"'We think it's high time the mayor of New York be exposed for his corrupt political dealings. We wouldn't be surprised if the mayor were forced to resign his office in January.... What ace reporter of what rival New York daily is going to meet with a fatal accident next week? Remember, you read it here first!'" "January," said the mayor as Darius McLeod folded the column and lit a cigaret. "That's next month." "They could be talking about me." "Eh? If I'm forced to resign, you'll be scooped." "Yeah, scooped," McLeod mused. "We're their chief rival. I'm the big Huck-a-muck over here. Those dirty sons--they can get me out of the way and scoop us at the same time. Listen, Your Honor, check back with me later. I've got to see the City Editor." "But I'm not politically corrupt--" "We'll decide. We'll let you know," Darius McLeod shouted, already running from his glass-walled office and through the clattering din of the City Room, disturbing the milling knot of scribes and gunmen going over last minute instructions from the Crime Editor, shouldering by the line of trim, pretty co-respondents receiving their briefs from the Society Editor, almost knocking down the Medical Editor who was either on the point of finding a cure for the _World's_ latest plague or dreaming up one of his own, McLeod didn't remember which. * * * * * McLeod found Overman, the City Editor, perched on a corner of his desk and barking orders into a microphone. "What do you mean, he won't jump? We said he'd jump. Coax him. Push him if you can get away with it, I don't care. Don't make it obvious." Overman cocked his gaunt head to one side, listening to the receiver imbedded in his ear. He looked like a walking ad for hyper-thyroid treatment, with bulging eyes, hollow cheeks and fidgety limbs. He couldn't sit still and he didn't try. "All right, we'll hold up the story. And you're the guy who asked for a raise." Overman dropped the microphone hose back into its cubby and looked up. "Sometimes I wonder what the hell they think a reporter draws his salary for. What do you want, Darius?" "The _World's_ gunning for me, chief." "I already saw it." "Then don't just sit there." "What do you want me to do, hold your hand? Of course the _World's_ gunning for you. Great story for them, and they also kill off our star reporter in the process. _If_ they get away with it." "Damn it!" McLeod exploded. "This is the twenty-second century. If the _World_ says I'm going to meet with a fatal accident, then my life's in danger." McLeod winced at his own words. In a matter of minutes he had been reduced to the mayor's level and he didn't like it. "Counter-prognostication has already taken steps, Darius. Don't go off the deep end on me. It happens like this every time. Even a top-flight reporter sheds his own sophistication when the story's about himself." "How do you expect me to take it?" "Just relax, that's all."