Perhaps when these crucial months of his new job were past, when the Mayor's ticking clock had run out, he could find a way to fit her back into his life.
Had he invited her along tonight, he'd have been distracted from the important work there was to be done. He was fund-raising, and it wasn't for crippled children.
He needed that Secret Six type of slush fund desperately. Without the support of a trustworthy investigative staff, his task was hopeless. Maybe it was hopeless even with such a staff, but at least he could give it the old college try.
It was now almost midnight and Ness' arm hurt from shaking hands and his face hurt from smiling. The crowd was mostly 'the people,' which is to say middle-class working folks dressed up in their Sunday best, enjoying a rare one-dollar night in the Hollenden's elegant Crystal Room, basking momentarily in the elegance of mirrored walls and shimmering crystal chandeliers and dim lighting that made ordinary people look like movie stars. Never mind that in the middle of all this formal elegance, wall-to-wall jitterbuggers were trucking to Ben Bernie's Boys playing 'The Music Went Round and Round.'
But amidst such common folks were bigwigs of every stripe. Ness had smiled and shaken hands with his potential adversaries among the local labor leaders, a small army of whom were in attendance. Lieutenant Governor Mosier was there. So were Board of Education members, and a slew of Ohio legislators, headed by Senator Metzenbaum. Smiles to all, handshakes all 'round, and possibly a warm, even witty remark or two.
It was hard work. Cold as it was outside, Ness was sweating in here, and not just because the place was packed.
Mayor Burton, who was threading through the crowd with his wife on his arm, found Ness and said, perhaps for the twelfth time, 'There's someone you must meet.'
So Ness went over to smile and shake the hand of James McGinty, vice president of the Cleveland Railway Company. He'd already done the same with several chairmen of the board and executives from National City Bank, Cleveland Trust, Cleveland United National, White Motor Company, Cleveland Builder's Supply, Industrial Rayon Company, Stouffer's Restaurants, Corrigan-McKinney Steel, and the Hollenden Hotel itself.
'You're doing a great job,' McGinty said. Ness thanked him, but couldn't find anything warm-let alone witty-to say. Nonetheless he stood making small talk with McGinty and his wife, nearly yelling to get his voice heard over the orchestra.
Burton had slipped away, leaving Ness to his own devices. This kind of glad-handing bullshit was hard for Ness. He enjoyed parties and people, and in small groups could get along with just about anybody. But in a crowded, forced situation like this, he felt the world closing in on him.
At twelve-thirty he managed to find his way to the men's room. He'd had a lot of champagne tonight. He was standing at the stall relieving himself, when he looked over and saw with some anxiety that the man standing next to him was Mayor Burton, which was not a relief.
'Not in here,' Ness said.
Burton, similarly occupied, glanced over at Ness, not understanding.
'There's nobody in here,' Ness said, 'that I have to meet.'
Burton laughed, doing the little dance that follows male urination, and zipped up. 'This is important work you're doing tonight. And you've done a good job.'
Ness stayed at it; he'd had a lot of champagne.
'I'm not so sure. I'm lousy at politics.'
Burton frowned. 'Don't think of this as politics. I don't. Not exactly.'
The men stood at sinks washing their hands.
Burton said, 'The men you've met tonight are impressed with you. And you know what that means.'
Ness smiled. 'I'll have my undercover investigators.'
'Right. That is, the slush fund to pay them.'
Ness stopped smiling. 'I don't want to be beholden to these people.'
The colored restroom attendant handed them warm towels and they dried their hands.
'You're thinking about those labor leaders you met tonight,' Burton said.
'That's right. They have a right to expect me to be unbiased. They have a right to look uneasily upon a safety director who's in the pocket of business.'
Ness and Burton handed their towels back to the attendant, and the mayor took care of the twenty-five-cent tip. The two men stood by an unoccupied shoeshine stand within the restroom and talked. Burton smoked one of his trademark Havanas.
'Your fears are understandable,' Burton said, 'but I wouldn't worry about being in anybody's pocket. We're not talking about businesses looking for special treatment. We're talking about businesses that want their city cleaned up. They want to be protected from shakedowns by crooked unions, sure. You don't, object to that, surely?'
Ness shook his head. 'No. No, I don't object to any of it. Just as long as I have a free hand.'
'They want their city cleaned up. What's wrong with that?'
'Nothing.'
'The Expo is ready for launching. They don't want Cleveland to be some nightmare city nobody wants to come spend money in.'
The mayor was referring to the Great Lakes Exposition set for the coming summer and fall. Local business had underwritten the million-dollar cost of the World's Fair-type expo.
'Watch your step, Your Honor,' Ness said. 'They tried the same sort of 'clean-up' in Chicago a couple of years ago, and Mayor Cermak got killed for it.'
Burton seemed puzzled by the remark. 'I thought Cermak was killed by some deranged assassin. And if the madman had been a better shot, we wouldn't be here tonight celebrating the President's birthday.'
'According to inside sources,' Ness said, 'including a friend of mine, Roosevelt wasn't the target of the hit. Cermak was.'
'What do you mean, 'hit'?'
'He was assassinated. By the mob.'
The mayor smiled uneasily and flicked ashes from his Havana. 'Are you trying to scare me, Eliot?'
'No. I want you to know what we're up against. If we take on the Mayfield mob, assuming I can clean up the police force to the point where that's possible, things may get bloody. These gangsters are capable of manipulating events. They can kill you, and nobody but you and them will ever know who did it. And you won't know for long, because you'll be dying at the time.'
'Are you drunk?'
'I never get drunk,' Ness said, smiling, patting His Honor on the shoulder. 'I'm a Prohibition agent.'
The mayor rolled his eyes and said, 'I'm glad you're having a good time. You aren't driving yourself home, are you?'
'I have a police chauffeur lined up. And I'm not drunk.'
'Good.'
'And if you have anybody else you'd like me to meet, that'd be just dandy.'
'I don't think that'll be necessary, Eliot.' The mayor grinned and put out his cigar. He made an 'after you' gesture, and the two men left the men's room, parting company.
Ness moved out toward the dance floor. His intention was to make his way around the edge and find his way out of this crystal sardine can. Along the way he bumped into a very pretty blonde.
'Excuse me,' Ness said.
The blonde smiled, a one-sided, crinkly smile, and a stunning one at that. Her eyes were a startling dark blue. Barely under thirty, she had a healthy, apple-cheeked look and her lips were painted stop-sign red, only the effect was 'go.' She wore a simple pink off-the-shoulder gown, revealing a creamy complexion and breasts that might have been a little large for her otherwise slender frame. He didn't mind.
'You're Eliot Ness,' she said.
'That's right. Do I know you?' he asked, wishing he did.
She stuck her hand out, like a longshoreman. 'I'm Gwen Howell. Gwen Cooper Howell.'
Ness still made no connection, but did shake the small, warm hand, which was definitely softer than a longshoreman's.
