a Globe extra into Laury's face.

"News, Mr. Scraggs? News on the Winford case?"

"And how!... Or perhaps you wouldn't call it news that Winford received a second letter from the kidnapper?"

"What?!"

"You heard me! And the letter orders him to deliver the money tonight!"

Laury saw stars swimming between him and Mr. Scraggs. He seized the extra, almost tearing it in half; and he read the great news. Mr. Winford had received this morning a second message from Damned Dan, fixing the time and place for the ransom money to be delivered. Mr. Winford had decided to obey, for, he had declared: "I would rather search for my money than for my daughter." Therefore, he had refused to make public all of the letter and the place appointed for the meeting. The Globe's reporter was only able to state that the kidnapper's letter was written with a pencil on a piece of brown wrapping paper; and that it started with:

Deer Ser enuff monkay biznes. Come across with the dough and make it pretti darn snappi or I'l get sor and wat'l hapen to yur gal then will be plenti...

It was signed:

Veri trooli yur's Dammd Dan

Laury swayed on his feet, and Mr. Scraggs wondered at the color of his face.

"It's... it's impossible!" he muttered hoarsely. "It's impossible!"

"What's impossible? The Globe getting it first and you asleep on your job?"

"But... but it can't be, Mr. Scraggs! Oh, God! It can't be!"

"Just why can't it be?"

Laury straightened himself slowly, straight and tense like a piano string.

"There's something happening somewhere, Mr. Scraggs!" he said, white as a sheet. "Something horrible!"

"There sure is," answered Mr. Scraggs, "and it's right here, in my city room, from which you're going to be kicked out, head first, if you ever miss a piece of news like this again!"

Eight hours passed after this conversation; eight desperate hours that Laury spent ransacking the town in search of some clue to that inexplicable development. He was too astounded to be quite conscious of what he was doing. He wondered if he was not going insane — the thing seemed so ridiculously incredible. He was searching frantically for something that would give him the faintest suspicion of an explanation.

He interviewed Mr. Winford and saw the first half of the letter on brown wrapping paper; he interviewed the police; he went around town actually hunting for news on the Winford case, looking for — Damned Dan! The idea made him laugh — with a gnashing of teeth.

And when he dragged himself back towards the Dawn building at six-thirty P.M., he had discovered nothing. The sun was setting far at the end of Main Street and red fires blazed on the windshields of cars rolling west. The peaceful traffic streamed by as usual and the shop awnings were being pulled up over darkened windows, locked for the night, as usual; but it seemed to Laury that somewhere behind these quiet houses, somewhere in this peaceful town, an invisible, frightful doom was silently awaiting him...

"No," said Mr. Scraggs, when Laury reached the city room, "you can't go home tonight. You'll be needed here. Grave developments are coming, I feel. Take an hour off for dinner and then be back on the job. Hang around Winford, be the first to learn the results of the ransom meeting this evening. And be sure to get here before the deadline!"

Laury walked home, his hands deep in his pockets and his thoughts deep in misery. What was he to do now? He could not let Mr. Winford be robbed of that huge sum, robbed and cheated, for he knew that the second "Dammd Dan" could not deliver Jinx to her father. He must warn him. But how? He did not dare to act, now that he felt himself watched and had not the slightest idea of the enemy he was dealing with.

Just the same, he jerked his head up proudly and muttered behind a firmly set mouth:

"But if that lousy bum, whoever he is, thinks he can scare me, he has a surprise coming that he'll long remember! I'll learn what his game is and damn soon!"

"Congratulations, buddy!" said a thick voice above his ear.

He stopped short and wheeled around. A tall, huge shadow towered above him in the coming darkness. That shadow had a crumpled little cap, too small for its big head, and greasy clothes that smelled of whiskey. It had a flat face, heavy eyes, and a broken, prizefighter's nose. Laury recognized it at once: it was Pug-Nose Thomson.

"Sir?" Laury asked indignantly, backing away from the man's strange, significant grin.

"Yeah, buddy, yeah, I says it was a slick one!" answered the man with a slow chuckle.

"What are you talking about? I don't know you! Whom do you think you're talking to?" Laury threw sharply.

"I'm talkin' to Damned Dan hisselfl" the man answered happily.

Laury wanted to make a reply and couldn't.

"I says, yuh pulled the best job any guy ever tried in this burg," the man went on. "For an a matcher it was pretty slick, I'll say!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Laury pronounced with a tremendous effort, wondering himself at the calm of his voice. "Leave me alone! You've been drinking!"

"So I have. Which don't make no difference," answered Pug-Nose Thomson quietly. "An' yuh better don't pull that line on me, kiddo, 'cause I know what I know, an' yuh know it, too... But I don't mean no offense to yuh, on the conterry, I mean to pay my compliments. If that's yer begginin', yuh'll go far, young fella, yuh'll go far!"

"I don't understand you!" Laury insisted. "You're taking me for somebody else!"

"No, I ain't! Now, lissen here, I've got a offer fer yuh: Let's be partners on this job!"

"You crazy fool! If you think..."

"Aw, cut that out, I'm talkin' bizness! I know pretty damn well that yuh're the guy what writes all them stories in the poipers an' what's got the Winford dame locked up in his own joint! Which's pretty darn smart, I agrees!"

"But..."

"An' if yuh wanna know how I knows it, it's right simple: I read the poipers an' I noticed as how yuh was gettin' all them news on this bizness first. 'That's funny,' I thought to myself, 'nobody never heard of this guy before.' An' then I watched yuh, an' I saw yuh buy all them Jane's duds an' yuh ain't never got a sweetie, so there! An' I watched yer joint from acrost the street an' sure thing, there was the Winford gal at yer winder!

"Now keep yer mouth shut!" he went on, without giving Laury time to reply. "No use tryin' to fool me! Here's the main thing: I wrote that second letter to the Winford gent an' he's bringin' the dough over tonight, in an hour. Yuh bring the gal an' we go fifty-fifty on it!

"That's still plenty fer yuh," he added, as Laury remained silent and immobile. "No one ever got fifty grand fer his first job!"

Laury looked calmly, steadily into the man's eyes.

"All right, then, if you are so well informed," he said coldly, narrowing his eyes. "Now, suppose I refuse your offer?"

"Yuh won't," Pug-Nose declared with conviction, " 'cause then I go an' tell the bulls what I know on this case. An' I get the five grand of reward. So yuh better accept my offer!"