Mouthpiece by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online

the
policeman was back. “He’s working at Sixteenth and Bushman, according to the
latest. It was seventeen fires instead of sixteen. I hear they’re going to
throw old man Delaney out on his ear. That right?”
    The detective shook
his head.
    â€œJust rumor. My dad’s
in there to stay.”
    â€œGlad to hear it.” The
policeman smiled after the accelerating machine.
    The passage between
Tyler’s and Sixteenth and Bushman streets was made in record time, with the
squad car chortling like a mad banshee . Ahead the sky was growing redder and
smokier, until Delaney could smell the fire itself. It was not hard to smell
smoke on this night. Spots in the overcast heavens hung like red ulcers above
the town.
    At the edge of the
fire lines, Delaney spotted the red coupe and drove in as close as he could.
Two policemen were vainly striving to keep the street clear for the smoke-eaters .
    â€œDobson!” shouted
Delaney, and waited until Officer Dobson came. “Look after these two mugs, will
you? I’ve got some business. Where’s Blaze Delaney?”
    Dobson gestured with
his thumb and leaned against the running board, thankful for a chance to rest.
    The detective was not
long in spotting the chief of the fire department. Blaze Delaney stood with his
feet wide apart, bullying tired firemen to greater effort and directing the
hard campaign against this particular two-story structure. He saw his son and
his reddened eyes asked a vital question.
    â€œNot yet,” said the
detective. “Keep right on. You’re pretty close to fighting your last fire
tonight.” He smiled and cast about, attempting to recognize another individual.
Finally he spotted Blackford and went up to him.
    The investigator was
standing on the outskirts of the fighters, looking on, a little bored. When he
saw the detective he blinked and his thin face twitched.
    â€œHello,” he greeted.
“Glad to see you got out of it all right.” He pointed to a bandage around his
forehead. “They didn’t take me with them.”
    â€œNo,” said Delaney. “I
don’t guess they did. I found this on Jackson.” He extracted a limp black thing
from his pocket and patted it against the palm of his hand.
    â€œHuh! I’ve seen plenty
of blackjacks,” grunted Blackford.
    â€œNot like this, you
haven’t.” Delaney held it up. “It’s stuffed with cotton batting.”
    â€œWell, that’s funny.”
    â€œFunny as a morgue,”
snapped Delaney. “You haven’t got so much as a bump on your head. When Soapy
Jackson sapped you with a cotton blackjack, you fell down and played possum to
make it look good. Furthermore, your pals have been babbling their heads off.”
    Blackford’s face was
frozen in stunned surprise. All his nonchalance slid away from him like an
avalanche. In the jumpy firelight his skin was ashen.
    â€œThey—they talked? You
mean—”
    Delaney smiled
twistedly and knew he had scored.
    â€œLook out there at
that squad car,” he snapped.
    The investigator
looked, and if he had been disconcerted before, he was wild with terror now.
His eyes went wider and his jaw slacked, showing unclean teeth. Something like
a strangled sob came up in his throat.
    And then it was as
though his entire nervous system had snapped. He was hemmed in on all sides
save one. Policemen and firemen stood to either side and in back of him. The
only cleared ground lay between the lines and the fire. Blackford choked again,
his eyes holding an insane light.
    And then, before the
weary Delaney could understand what had happened, he saw with a violent shock
that Blackford had started to sprint straight toward the flames. Whether it was
an attempt at suicide or a crazed blindness, Delaney did not stop to reason.
Like a catapulted projectile, he was off in pursuit.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The Family Prestige
    T HE fire was beating hotly
against the