touched, 'Ness embarrassed Snorkey once. Snorkey went apeshit and starting busting stuff up.'
'Snorkey?'
'Ah. You don't go back that far with the Outfit, do you, lad? Snorkey. Capone. Ness wanted to get some press attention, he wanted to embarrass Big Al. So he took all of the beer trucks that he and his so-called 'untouchables' confiscated and they had a big parade up Michigan Avenue, right past the Lexington Hotel, where they knew Snorkey would be watching. Fifty or sixty of the goddamn things. Just to give Snorkey the needle-and get in the papers.'
'Got a lot of attention, I'll bet.'
'Parades always do, bucko. Parades always do.'
And the three-car convoy made its way down Euclid Avenue, at noon, a slow procession that was taken in by laughing lunch-hour spectators, and the photographers of the press who had been tipped by Big Jim, who along with Little Jim tipped his silk hat regally to the amazed, amused crowds, who began to stop and line up along the sidewalks, waving back, some of them even cheering.
Hoots of laughter filled the air as the curb-lined gallery read the banner draped across the rear of the first touring car:
CALDWELL AND MCFATE'S CIRCUS COURTESY THE DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY CITY OF CLEVELAND
At East Fourth Street the motorcade paused at the scene of a fender-bender accident: two taxis had crashed into each other, and the drivers were out, talking to a pair of uniformed cops. A small crowd had gathered, who now looked gleefully toward the Caldwell and McFate fleet. Little Jim, as they passed by the accident scene, noted that the windshield of one vehicle was spiderwebbed.
Impulsively he shouted: 'Hey-there ain't supposed to be no window smashing today, boys!'
Howls and guffaws burst from the outdoor audience, and Big Jim patted the taller man on the back, knocking Little Jim's top hat off balance.
'To think I ever accused you of havin' no sense of humor,' Caldwell said.
Little Jim smiled like the Mona Lisa and damn near blushed.
And, of course, while all of this was unfolding, Curry and the Indian were bringing up the rear, the younger cop's face crimson with embarrassment. The car they were immediately tailing was the one bearing the musicians, a mere combo to be sure, but, small as they were, putting out a lot of sound.
Specifically, they were playing 'Me and My Shadow.'
CHAPTER 11
While Caldwell and McFate's 'Big Parade' (as the press would soon call it) was still under way, Eliot Ness was finishing a quiet lunch at the Cleveland Hotel's posh Bronze Room, where in a back booth he and his executive assistant, Bob Chamberlin, were going over a travel itinerary.
'As far as anybody else is concerned,' Ness said, keeping his voice down, his eyes locking Chamberlin's, 'this trip is strictly to confer with the Buffalo officials on matters of traffic control.'
Chamberlin sipped his coffee, nodded. 'Particularly the news hounds.'
'Yes-including Sam Wild. Including the rest of our staff, for that matter. Have you made the appointments?'
Chamberlin nodded again. 'You'll start off with a contractor named Phillips.'
'He was cooperative on the phone?'
'Very. I think he'll testify, once he's met with you and sized you up. He says he tried to do business in Cleveland over the past several years, but finally gave it up because of the 'extras' that were cropping up.'
' 'Extras.'' Ness shook his head in disgust. 'Specifically, bribes, payoffs, and phony 'fines' that went to line Caldwell's and McFate's pockets.'
'Precisely.' Chamberlin's ironic smile was smaller than his tiny mustache. 'Phillips has a major construction business in Buffalo-he's engaged in building a chain of gas stations in a dozen cities right now, for the Tydol people-and he said to me, and I quote, 'You couldn't get me to Cleveland if I got a five-million-dollar contract, because the racketeers would have it all before I got through.''
Ness raised an eyebrow. 'Well, let's hope we can get him to Cleveland to talk to a grand jury.'
'I think you can sell him on it. He's got a lot of bitterness toward the 'boys.' Now, next on the Buffalo agenda are two smaller contractors, home builders who-'
Ness, sitting with his back to the wall, as was his habit, raised a hand in a stop motion. 'Hold up, Bob. Here comes Albert Curry.'
'Curry?' Chamberlin said disbelievingly, craning his neck around to see for himself. 'Isn't he on the detail that's keeping tabs on Big Jim and Little Jim?'
'He's supposed to be,' Ness said, a hint of irritation in his voice, but curiosity, too.
Curry approached the booth and, hat in hands, looking sheepish but clearly angry, planted his feet and stood as if at parade rest. 'I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch.'
'We've had our lunch, Albert,' Ness said. 'Why don't you sit down and not attract any more attention than you already have and tell us what you're doing here.'
Curry swallowed and slid into the booth next to Chamberlin. 'I figured this is where you'd be. I had Garner let me out, and walked over. He's still on the job.'
'Then our subjects are still under surveillance?'
'Oh yes. Look, Chief, I'm sorry to walk off the job and barge in on your-'
'Albert. Spill.'
Albert spilled. In a rush he told of the humiliating procession he'd so recently been a part of.
Chamberlin laughed humorlessly. 'Those bastards certainly have their nerve.'
Ness smiled faintly. 'They just have a sense of humor. Well, you know something? So have I.'
Curry began to smile, now, liking the sound of that.
'You know,' Ness said, pushing aside a half-eaten piece of pecan pie, 'it seems to me that we've put the Kingsbury Run investigation on the back burner long enough.'
Both Curry and Chamberlin looked at Ness in frank confusion.
'What in God's name,' Chamberlin said, 'has the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run got to do with-'
'Bob,' Ness said pleasantly, pragmatically, 'I want you to call Sergeant Merlo and have him pull some boys off the detective bureau. You know, the Butcher has been preying upon vagrants and the so-called dregs of humanity. It occurs to me that today would be a fine day to round up fifty or so of the filthiest vagrants in town, to question in our ongoing investigation.'
Chamberlin began to smile slowly.
'Now since the Butcher only strikes at the most unfortunate of society's outcasts, naturally we needn't question anyone who appears to have had a bath within, oh, say… the previous three months.'
'Naturally,' Chamberlin said, toasting Ness with a coffee cup, then sipping from it.
'Have Merlo do this at once,' Ness said. 'And have him put them all in the same holding tank in the central jail.'
'I got you,' Chamberlin said, setting the cup down, nodding to Curry, who slid back out of the booth to allow Chamberlin to be on his way.
'Bob?'
Chamberlin turned. 'Yes?'
'How long will this process take, would you think?'
'Not very. Three hours at the outside.'
'Fine. Go to it.'
Curry was still not following this. His own smile had long since faded.
'Chief,' he said, 'I have nothing against reactivating the Butcher investigation… God knows I never thought that guy Dolezal was guilty anyway, but why now?'
Ness leaned across the booth. 'Albert,' Ness said to the young detective, 'wouldn't you say you witnessed a
