"Well ... no." Troll grimaced and licked his crooked, yellow teeth. "Little .22 pistols. These racket guys like 'em."
"Look up there! He said it's gonna blow!" I pointed. "Come on, we gotta get outa here!"
"Aw, calm down, will you?" Cheetah demanded. "I thought you wanted to look inside one of these crates -"
A louder explosion came from high above us, by the fire. This time a couple of crates crashed to floor. Two more explosions came from them when they hit, scattering more fire.
"Come on!" I turned and ran. Behind me, I finally heard Cheetah's quick footsteps and Troll's pounding ones. Before I reached the back door, a roaring explosion shook the entire building. I stumbled through the door and ran toward the fence.
By the time I reached it, they had caught up to me. Troll grabbed a steel fence post and simply pushed it flat, shoving the entire fence down and out of our way. On the other side, I turned to look back at the warehouse.
Another series of powerful explosions thundered through the building. Red-orange flames raged in most of the windows now. Crates crashed to the floor. Smoke was pouring out through the broken windows.
"We got to call the fire department!" Cheetah yelled.
"They might not come - that's part of the deal," I shouted. "You go ahead and call! Troll, we have to find help! Come on!"
More explosions shook the building. Part of the roof collapsed. Fire danced out of the open space high above us.
While Cheetah ran for a phone, Troll and I crossed the street to an apartment building. I started inside, but he didn't bother. He looked in a second story window, where a couple of jokers were drinking beer and peering out to see what the noise had been. Troll shouted that it was a fire and to bring out the building's emergency firehose, fast.
I yelled for them to bring their neighbors. We would have to start a bucket brigade. Then Troll and I ran to the next apartment building, where we did the same.
Soon we had jokers of all shapes and sizes pouring out into the streets, running or limping or hopping or slithering. Some brought the hoses from their apartment buildings; others brought buckets from their closets or their places of business.
No one had a tool to use on the fire hydrants, but Troll was able to unscrew the protective nut with brute strength and hook up the hoses people brought out. He and some of the other strongest jokers held the hoses. I got people to line up in bucket brigades between the edge of the warehouse and some external spigots on the neighboring buildings.
Flo was right about the fire department, even with this accidental fire. They never showed up. The fire burned late into the night, and the explosions continued. None was big enough to level the building, though, and I figured out why. They weren't bombs in the sense of trying to destroy a building in one big bang. Instead, the stuff in the crates was intended to start fires that would spread afterward. All those small fires were pretty well lost in this great big one.
Actually, at first the bucket brigades didn't do much more than keep the fire from spreading on the ground. That was good, but nobody could get close enough to the building because of the heat and smoke to throw a bucket of water on it. Troll and the other big jokers holding the hoses made the real difference. With a couple of hoses on all three hydrants that were on streets by the warehouse, they kept up the spray.
It was long after midnight by the time the fire died down. Then the bucket brigades really moved in, but they were cautious because of the explosions. Finally the fire was under control and everybody cheered and ran around hugging everyone else. For that one night, all the jokers seemed to put their differences aside and work together to help their own part of town.
Most people started drifting away then. Troll and some of the others stayed until almost three in the morning to make sure the fire was out. Then he came up to me with this wet, heavy lump of metal in one hand and gave it to me. He also gave me a short piece of cord and a small lump of something that hadn't burned. I couldn't tell what any of it was, but I took it home with me. My mother had been too worried to be mad, but everything was okay when I told her I had been in the bucket brigade.
***
The next morning, I wrapped the unidentifiable stuff from the fire in a towel and took it to work. I stashed it on an empty warehouse shelf until lunchtime. Then, when Peter Choy sat down on a stool in front of the big freezer doors to open his lunchpail, I carried it over to him.
"Mr. Choy?"
"Hi, Chuck. You got your lunch wrapped up there?"
"Aw, heck, no. But, uh ... look." I set it all down on the concrete floor and unwrapped it.
He laughed. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure. I got it from the fire last night."
