Moeller shook his head, no. 'There were any number of independent operators. These poor sons of bitches were made examples of by Lombardi. I can think of five, offhand, who were flat-out murdered, usually by cruising assassins.'
'This wasn't all confined to '33,' Ness said. 'Over the years, whenever an independent operator has tried to find a niche on the east side, he's been rubbed out.'
Back in '36, less than two months after he took the safety director job, Ness had encountered an example of Lombardi and company's discipline: A young independent policy writer named William Wiggens turned up dead in a ditch in the suburb of Pepper Pike. A colored youth barely twenty.
Moeller sat down, as Ness again rose, saying, 'The late and unlamented Dutch Schultz of New York City, at the peak of his perverted power, never enjoyed a numbers set-up as profitable and perfect as Lombardi's. Schultz was smart enough, in the wake of Repeal, to horn in on the Harlem numbers racket… but he was content to take the bad with the good, the losing days with the winning ones. Here in the Forest City, though, there's no such thing as a losing day for the Mayfield gang.'
'Why?' Garner asked.
Ness shrugged and smiled slyly. 'They aren't gambling; they aren't risking nickel one. You see, they franchise individual operators, who take all the financial risk, while Lombardi and Scalise get a hefty forty percent of the take.'
'Slick,' Garner said, with a certain admiration.
'But keep in mind a single operator might lose as much as five thousand to ten thousand dollars in one day, if a certain number hits. And if any operator comes up short, on a losing day, he winds up in a ditch, courtesy of the Mayfield gang.'
Ness dug in the manila folder and scattered several photos of bullet-riddled corpses, one crumpled like a paper cup on a city street, another slumped bleeding over his steering wheel and, yes, several sprawled in ditches.
'Obviously, then,' Ness continued, 'Lombardi and Scalise have built up no loyalty whatsoever among their franchise holders. These operators, though tied to the Mayfield gang through what is essentially an extortion scheme, are in effect still independents. And they are the same people that Lombardi and Scalise terrorized into complying, some five years ago.'
'So,' Chamberlin said, nodding slowly, 'that's why you keep emphasizing the past: You plan to get these operators to testify against Lombardi and Scalise, regarding the campaign of terror the two of 'em waged five years ago.'
'That is the plan,' Ness said. 'That and a campaign of terror of our own-raiding numbers banks, policy drawings, disrupting the flow of business.'
Moeller cleared his throat and Ness and the others looked at the uniformed officer, who shrugged and said, almost sheepishly, 'No offense, Director Ness… but we don't have a very good handle on where the various numbers operations are located. First of all, they tend to shift around… second of all, frankly, we're talking the colored east side here. And we have less than a dozen colored cops on the force.'
Ness looked at Curry. 'You've been going over the files on those Negro officers?'
'Yes,' Curry said, blinking away tiredness. 'Several of them have outstanding records… this fellow Toussaint Johnson, especially.'
Moeller was shaking his head. 'There's a problem inherent in using these colored cops. These boys do a good job, but remember that they got their positions out of patronage.'
'You mean,' Ness said, 'through Councilman Raney.'
'Yes,' Moeller said, nodding. 'And Raney, and I cast no aspersions, it's a part of that way of life over there, but Raney undoubtedly got his share of backing outa the Big Four policy kings, in the old days. They kept his campaign chest full.'
Ness felt a twinge of irritation. 'What's your point?'
'Well, again, I mean to cast no aspersions on the colored cops or their patron, but it's well known that these boys took the tribute of the policy kings. This Toussaint Johnson was said to be Rufus Murphy's bagman.'
Ness looked at Moeller hard. 'I don't like rumors, Sergeant Moeller. I like facts.'
'I don't mean to share hearsay, Director Ness. But we have to be practical about this. And every cop knows that you got to pay attention to the grapevine.'
'Well,' Ness said, dismissively, 'it's irrelevant. If my investigation into police corruption didn't turn anything up on these Negro cops, that's good enough for me.'
'Fine,' Moeller said, pleasantly. 'But when it comes to the numbers racket, colored cops have their own vested interests, and their own way of seeing things. To them, the numbers ain't a crime. It's a way of life.'
'We need an undercover man,' Curry said, cutting in sharply, 'and none of the Negro cops could be effectively used in that capacity, obviously. Too well known.'
Ness looked at Garner. 'Will, do you think you could fit that bill?'
Garner thought about it for a moment, puffing his cheap cigar. Then he shrugged and said, 'I think I'd be accepted on the east side. I think I could take an apartment on Central Avenue. I could hang out. I could pick up on where policy drawings are being held. I could do that.'
Ness smiled. 'You do that very thing.'
'But how,' Curry said, with frustration, 'are we going to get these policy operators to talk to us, much less testify against Lombardi and crew?'
'It's in their best interest,' Ness said.
'They won't see it that way,' Curry said.
Moeller said, 'I think this young man is right.'
'Then we'll educate them,' Ness said. 'We'll collar 'em on illegal lottery charges and offer them a free ride if they cooperate.'
'It might work,' Chamberlin said.
'It might,' Moeller said.
Curry shrugged. 'Worth a try… but it's not like you're holding a murder charge over their heads or anything. I think we need to find some other door to go in. This is Central Avenue, the Roaring Third Precinct, it's Bloody Scovill… it's their world, not ours.'
Ness, feeling another twinge of irritation, said, 'Do you have any suggestions, Albert?'
'No,' he admitted, glumly. 'But I don't agree with Officer Moeller about the unreliability of these Negro cops. I think at the very least you need to talk to them and get their suggestions. They know their part of town, and we don't.'
The irritation fading, Ness said, with a gentle smile, 'Albert, that's helpful. Thank you.'
With a nod, Ness dismissed the men, stopping Garner momentarily to set up a time later that day to plan the Indian's undercover assignment in detail.
And he buttonholed Moeller for a moment, as well.
'This fellow Hogey,' Ness said. 'He's one of the original Big Four numbers kings, and he's white. Where do we stand with him?'
Moeller smiled on one side of his face and shook his head. 'Hip-deep in nothing, is where we stand, Director Ness. He's the only holdover from the old days whose income hasn't dropped.'
'Why's that?'
Moeller shrugged. 'It's like you said-he's white. He's a glorified stooge, but he's in thick with Lombardi and Scalise. Color don't mean shit to Hogey, if you'll pardon my French.'
'Sure it does,' Ness said.
'Oh?'
'If it's the color green.'
Moeller laughed shortly, nodded, and went out.
Ness went to the conference table, picked up the photos of Lombardi and Scalise, and pinned them to his bulletin board. Then he stood and studied the brutal faces in brooding silence.
