s felt bad about that.
But their wives wouldn't be happy if anything happened to dear Mr. Big
Jake who denied that he gave anybody anything, so it was all right to
use that lovely perfume.... Cabs got holes in their radiators. They got
sand in their oil systems. They had blowouts an' leaks in brake-fluid
lines. Cops' wives were afraid Big Jake would get caught. But he didn't.
He started insurin' cabs against that kinda accident. Now every
cab-driver pays protection-money for what they call insurance--or else.
An' cops' wives get up early, bright-eyed, to see what Santa Claus left
with the milk."

"You seem," said Brink with a grin, "to hint that this Big Jake
is ... well ... dishonest."

"Dishonest!" Fitzgerald's face was purplish, from many memories of
wrongs. "There was a guy named Burdock who owned this business before
you. Y'know what happened to him?"

"Yes," said Brink. "He's my brother-in-law. Connors or somebody insisted
on having a share of the business and threatened dreadful things if he
didn't. He didn't. So acid got spilled on clothes. Machinery got
smashed. Once a whole delivery-truck load of clothes disappeared and my
brother-in-law had to pay for any number of suits and dresses. It
got him down. He's recovering from the nervous strain now, and my
sister ... eh, asked me to help out. So I offered to take over. He warned
me I'd have the same trouble."

"And you've got it!" fumed the detective. "But anyhow you'll make a
complaint. We'll get out some warrants, and we'll have somethin' to go
on--"

"But nothing's happened to complain about," said Brink, quite
reasonably. "One broken window's not worth a fuss."

"But somethin's goin' to happen!" insisted the detective. "That guy Big
Jake is poison! He's takin' over the whole town, bit by bit! You've been
lucky so far, but your luck could run out--"

Brink shook his head.

"No-o-o," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm grateful to you, Mr.
Fitzgerald, but I have a special kind of luck. I won't tell you about it
because you wouldn't believe but--but I can give you some of it. If you
don't mind, I will."

He went to the slightly dusty, partly-plastic machine. On its shelf were
some parts of metal, and some of transparent plastic, and some grayish,
granular substance it was hard to identify. There was an elaborate
diagram of something like an electronic circuit inside, but it might
have been a molecular diagram from organic chemistry. Brink made an
adjustme