Wake Up and Scream by Milton K. Ozaki

Author:Milton K. Ozaki [Ozaki, Milton K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440559877
Publisher: Prologue Books
Published: 1987-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

FIVE

DIFFERENCES in various newspapers’ editorial policies were clearly evident in the manner the Stillwell murder story was handled in the Tuesday editions. The Stillwell Labor Press, always somewhat staid and cautious when presenting something not strictly pro-labour, put Malone’s story on page two and captioned it: EXAMINERS PROBE FAIRBURG BANK FOR CLUE TO TELLER’S DEATH. The Stillwell News, considerably more broad-minded, gave Jacoby’s story two columns on page one and headlined it: MURDERED MAN MAY NOT BE TELLER! Police Seek Positive Identification! The Milwaukee Mirror, which picked up the story from Judson’s U.P. release, pulled out all stops and plastered a blow-up of Ellen Russin Drake over three-quarters of its tabloid-sized front-page and used its biggest boldest type to ask: IS “WIDOWED” BRIDE’S HUSBAND STILL ALIVE? Judson’s story, liberally spiced with more pix of Ellen, filled all of page three and most of page four.

The first edition of the Milwaukee Mirror sold out in 22 minutes and a second edition was rushed from the presses. The Stillwell News and Labor Press each sold an extra 2,000 copies, which was considered darned good in a city where virtually every home was a home-delivery stop.

Sheriff Davids, confronted with a copy of the Stillwell News, seemed to have a sudden attack of high blood-pressure. He retreated to his office and remained incommunicado.

Chief of Police Hunt read the News story, cursed, and decided to call the mayor before the mayor called him. The conversation was a short and pithy one, and, when he finished, Hunt took two Alka-Seltzer tablets and then put in an urgent call to the fingerprints section of the F.B.I. office in Washington, D.C. Then he phoned Sergeant D’Alessandro in Fairburg…

• • •

At 7:30 A.M. Tuesday, Joe Marcus left Mozie’s Inn, where he’d eaten a hearty breakfast and kidded the pants off Jeanie, the waitress, as usual. Reaching the sidewalk, Marcus stopped and looked admiringly across the street. He could see the entire front of his market, with its big sign: SHAMROCK FROZEN FOODS. Marcus loved to look at the sign and the building under it. He’d sweated for it, by God, and now it was his. He’d paid the bank, didn’t owe anybody a dime. He had it made. He was only 36, too, and still had time to relax and have some fun.

That Jeanie was built for fun. Darned if she wasn’t taking an interest in him, too. She’d started slipping him extra butter, and today she’d given him extra coffee without charging him for it. That was a sign, a sure sign, that she was weakening. She was new in town and probably getting sick of spending her evenings in her room at old Mrs. Fleming’s. She’d found out who he was, by now, of course. Girls like her were impressed with guys who owned their own businesses. Maybe he’d try her out at lunch, hint at a date, see what developed. She acted like she’d been around. A date with a babe like that could be something to remember.

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