helps us. Right now any story would gravely hurt us. You know Mayor Harrison is running for re-election on a reform platform. Publicity about us would assure his election. If he is elected, he has promised that his first act will be to close down the Ever-leigh Club. I don't intend to cooperate in our demise.'
'But you're so important in Chicago – can't you prevent his being elected?'
'I intend to. Minna Everleigh always has something up her sleeve.' She winked at Foley and took his elbow. 'Leave it to me. As for yourself, you look a bit tuckered out. I think another glass of champagne is in order.'
Harold T. Armbruster was one of the three reasons why Chicago was called the Porkopolis of the world. The other two reasons were packing-house kings Philip Armour and Gus-tavas Swift. Among them, they owned almost all the city's stockyards and slaughterhouses. And among them, Armbruster was the third-richest, having cleared two million dollars in the last half-dozen years. But it was not his desire to become the richest that had brought him out to hear a speech this night – at an hour when normally he was preparing for bed.
Armbruster had come to Turner Hall to listen to the election campaign speech that Mayor Carter Harrison was scheduled to deliver before members of the Municipal Voters' League. Armbruster had squeezed into a vacant tenth-row seat with difficulty. He was grossly overweight, with his belly and sides bulging over his belt. He scratched his potato nose and his walrus moustache impatiently as he waited for the speaker to appear.
Ordinarily, Armbruster had no particular interest in politics. He was perfectly aware that Mayor Carter H. Harrison, a Democrat, was running for re-election against a popular Republican named Graeme Stewart. Only one facet of the campaign interested Armbruster, and that was Harrison's promise to enlarge the stockyards and spend more money on freight trains to carry more pigs, sheep, and steers into Chicago. His rival, Stewart, was against such civic expenditures.
Armbruster's presence at the lecture, despite his discomfort, was meant to provide him with first-hand reassurance that Mayor Harrison was the man who deserved his support and contributions.
After waiting restlessly for ten minutes, Armbruster saw an alderman he knew slightly appear on the platform to introduce the principal speaker. ' Chicago is fortunate in having a mayor who keeps his hands in his own pockets,' the alderman quipped. This drew a round of laughter, and then the alderman announced, 'Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honour and a privilege to introduce Mayor Carter H. Harrison.' Most of the audience broke into hearty applause.
Immediately, Mayor Harrison came out of the wings and strode to the lectern. Over the years Armbruster had seen Harrison many times, but always from a distance at social events – or he had noticed his picture in the newspapers. Armbruster had never seen the mayor this closely, and as he observed him, he was pleased with what he saw: a sturdy, darkly handsome man with black hair neatly parted on the side, flashing eyes, and a moustache similar to Armbruster's own, but tidier. Harrison was immaculately attired in a celluloid collar and bow tie, white shirt, navy-blue jacket over a vest and watch-chain, and sharply pressed darkish-grey trousers.
Once Harrison began speaking, Armbruster's attention drifted off. The packing-house magnate had come to hear Harrison address Armbruster's own interests, but instead Harrison was speaking passionately about his determination to clean up Chicago, and close down the Levee and its gambling houses and bagnios. Armbruster had no interest in this nonsense. He filtered the mayor out as his mind wandered to business matters. It was at the very end of the speech that Armbruster again became alert.
Besides his desire to clean up the city, the mayor was offering a few words about making Chicago more prosperous, adding elevated trains and extending freight transportation into the stockyards.
When Harrison 's appeal had ended, the audience was invited to line up and, in turn, shake the mayor's hand. A long line immediately formed.
Armbruster remained squeezed into his seat, wondering what to do. Then he realized that he very much wanted Harrison elected, and he knew what he should do.
He waited restlessly for the line of well-wishers to shrink, and finally he heaved himself up and took his place as the last in line. It was half an hour before he reached the stage. He inched ahead until he was able to shake hands with the mayor.
Facing Harrison, he gripped the mayor's limp hand and blurted, 'I've wanted to meet you. I'm Harold T. Armbruster, the meat-packer -'
Harrison 's hand tightened on Armbruster's. The mayor beamed. 'At last,' he said. 'Armour, Swift, Armbruster. I've always wanted to know you, and I'm honoured you came to hear my little speech.'
'The honour is mine,' replied Armbruster. 'Most impressive, your speech. I'm on your side, and now I want to be a backer.'
'A backer?'
'I want to do everything in my power to see that you are elected again. What's the most effective way I can support you, Mayor?'
Harrison stared at the meat-packer. 'Well, I suppose I should be honest with you.'
'Be honest with me.'
'Like all politicians, I need contributions – cash donations – to be used to inform the electorate about my platform.'
'You tell me how much,' said Armbruster. 'I'm prepared to help.'
Harrison coughed. 'I… actually I don't deal in campaign contributions directly. I have two aldermen who run my campaign. One is John Coughlin.' The mayor gave an embarrassed laugh. 'He's more familiarly known as Bathhouse John, because he owned a Turkish bathhouse before venturing into politics. His partner is Michael Kenna, also an alderman, better known as Hinky Dink, because of his short stature.
They're very astute men. They're the men to see. They'll know what I could use, and how it might best be spent.'
'Where do I contact them?' Armbruster asked.
'Give me your card. I'll have one of them telephone you. They'll set a date to meet with you anywhere at your convenience.'
Armbruster handed over his card. 'I'll be waiting. I'll be available all of tomorrow afternoon.'
Harrison shook the meat-packer's hand again. 'You are very generous, Mr Armbruster. You don't know what a lift this gives me. It's going to be a heated election next week, and I need every bit of help I can get.'
'You've got mine,' Armbruster promised him.
'Of course, if there's ever anything I can do for you, Mr Armbruster -'
'We'll see,' said Armbruster.
The following afternoon, Armbruster summoned John Coughlin and Michael Kenna – Bathhouse John and Hinky Dink – and met them in one of the private rooms reserved for members in the Chicago Club.
Armbruster observed that the pair looked like scoundrels. Coughlin wore a pompadour, long sideburns, a moustache, and was almost as beefy as Armbruster himself. Kenna was a glum little man, less flamboyant than his partner – and clearly the brains of the pair. Armbruster told himself no matter that they resembled pirates; if they were good enough for the mayor, they were good enough for him.
'The mayor tells us you want to contribute to his campaign,' began Coughlin.
'I definitely want Harrison elected. How can it be guaranteed?'
Kenna spoke up. 'Nothing in politics can be guaranteed, Mr Armbruster. But we can do our best.'
'How much do you need?' inquired Armbruster.
Coughlin came forward on the sofa where he sat with Kenna. 'Let me explain the realities of the situation,' said Coughlin. 'The mayor can hold his own throughout the city. Where he is less popular is in the First Ward, which Hinky Dink and I represent. The First Ward is the Levee – where houses of prostitution are presently flourishing. With the' proper handling, we can still turn the First Ward around, and that could ensure the mayor's election.'
'What is the proper handling?' Armbruster demanded.
'I'll be frank with you, sir,' said Coughlin. 'The First Ward is filled with pimps, tramps, the unemployed, and drunks. Distributing free drinks – whisky, beer – and cigars could go far. Added to that, a free silver dollar for each of their votes would go further.'
'Would they really vote for Harrison?'
'No question,' Kenna piped up. 'They'll all owe us, and will be looking for more of the same in the future. They'll vote for Harrison, all right.'
Armbruster peeled and clipped an Uppmann cigar. Coughlin bent over to light it. Armbruster inhaled and
