Free Dark Stain by Benjamin Appel

into Harlem’s brothels, marihuana dens and so on. Their circulation-building yarns have infuriated the average Harlemite. Then again, the Police Department has been very active; the Police Division of National Defense was formed to safeguard the morals of the men in the armed forces, especially the morals of soldiers touring Harlem’s hot spots. Recently, hundreds of Negro mobsters, gamblers, pimps and so on were arrested by the police. The press printed more columns about the Negro underworld and Big Boy Bose, its king. You are going to meet Big Boy Bose. But to resume: the white population of this city is pretty generally scared by Negro depravity and our average Harlemite resents the general public’s opinion. He resents the discrimination against Negroes in war industry, the bad housing and so on. Such recent concessions as Negro air units and the pious exaltation of Joe Louis have not diminished the average Harlemite’s resentment. We are going to fan this resentment. The mass meeting on Sunday stems indirectly out of all this resentment. The Randolph killing has only crystallized what already exists. Our activities will begin as of Monday.”
    Suddenly Bill understood. The long rambling speech with its pompous excursions into sociology and its learned global allusions had suddenly made good hard sense. Public opinion would be led to think that Monday’s events were the result of Sunday’s meeting. Hayden was more than a theorist in a skyscraper office, Bill admitted to himself; more than a snob inflated with a sense of his own superior world outlook as compared to the outlook of other men in the organization. There was another Hayden, the penman who’d knocked out the leaflet.
    “Before you leave,” Hayden said. “Remind me to give you the keys to the apartment. There’s an apartment in Brooklyn Heights that we are going to use as a meeting place. I live in Brooklyn Heights myself. You understand? We’re not using this office as a clearing house.”
    “The F.B.I.?”
    Hayden laughed. “No.”
    “You frightened me for a minute.”
    “You can live out in Brooklyn Heights if you want. The apartment’s furnished. Are you alone or is your wife with you?”
    “She’s with me.”
    “I’ll meet her one of these days, I hope. No, you better not use the apartment. You will meet me there every morning at half past nine to report on progress. You are not to call or phone either the office or my home except for an emergency. I suggest you engage a room in some hotel in Brooklyn Heights. There is the Towers and the St. George. Both nearby.” He unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a white sealed envelope. “Here is expense money. Two thousand dollars. You’ll need some of it immediately. All our preparations must be completed by the week-end.”
    “I’m ready to begin now.”
    “You will first contact Frank R. Dent, our Harlem contact.”
    “Negro or white?”
    “An Irishman, a fixer. You will pay him five hundred dollars.”
    “How do I reach him?”
    “At his office. He’s in the insurance business. He expects you to phone him. You will say you’re interested in Harlem insurance.”
    “I see.”
    “Dent will not ask you any questions. He may mention a Judge Nuhnen. Judge Nuhnen has phoned Dent about you. You understand?”
    “Yes. The organization has no direct contact with Dent on this job.”
    “Right. Nuhnen is our go-between. If Dent mentions Nuhnen, answer in some noncommittal way. Dent will connect you with Big Boy Bose.” He opened the folder from which he had taken the leaflet and picked up several typewritten sheets. “This is our information about Big Boy Bose. I want you to listen.”
    “Has Bose any connection with the mass meeting?”
    “None.” Hayden lowered his eyes and began to read: “Big Boy Bose or James Bose, Negro. Born August 24th, 1909 in New York City. Educated in public school. Left school without graduating to go to work. Was a delivery boy, grocer’s