"You were out there?" He leaned forward, looking closely. "I heard the explosions, but I went back to sleep."
"Mr. Choy, I'm afraid to go to the police. I don't think they'll listen to a joker - especially a kid like me. But somebody's got a whole bunch of these stashed away."
"More of them, Chuck?" His voice had suddenly grown serious.
"Yeah. Will you report it, if I tell you?"
"Tell you what. I'll go to the police with you."
"Aw, no. The fire chief is in on it. The cops might be, too."
He frowned thoughtfully. Then he closed his lunchpail and stood up. "I know where to go. No cops. Come on."
We hiked down to a little Chinatown dive on Mott Street. By the time I had carried the load through the noonday heat that far, I was exhausted and soaked in sweat. For a change, my boss was quiet, instead of friendly and joking all the time.
Inside, Peter walked up to one of the booths. A skinny, chain-smoking man with his brown hair in a buzz cut sat hunched over, alone. Wearing a baggy black suit, he was poking through a bowl of pork noodles with a fork.
"Matt? I'm Peter Choy. We used to talk sometimes when I had lunch here regularly. On my old route."
"Sure, I remember." He tugged his tie a little looser and glanced at me. "So, you want to sit, or what?"
"I might have a story for you." Peter slid into the booth and gestured for me to join him.
"Chuck, Matt Rainey here is a Chinatown beat reporter for the New York Mirror. I want you to show him what you have."
I set the bundle on the table. Then I pulled the edge of the towel back just a little. He watched Matt's face.
"Say, I haven't seen a mess like that since Korea." Matt's narrow eyes widened.
"You can tell what it was?" Peter asked.
He tapped the big piece of metal with a fingernail. "Magnesium case for an incendiary bomb. It should have been filled with thermite, only this one didn't detonate. The case melted down from heat on the outside instead. Properly detonated, it could generate enough heat to turn steel machinery into a molten puddle. This other thing is a piece of detonating cord. Wrap that around a five-gallon gas can and boom. And the last thing ... maybe part of a container for phosphorous trioxide, the stuff in hand grenades." He looked at me. "What of it, kid?"
"I have to be anonymous," I said. "You can't use my name or what I look like or anything."
Matt blew smoke out to one side and grinned cynically. "You don't want your name in the paper? All that fame and glory?"
"You take it," I said.
"All right, then. Give."
"This was in the big Jokertown fire last night. Stuff like this helped start it. There's another whole warehouse full of these. And word on the street is, they belong to racket guys."
Peter turned and stared at me in amazement.
"Which guys? You got a name, kid, or just teenage gossip?"
"Lansky. He rented the warehouses."
Matt's eyebrows shot up. He puffed on his cigarette again and blew out more smoke. "That fire was real enough; I took a look this morning after I got the word. Where's the second warehouse?"
I told him.
"And you're giving me this tip free and clear? You won't come back later on, whining that I gypped you on this?"
&
nbsp; "Aw, heck, no. I got to live around here."
Matt dropped the towel over the stuff. "Why not the cops?"
"He said the fire chief is in on it," said Peter. "Cops might be, too. And he's just a kid."
"And a joker. All right, I'll check it out. And I keep this. Now leave me alone, all right?"
I slid out of the booth, glad to get away from him. Peter thanked him. Out on the street again, though, even Peter let out a long breath of relief. Then we started to walk.
"In a sense, he's taking advantage of you," said Peter. "If that proves out, he'll get lots of credit that should go to you."
"It's okay with me," I said.
***
Tonight was the night. Before six o'clock, I started walking toward the Bowery on the route Flo had taken before, hoping to run into her on the way. I didn't see her. Starting to worry, I paced up and down the sidewalk, peering closely at every cab. Six o'clock passed. I paced more frantically.
When I saw Jube the Walrus down the block on his regular run, I ran after him. "Hey, Jube! Jube!"
"Evenin', Chop-Chop. Have you heard the one about -"
"Look, Jube, I'm in a hurry. That girl I was with yesterday - have you seen her?"
