There Fell a Shadow Read Online Free Page B

mouth.
    Colt said, “Hell, that was a long time ago.”
    â€œYes. Yes, it was,” said Wexler. “But it was something of a scandal at the time. In its minor way. You see, I’d done an exposé on a cult that had started up just a little north of here. Such things were just beginning to become à la mode , if you remember. But I was the first to infiltrate a really big one like that …”
    My mouth opened on a breath of smoke. I knew this story. I’d forgotten that was Wexler.
    Wexler noticed my expression. “You remember, Wells?”
    â€œIt was … I mean, everyone said the story was a fake,” I said.
    â€œOh God, it was worse than that, dear fellow,” Wexler said. “My sources were shown conclusively not to exist. I was said to have made the whole thing up in my hurry to … shall we say, achieve a position on the newspaper that was in keeping with my social standing.”
    I could see it all a little better then. I could imagine Wexler in his youth. Rich, pampered—and exiled in disgrace. Alone in the jungles of Africa and its jungle cities. Sweating through the heat and the bugs. And the revolution. The slaughter. The shellfire. I thought of all that, a little drunkenly, and I looked at Wexler now. His moist eyes gleamed with the bitter memories. I could imagine the desperation that had made a hero of him.
    â€œYou were set up, weren’t you?” Lansing said.
    Wexler smiled ruefully. “Set up by the Temple of Love. That was the name of the cult. It had been coming under some examination from the government on a little matter of back taxes. By getting me to disgrace them, then disgracing me, I suppose they hoped to make themselves out to be victims of persecution.”
    â€œDi … uh … wha wash I gonna say?” said McKay.
    â€œYou were gonna ask if it worked,” I said.
    â€œOh yeah. Thash right.”
    â€œNo,” said Wexler, with a sudden, incongruous giggle. “The IRS apparently didn’t get the joke.”
    We laughed. We ordered another round. For the IRS. Outside, I noticed, the storm was letting up. Inside, the club was beginning to empty out. Sodden reporters and editors were turning from their drinks to squint out the window at the slackening snow. Every few moments, one would head for the door, vanish into the night. The comfortable hum of voices was fading into silence. The further reaches of the club were slipping into emptiness and darkness. The barkeep was beginning to give us the eye.
    â€œLast round, folks,” the waitress said as she dealt out the drinks.
    â€œHey,” McKay said. He lifted his head for the occasion. He pointed irritably at his watch. “Hey … ish only ten after midnigh here.”
    â€œThat’s the little hand, goofball,” Lansing told him. “It’s two a.m.”
    Poor McKay’s mouth fell open hard. He tried to take his Lord’s name in vain but couldn’t handle the esses. He tried to stand up. He didn’t make it. “I gotta call my wife,” he said finally.
    â€œOh hell, Mac, you can’t do that,” I said.
    â€œShe’ll be asleep. Anyway, you’ll wake up the kid,” Lansing said.
    â€œThash righ … Thash righ … Then … then … I gotta go home. Thash it!”
    â€œNow you’re talking,” I said. “That’s the old steel trap.”
    Satisfied with himself, McKay tried to rise again. This time, Lansing got up and helped him.
    â€œCome on, old sot,” she said. “We’ll find you a cab.” Steady as a rock, she stepped to the hatcheck counter. She returned to us with McKay’s overcoat and her own belted black fur over one arm. “I guess I better head home myself,” she said. “I’m sure to have more tiger work in the morning. Probably be assigned to cover the tiger’s stomach as it digests Suzanne Feldman’s arm.”
    McKay