"Take me to town," Ken ordered.
"Got enough dough?" asked the driver.
"Look," said Ken, pulling some bills from his pocket.
"K. O. supreme," the man replied.
"Supreme what?"
"Supreme tank," tossed the driver at Ken with a shake of his head. "It's in the papers."
"What's in the papers?"
"Lookie here." He pulled a Tabloid newspaper from beneath him. He thumbed the pages until he found a streamer headline set in fat black type.
"ENGLAND OUTRAGED," he read.
"So what?" Ken asked.
"They got your picture in here. Says you attacked the English Ambassador and that producer fellow, Howard Vee, saved you from a beating. Tm cute, I am," he added. "I knew you soon as I saw you."
He read the story with unbelieving eyes. Simple insinuations revealed the deepest secrets of his heart. No clear picture. Just an attack by Kenneth Gracey upon someone. Scandal. Juicy scandal. A rich morsel for a starving populace. A rich morsel of muck.
He tossed the newspaper into the gutter.
"Get going," he ordered.
"I'm your man," said the driver. "Where to?"
"Hell," Ken snapped.
"No trouble at all," the other sallied.
"Better that way," Ken said.
"What way?"
"When you're no trouble at all."
The cab snorted and went its way. Bumping over railroad tracks to a main road. A turn—beyond, New York.
