than Ness, conducting his election campaigns without Democratic party funds or contributions from lawyers or anybody else who might have an ulterior motive. He was an ally.
'I'd like to help,' Ness said. 'I realize I got you into this.'
'I'm not saying you did. I have to shoulder the responsibility on this one.'
'Well, you are out of my jurisdiction. I don't have to tell you I hold no authority past the city limits.'
'I know,' Cullitan sighed. 'But what in hell can I do? Just tuck my tail between my legs and go?'
'What exactly is the situation there?'
Cullitan told Ness.
'Machine guns,' Ness repeated coldly, standing.
'McAndrew only saw two, but I'd wager that's just a hint of their firepower. It's a big place. They'll have a big staff.'
'Let me see what I can do for you.'
'Thanks, Eliot.'
'Give me the number of the phone you're calling from and stay right by it.'
Cullitan gave him the number, and they hung up.
Ness sat again and called Sheriff Sultzman's office at the county jail.
'Let me speak to the sheriff,' Ness said after identifying himself.
'Sheriff Sultzman's not in his office,' a bored male voice replied.
'Where is he?'
'Home sick with the croup.'
'I see. Who am I speaking to?'
'The chief jailer.'
'Does the chief jailer have a name?'
'Sure. Edward Murray. This is Edward Murray.'
'Mr. Murray, Prosecutor Cullitan is at the Harvard Club with several of his staff and their lives are endangered. As a private citizen, I'm calling on you to send deputies out there to protect the prosecutor.'
'Sorry, but we can't send men out there without a call from the mayor of Newburgh.'
'The mayor can't be reached.' Ness hadn't tried to, of course, but what good would it have done? The Harvard Club had operated wide open in Newburgh Heights for over five years.
'Well, I don't know,' the jailer whined. 'The sheriff has his home-rule policy, you know.'
'Will you go out or won't you?'
'I'll have to call the sheriff and call you right back.'
'To hell with that. Have you got another line?'
'Yes.'
'I'll stay on this one while you call him. I'll wait on the phone.'
'Okay.'
Several minutes crawled by. Ness gritted his teeth, pounded a fist on his desk, listening to silence.
The jailer returned. 'No, we won't go out there.'
Ness slammed the receiver into the hook, then quickly dialed again.
'Frank,' he said into the phone, 'I've exhausted all legal means.'
'Yes? And?'
'And I'll be there as soon as I can.'
Cullitan sighed his relief. 'Thank you, Eliot.'
'Just do me one favor.'
'Yes?'
'Try not to start without me.'
Flynt, who'd been standing by hearing only Ness' half of these conversations, seemed a bit puzzled.
Ness said, 'Get your topcoat and pistol and wait for me here.'
Flynt's eyes went wide for a moment. 'If I understand what you're up to, the legal ground is shaky.'
Ness just looked at him.
Then Flynt was off to his own office for his coat and gun.
Ness returned to the Council Chambers, walked up to Mayor Burton's chair, and leaned in and, sotto voce, told His Honor the tale.
'This doesn't sound like our business, Eliot,' Burton said reluctantly.
'These sons of bitches are parading around in public with machine guns,' Ness whispered harshly, 'making the law a laughingstock. Am I supposed to put up with that?'
Burton's broad brow creased. 'You can't step in officially,'
'How about unofficially?'
Burton shrugged, smiled faintly. 'There's nothing stopping you from going out there as a private citizen.'
Ness grinned. 'Thanks.'
'Eliot.' The Mayor raised a cautionary finger. 'Watch your step. This will attract publicity. Make sure it's the kind we're looking for.'
Ness nodded and went out in the hall and down to the next door, which said PRESS. Inside he found Sam Wild, Clayton Fritchey, and half a dozen others, most of whom were sitting at a table playing poker, money openly on the table.
'Gambling's illegal in this town, fellas,' Ness said.
Wild smirked. 'Prove it.'
'Meet me at the Harvard Club in half an hour or less,' he told them, 'and I will.'
He shut the door on the startled faces and strode back down the hall and into his office, where Flynt waited in his topcoat, pistol in hand.
'Put that in your pocket or something,' Ness said, irritably. He went to his desk and unlocked and opened the bottom drawer. He withdrew a shoulder holster which held his. 38 Police Special. He got out of his suitcoat and was unbuttoning his vest when he thought better of it.
'No guns for us,' Ness said, putting the. 38 and harness back, rebuttoning the vest buttons, and slipping on the coat.
Flynt was puzzled again. 'Why not?'
'That shaky legal ground you mentioned. We're going out as private citizens. Actually, you don't have to go at all.'
Ness explained the situation.
'Well, of course, I'll go,' Flynt said, without much enthusiasm. 'But shouldn't we have some firepower?'
'I think we'll be able to scrounge some up. Let's go.'
Ness drove directly to the Central Police Station. It was just after ten o'clock and the shift was changing. He walked down the tunnel-like first-floor corridor, with Flynt following along, into the locker room. Cops, some still completely in uniform, others in various stages of undress and putting on their civvies, froze, conversations trailing off, as the presence of the safety director was felt.
Ness stood there in his fedora and camel-hair topcoat, his gold 'City of Cleveland-Director of Public Safety' badge on his lapel catching the light, hands in his pockets.
'I need some volunteers,' he said. 'I only want those who are going off duty to consider this.'
He explained the situation at the Harvard Club.
'The press will be there covering what we do,' he said. 'I mention that, because this department has a reputation for being on the take. I thought some of you might like to demonstrate you're not part of that.'
As men began to step forward, Ness spoke more loudly than was his usual style, saying, 'Understand this: the city's responsibility for you ends when you cross the city limits. If you're killed, it won't be considered in the line of duty. Your families might wind up off the pension rolls.'
That sobered the volunteers, and Ness added, 'I won't hold it against any of you if you don't go.'
But without exception they all did, twenty-nine patrolmen, ten motorcycle cops, and four plainclothes dicks. Sirens screamed as the five squad cars Ness had ordered went speeding down Harvard Avenue with his own black Ford sedan in the lead.
The sidewalks were filled with hundreds of gawkers, some from nearby residential sections, but many from
