The Strivers' Row Spy by Jason Overstreet

painting.
    â€œYou mean enemy aliens? To that the answer is no. Du Bois is home grown. But enemy communists? Well, of course, the answer to that is yes.”
    â€œIt’s probable,” I said, “that a lot of the people Du Bois and Garvey know cross paths with one another. Maybe some folks I meet might share pertinent info with me. Pertinent to you. Might help you do your job better. Help you dig in the right places.”
    â€œMaybe,” he said. “At least I’m already in. Are you?”
    â€œNot yet. But I will be soon.”
    â€œThen this is all a bit premature, don’t you think?”
    â€œLook,” I said, “we’re both new agents. And New York just might swallow both of us up. Why not help each other?”
    â€œUh, New York is home for me,” he said, still stuck on that point.
    â€œBut colored New York ain’t. And I know there’s nothing you’d like more than to move right on up Hoover’s ladder. So . . . when possible, I’ll help you if you help me. I take it you’re working at the Crisis ?”
    â€œIndeed,” he said, both of us still eyeing our paintings.
    â€œWhat is the best time for me to reach you there? You know, to tell you I’m hungry. I love eating at a restaurant called Snappy’s.”
    â€œVery well,” he said, beginning to walk away, “I’m usually free from eleven to one.” He stopped and turned, finally looking at me. Then, with a smirk, said, “But you still have to get in.”
    With that he returned to his seat and I did the same, only to have Daley start right up. “I tell you what, kid, I’m a chartered member of the Civic Club. So are Mr. Johnson and Mr. Du Bois. You’ll have to come down one day as my guest—get to know folks.”
    â€œI’d be very thankful for such a privilege.”
    A redheaded gentleman stepped to a podium at the front of the room to address the audience. The room grew quiet.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, it is time for me to introduce our guest for this evening. He is the author of the groundbreaking and internationally celebrated book The Souls of Black Folk . He is credited with playing a major role in the formation of the NAACP and is the editor of America’s preeminent colored news magazine, the Crisis . He has been called the most important colored voice since Frederick Douglass. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm reception to Dr. William Edward Burghardt Du Bois.”
    Du Bois had been sitting in a different room, out of sight. He entered and approached the podium. He was not a tall man, but walked very upright, with much confidence, and was impeccably dressed—distinguished-looking. He appeared much younger than his fifty-one years, wearing a well-groomed goatee and exuding a charisma that swept through the room. He had lost all of his hair on top and kept the dark ring that was left cut very short. It made him look professorial.
    The guests stood in applause for quite a spell. It was a magnetic moment—one I would never forget.
    â€œThank you very much,” he said with humility. “Thank you.”
    I took a peek at Paul Mann as he impersonated a loyal employee. I wanted to walk over and hit him right between the eyes, but who was I to knock a man for being an informant. I was guilty of grotesque hypocrisy.
    â€œThank you,” Du Bois said again. “Please . . . sit.”
    A hush came over the room. Du Bois gathered himself and opened what looked like a leather folder. You could hear a pin drop.
    â€œWe are returning from war,” he said. “The Crisis and tens of thousands of black men were drafted into a great struggle. For bleeding France and what she means and has meant and will mean to us and humanity and against the threat of German race arrogance, we fought gladly and to the last drop of blood; for America and her highest ideals, we fought in far-off hope; for the dominant