"No, Chop-Chop, I'm afraid not. You're expecting her, eh?"
"Yeah! And it's important - she wouldn't miss this!"
"No? Well, this isn't her part of town. I was surprised to see you with her. I never thought she'd come to Jokertown."
"You mean you know her?"
"Not personally, of course. From her picture in the paper."
"In the paper? Look - do you know who she is?"
"Whoa! Don't you?"
"Well - no. I just met her."
"Chop-Chop, she's Fleur van Renssaeler. Her daddy is Henry van Renssaeler, the Congressman."
"He is? Uh - do you know where they live?"
Jube didn't know, but he was able to find out. I suppose it might have been in the society pages of an old paper or something. He told me to meet him back there on the corner in fifteen minutes, which I did. Henry van Renssaeler lived with his daughter and her two older brothers, Brandon and Henry, Jr., in a penthouse apartment. I never did find out why Jube bothered to help me. Looking back, I suppose he resented her father's attitude toward the wild card.
I wasn't going to go after Flo - Fleur - alone, though. First I hurried over to Biff's. Cheetah and Troll were hanging around there at that hour as usual. Tonight the place was full of other jokers, though, all talking about the fire. After last night, Cheetah and Troll were up for more adventure. Even back in those days, Troll had a sense of what you might call joker identity. When I got them aside, I told them I had to visit the home of a well-to-do nat girl and was real scared. They agreed to come along. So we headed uptown on the subway.
The apartment building was in just the kind of fancy area of New York you might have expected. In those days, you know, even rich people didn't have the kind of security you see nowadays. They didn't need it then.
We just walked inside and went over to the elevator. This young guy in a gray uniform was sitting there on a stool, reading a comic book. His eyes got real wide when he saw us, but he just took us up without a word.
I was nervous when I knocked on the penthouse door. The little peephole darkened as someone looked out. Then I heard a muffled gasp and footsteps and voices inside.
Finally the door was yanked open. This stiff, arrogant man in a suit and tie was glaring down at me. He had to be Fleur's father, Henry van Renssaeler.
"Is Fleur here?" I sounded like a kid who wanted her to play.
"Get out of here!" He jerked his head toward the elevator door. "You filthy...." When he looked up and saw Troll behind me, his mouth just dropped open.
Behind him in the foyer, I could see a uniformed black maid and a couple of other servants staring at us. Then Henry swung the door to slam it in my face. Before it shut, though, Troll reached over my head and gripped the doorframe with one giant, warty hand. The door banged off his hand and bounced open again.
I felt another very large hand shove me forward, inside the apartment. Cheetah, laughing loudly, danced past me to a small table and ripped a telephone cord out of the wall. The servants huddled in a corner, where Cheetah held them by showing his teeth, waving his arms, and making his favorite chimp noises.
I turned. Troll ducked inside the doorway, slammed the door shut, and leaned down toward Henry, trapping him against the wall with a green arm as thick as my waist. Henry was sweating heavily, speechless.
"Where's Fleur?" I demanded.
Her father glanced down at me, but he didn't speak. I couldn't tell if he was being defiant or was just too scared. Anyhow, I turned around and yelled her name.
"Here!" Her voice was distant and muffled, but a knocking sound was much sharper.
I rat down a long carpeted hallway. "Fleur! It's Chuck!"
"I'm locked in! Over here!" She pounded on her door again.
I fumbled with the knob, but it required a key. "Troll!"
His footsteps pounded down the hall toward me.
"Look out, Fleur! Back up!" I stepped aside and Troll simply crashed into the door, smashing it down.
Fleur stood in the middle of the room, staring at Troll in horror.
"Cone on!" I darted inside and grabbed her arm. "Have you got the money? For tonight?"
"No I couldn't get to the bank." She snatched up her purse.
I dragged her out and pulled her down the hall.
Chetah was still jumping around in front of the servants, but Henry had started toward us. He stopped, though, when he saw Troll coming back. Fleur looked away from him as I drew her past him toward the front door.
