in his mid-fifties; he was a full-blooded Sioux, and had been one of Ness's 'untouchables' back in Chicago.
'I've invited Sam Wild to sit in,' Ness said.
Garner's frown was barely perceptible; Savage's you couldn't miss.
'Mr. Ness,' Savage said, shifting in his chair, 'I know you and Wild are friends and all, and he's sympathetic to our cause… but do you really think it's appropriate to have a reporter privy to our private planning sessions?'
Ness stood near the conference table. Wild stood off to one side, uncharacteristically mum, while Ness said, 'We're facing a delicate situation. I don't have to tell you, Captain, of the perils of going up against a labor union, even if it is crooked. You've been painted a villain by every union in town, including the honest ones.'
'Just because I try to do my goddamn job,' Savage said resentfully.
'Right,' Ness said. 'Well, when the story of what we're trying to accomplish gets told, it will help that a sympathetic ear was listening right from day one.'
Savage grimaced, but then nodded. Chamberlin and Curry, who were used to having Wild around, didn't react one way or the other.
'All in all,' Ness said, 'despite Gibson slipping through our fingers, the food-terminal operation has to be considered a solid success.'
Curry was smiling. 'I'll say. I got my picture in the paper.'
'Dressed as a farmer,' Chamberlin put in wryly.
The men smiled at that exchange, including Ness, who said, 'And you all know what the next step is, or I should say who the next step is: Big Jim and Little Jim. Caldwell and McFate.'
There were nods all around.
'For the record-I don't consider these men 'unionists.' To me, they're terrorists. They carry on immensely profitable rackets from inside the protective walls of organized labor. They have a hold that the rank-and-file union members can't break. But I think we can.'
Ness sat at the conference table.
'Albert, you and Will have been doing some preliminary investigating. Fill us in, would you?'
Curry stood and said, 'We've interviewed twenty-five potential witnesses-mostly building contractors. We've learned that the contractors are routinely forced to shell out fifty to three hundred bucks per job in construction blackmail.'
'Either they make the payments,' Garner said, 'or Caldwell and McFate call a strike.'
Savage said, 'They do more than that: they vandalize the buildings under construction, ruin machinery, destroy supplies and materials-'
'And this is only what the contractors pay, up front,' Garner said, relighting his cigar. Articulate as he was, his voice was slightly halting, and soft, but deep. 'They are told not to tell their client about the shakedown; oh, they can pass the cost along to their client, naturally. But they aren't to say a word about it.'
'Why?' Ness asked.
Garner's smile was like a fold in leather. 'Because that way Caldwell and McFate can hit the owners up later, separately-using their glass scam.'
'Glass is generally the last thing to be installed in a new building or a renovated one,' Curry cut in. 'And Caldwell and McFate don't approach the store owner until the eve of a building's completion.'
'Which puts them in a vulnerable postion,' Ness said, nodding, 'having already invested a small fortune in a structure that has no windows.'
'Exactly,' Curry said. 'And won't have any windows until the 'boys' are paid off.'
Ness narrowed his eyes. 'You say you've talked to the building contractors; have you gotten anywhere with their clients? The owners of the stores, of the businesses, that were victimized?'
'No,' Garner said.
Curry was shaking his head no, as well. 'They're still scared; nobody wants their store windows smashed, after all.'
'And,' Garner said, 'we're still on an informal basis with the building contractors. We haven't turned any into grand-jury witnesses yet.'
'I'm confident we can,' Ness said. 'We just have to let them know that there's safety in numbers.'
'What do you mean, Mr. Ness?' Savage asked.
'We must assure our potential witnesses that none of them will be called to testify at any time unless there are twenty or thirty others like them who have agreed to do the same.'
Again there were nods all around.
'Also,' Ness said, 'we'll promise-and give-police protection, whenever necessary. We'll put witnesses up in hotels or other 'safe houses,' if that's what it takes, under twenty-four-hour armed guard.'
'Can we do that?' Curry asked.
'I think he means,' Chamberlin said wryly, tiny mustache twitching, 'can we afford it?'
'We have the mayor's full backing on this,' Ness said. 'Captain Savage, your Vandal Squad is assigned to my office for the duration of this investigation. You'll report directly to me, not the chief of the Detective Bureau.'
'Yes, sir,' Savage said.
'We're now, all of us, a special 'shakedown squad'-our primary focus to nail McFate and Caldwell. Now, Bob Chamberlin here will be in charge during my absences. Report to him, when necessary.'
'Absences?' Curry asked; others were asking the same question with their expressions.
'I have a busy schedule of speaking engagements in the coming months,' Ness said, 'which will take me to Boston, Milwaukee, New York-'
'Speaking engagements?' Wild said, jaw dropping open.
'You're just an observer here, Mr. Wild,' Ness said, with a gently scolding smile.
'Maybe so,' Curry said, 'but I'm as confused as he is.'
'A lot of businesses have been chased out of town by these bastards,' Ness said. 'I may be able to round up some witnesses outside of Cleveland-big chain-store executives, for example-who will be willing to testify. But as far as greater Cleveland is concerned, I'm simply on the road, being its goodwill ambassador, making speeches, pressing the flesh. Understood, Mr. Wild?'
'Understood, Mr. Ness.' The reporter was lighting up a Lucky.
Ness rose, leaned his hands on the table. 'We need trial-proof evidence, gentlemen. If we're to give our witnesses real protection, we need to put Big Jim and Little Jim in a room where there's no danger of the windows being smashed-because in place of glass there will be steel bars.'
CHAPTER 6
Depression or not, Cleveland boasted one of the busiest, liveliest of American main streets: Euclid Avenue, where shoppers could stalk the big department stores-the May Company, Bailey Company, Halle Brothers, Higbee Company, and more. And so-called Playhouse Square, the concentration of theaters near upper Euclid from East Twelfth to East Eighteenth, offered theatergoers as impressive an array of entertainment as could be found this side of Chicago. Movie/vaudeville showplaces like B. F Keith's Palace, Loew's State, and the Hippodrome, as well as the legitimate stage venues of the venerable Colonial Theater and the regal Hanna Theater, brought Broadway to the midwest, their glittering marquees lighting up the nights.
Right now it was afternoon, and the marquees were unlit, but the eyes of Big Jim Caldwell were electric and alive, as he and his partner, Little Jim McFate, strolled along Euclid. His eyes were fixed upon the restaurant across the street from the Hanna Theater, a restaurant whose plum position at the intersection where Fourteenth, Euclid, and Huron met, would be money in the bank for its owner, one Vernon Gordon.
And, of course, money in the bank for Big Jim Caldwell, as well-not to mention his partner Little Jim.
Jim Caldwell, his designation as 'big' notwithstanding, was the smaller of the two men, both of whom (despite the August heat) wore off-the-rack but expensive, dark, vested suits and conservative ties; Caldwell wore a derby, McFate a homburg. Stocky, genial, Caldwell was a round-faced man of forty-five years, his black hair receding at the temples, his small, dark, almond-shaped eyes magnified to a normal size by his thick-lensed, wire- frame glasses.
