“Aw, hell!” Mifflin said in disgust. “I’ll have to have a word with Brandon. I’m not stirring up that kind of trouble.”
“Go ahead and have a word with him. Be sure to tell him I’m phoning the night editor of the Herald with this story. I wouldn’t like Dwan to slip through your fingers because Brandon doesn’t want to upset his little pal.”
“Don’t do that!” Mifflin yelled. “Listen, Vic, for God’s sake, don’t go monkeying with the press. That’s something Brandon won’t stand for.”
“Pity, because that’s what I’m going to do. Tell him, and get after Dwan unless you want the press to get after you. So long, Tim,” and while he was still yelling I hung up.
Paula and Kerman had come over to the phone booth and were listening.
“Got him in an uproar?” Kerman asked, rubbing his hands.
“Just a little hysterical. They don’t seem anxious to annoy Salzer.” I dialled, waited, then, when a man’s voice announced, “Herald Offices”, I asked to be put through to the night editor.
It took me about two minutes to give him the story. He accepted it the way a starving man accepts a five-course lunch.
“Salzer sort of pampers Brandon,” I explained. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t try to hush this up.”
“It won’t be my fault if he succeeds,” the night editor said with a ghoulish laugh. “Thanks, Malloy. I’ve been looking for a club to beat that rat with. Leave it to me. I’ll fix him.”