"Whore!" Henry yelled. "Filthy whore - joker's whore!"
***
We stopped at her bank in the neighborhood. She acted like she was in a trance, quivering and sweating but doing everything she had to do. Once she had the cash, we took Fleur back to Jokertown on the subway, of course. I kept an eye on her wristwatch. We would just barely make her appointment.
Back in Jokertown, I thanked Cheetah and Troll. They took the hint and got lost. I led Fleur quickly up the sidewalk in the waning light. She clung to me, crying quietly.
"What happened? Did your father find out?"
Her voice was tight. "Not exactly. But he was real mad that I was out the other night - he checked up on me and found out that I wasn't at my girlfriend's after all. When I started to leave yesterday, he locked me in."
"Now I've really done it - he saw you with jokers."
When we reached the rear of the club, Waffle was pacing restlessly by the back door. He looked like a human-shaped cookie cut-out of a waffle in both texture and color, and in his very flat shape. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his brown, waffled shoulders, and blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up over white socks and dirty tennis shoes.
"Gimme the dough," said Waffle.
She handed me five one-hundred dollar bills. I held them out.
Waffle snatched them. "All right, follow me."
We followed him. He led us up a back alley and then opened a small unmarked door. He went inside first. This door opened on a narrow hallway. I shut it behind us.
Waffle opened an interior door. "They're here, Doc."
The elderly man who appeared was of Chinese descent, short and stocky like Peter Choy, with receding black hair and a deeply lined face. He wore a long white lab coat. His otherwise human face had a long duck beak. "I'm just Doc," he said calmly. "My nickname is Peking Doc. You don't need to tell me your name."
"Hi," said Fleur, in a whisper, as she stared at his beak.
Doc turned to me. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, young man. Now, don't worry. I'll give your friend something to make her drowsy and everything will be fine. But it will be an hour before she wakes up and two hours before she's herself again. I'll have to ask you to remain in the next room." He pointed.
"All rig
ht," I said, turning to Fleur. "Uh - good luck."
"She'll be fine." Doc held open another door and gestured for Fleur to precede him.
She gave me a terrified glance and stiffly walked through it.
Waffle slipped past me and left by the back door. I went into the room Doc had pointed out. It was dark until I switched on a corner lamp. Then I picked up copies of Reader's Digest to look for the funny stuff.
Nearly an hour passed. Suddenly I wondered if Matt Rainey had accomplished anything today. I decided to find out, despite what Doc had said, and slipped outside, making sure that the door would not lock behind me. Then I ran to the nearest newsstand and snatched up a copy of the New York Mirror, tossing coins onto the counter. I hurried back to the clinic.
Doc was standing in the hall, glaring at me.
I swallowed, too scared to speak.
"Your friend will be fine," Doc said finally. "She has asked to see you, but she should not try to walk for another hour or so. I'll be in my office until then."
"Yeah, okay."
Doc showed me into a room where Fleur lay on an examination table under a sheet. Only a small lamp was on. Doc closed the door after me.
"How are you?" I whispered.
"It's over," she said quietly, blinking back tears.
"He said you'll be okay."
"Yeah."
"He said you still have to rest. I'll go back out -"
"Don't go. Please." Her voice cracked and she started to cry.
"All right." I sat down on a small wheeled stool.
She calmed down again. "What's that?"
"The final edition of today's Mirror." Unfolding it for the first time, I looked at the front page.
ARSON PLOT FOILED ran the headline in big, black letters. Under it, the byline added, "By Matt Rainey."
"He did it!" I started skimming the article. "He took what I found to the cops and they believed him! Yeah! And they hit the other warehouse early this morning - at dawn! Cool!"
"Really?" Her voice still came in a quiet whisper.
"And in time for the final edition - that's fast! Oops ..."
"What is it?"
"Well ... I'm sort of in here. He says he got some street directions from 'an alleged Jap joker.'" I winced at the phrase.