that assault-to-kill indictment was brought, my union guys unanimously reelected me secretary/treasurer of the local!'
'But I wonder what a jury will do?'
Whitehall winced at that and sat back in his chair.
'What,' Ness said, casually, 'if I could arrange to have that indictment dropped.'
Whitehall gazed suspiciously at his one time co-worker. 'Why would you do that, Eliot? Old times' sake?'
'I want your help.'
'Help the cops? No way. No way in hell.'
'Hear me out.'
Whitehall cut the air with two crossing motions of his arms and hands, like an umpire calling Ness out at the plate. 'I shouldn't even be talking to you. My union guys got no love for the cops, as you damn well know, and hell, you're worse than a cop. I wish you were just a cop, but you're a former G-man. Do you have any idea what your pal J. Edgar Hoover is trying to do to the unions of this country? The FBI is about the biggest union-busting operation there is!'
'I was never an FBI man, and Hoover is no 'pal' of mine.'
'I don't care. You're an ex- G-man. You're no friend of mine.'
'I'm no enemy, either. Do you view unionism as just another racket?'
'Hell no! Do you?'
'It can be.'
'Well… of course it can be. So can the cop business, as you well the hell know.'
Ness pointed a finger at him. 'Right. And it took somebody like me, working on the inside of the department, to clean up the cop business.'
Whitehall's eyes narrowed. 'What are you saying?'
'We got rid of Gibson at the food terminal, but we couldn't get to his bosses-Caldwell and McFate. They were too well-insulated.'
Whitehall's expression turned from hostile to thoughtful. 'Those bastards are a cancer on the Cleveland union scene,' he said, to himself more than Ness.
'Then help me cut 'em out.'
Whitehall's expression was pained. 'I'm not really in their camp, Eliot.'
'You have some dealings with them. You're not on bad terms with them.'
'No I'm not. Not really. I… I have to deal with them, from time to time. We have to swim in the same water, even if they do foul it.'
Ness held up a cautionary palm. 'All I'm asking is for you to keep your eyes and ears open. To pick up on any inside information you can.'
'I'm not a goddamn informer!'
'This is Caldwell and McFate we're talking about, Jack. The Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum who have almost single-handedly turned unionism into racketeering in this town.'
'I'm not an informer.'
'I need your help. The cause you believe in needs these two gone. And, beyond that, I can get that indictment against you dropped.'
Whitehall thought that over. He got up and paced. From the kitchen came the clink of china as dishes were washed and dried. Kate Smith was bellowing 'Whistle While You Work' over the radio, but the volume was way down.
Whitehall came over and stood before Ness and said, 'What do I have to do, exactly?'
'As much as you feel you can.'
'What if I don't find anything out?'
'I'm not a communist, Jack. I only reward those who excel.'
'You're a smug, snotty little bastard these days.'
'And you're a brutal son of a bitch who thinks the ends justify the means. Now that we've got that out of the way, do we have a deal?'
Whitehall snorted a laugh and said, 'We have a deal.'
They didn't shake on it. Whitehall just sat back down, but next to Ness on the couch this time, and said, 'How much do you know about how Caldwell and McFate operate?'
'I know their general modus operandi,' Ness said, and recapped the Caldwell/McFate approach of hitting up store owners on the eve of a building's completion.
'There's a hell of a lot more to it than that,' Whitehall said.
'Oh?'
'Are you aware of the window washers union that Caldwell put together?'
Ness sat forward. 'No.'
'Well, the first round of bribes is just the beginning. If the store owner doesn't pay Caldwell a regular tribute- the amount varies from place to place, according to what the traffic will allow, I understand-the window smashing starts in again. And, of course, the blacklist kicks in.'
Ness's brow knit. 'Blacklist?'
Whitehall shrugged. 'It's a list of window-smashing victims and victims-to-be. Merchants who will not be allowed to purchase glass in the city of Cleveland until they come to terms with Caldwell and his window washers union.'
'When you say 'blacklist,' do you mean that in a literal sense?'
'What do you mean?'
Ness felt the excitement surge within him. 'I mean, are we talking about a list of people that is more or less understood… or is there an actual, physical document?'
'It's a real list. There are probably several copies- circulated to the various glass companies in town, and agents of McFate and Caldwell, although I understand Big Jim and Little Jim make all their own initial contacts.'
'Elaborate, please.'
'Well, they handle most of their shakedown rackets personally-instead of being 'well-insulated' like they were at the food terminal, here they make sure that only themselves and their victims are witness to the initial demands, and the resulting payoffs. They carry out a lot of their own threats, too, I understand. They both did their share of strong-arm work, before they made it big.'
'If a blacklist truly exists, it's a document that could convince any grand jury to indict those sons of bitches…'
'So if I could get ahold of a copy of that list…?'
'That assault-to-kill charge would disappear faster than Houdini.'
Whitehall smiled thinly, studied Ness from those sharp, hooded eyes. 'Are you blackmailing me, Eliot?'
'No,' Ness said pleasantly. 'I'm just providing you with an incentive. It's something we capitalists believe in.'
With that Ness rose. Whitehall went into the kitchen and returned with Ness's hat.
Taking it, Ness said, 'You have a lovely wife, Jack.'
'I know. I got two great kids, too. Girls.'
'I'd like to meet them.'
Whitehall opened the door. 'I don't know when you'll get the chance, cause we won't be meeting here again.'
Ness tipped his hat. 'But we will be meeting. Good night, Jack.'
The men shook hands, finally, and Ness slipped out into the dark night.
CHAPTER 8
Vernon Gordon sat in his restaurant, in a booth, in the dark, on the Thursday night before the facility's Friday
