True Detective

'conspiracy to violate the Volstead Act.'

But Nitti was right about Eliot's weakness for publicity. The effectiveness of his efforts was somewhat hampered by a tendency to inform the press of his battle plans, so that cameras would be on hand when the ten- ton truck smashed open the doors of a Capone brewery. And Eliot and his squad by no means single-handedly 'destroyed' the Capone empire. For one thing, it was Elmer Irey, of the IRS Enforcement Branch, and Treasury Agent Frank Wilson, among others, who nailed Capone on tax evasion. And for another thing, the Capone gang was still around and doing quite nicely, thank you.

About five minutes had gone by since Eliot's call, and I was getting up to try Janey one last time, when I heard his honk. I reminded Barney to keep trying Janey till he got her, and went out and climbed in the front of Eliot's black Ford sedan.

I was barely in when Eliot pulled away.

'Where's the fire, chief?' I asked him.

He gave me a sideways glance and tight smile. 'Your old stomping grounds.'

Eliot had a certain grace; even sitting behind the wheel of the car. he seemed somehow intense and relaxed at the same time. He was of Norwegian stock, with a ruddy-cheeked, well-scrubbed appearance. a trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose; a six-footer with square, broad shoulders, he looked like somebody who could be Eliot Ness, if you were told that. But left to your own devices, you might take him for a young business exec (he was only twenty-nine, not that much older than me- but then Capone, at the time of his fall, had only been thirty-two, not the fortyish mobster of Scarf ace). He was wearing a tan camel's hair topcoat, a gray suit and maroon tie peeking out. His hat was on the seat between us.

'Ever hear of a guy named Nydick?' Eliot said.

'Nope.'

'He's wanted for a couple of robberies: a shoe store, which is pretty much for sure, and a bank robbery, just for questioning.'

'So?'

'The mayor's hoodlum squad is going to pick him up; they'll beat us there by ten minutes, probably.'

'The mayor's hoodlum squad. As in Harry Miller?'

Eliot looked at me with a nasty little smile. 'You got it.'

We were on Clark Street now. going past Dearborn Station, then soon up an incline onto Twelfth Street, which rose over the train yards. It was a dark night, with little slashes and splashes of light coming from the yards: trains pulling in; barrels with fire in them; lit-up cabooses.

'Where are we headed, exactly?'

'The Park Row Hotel. It's at forty-one-forty. That's'

'I know where it is.'

That was only five or six blocks from my old neighborhood, where my father's bookstore had been; alderman Jake Arvey's territory, adjacent to Cermak's district. A middle-class, working-class Jewish community; not seedy, but not the Gold Coast either.

It was where both Lane and Miller lived.

'About a year ago,' Eliot was saying, 'when they were investigating the shoe store robbery, Lang and Miller cornered Nydick. And Nydick got the drop on them, somehow, and disarmed them, kept 'em captive for over an hour.'

'I'm starting to remember this,' I said, nodding.

'Pretty humiliating for a couple of tough guys like those two.' Eliot said.

We were riding through the north end of the Maxwell Street district Maxwell Street on our right. Little Italy on our left- not that you could tell the difference: tenements were tenements.

'There's also a rumor.' he said, 'just a rumor, mind you. that Miller and Nydick's wife are… acquainted. That it was her that led Lang and Miller to Nydick the time he disarmed and humiliated 'em.'

'So where does the woman stand? With her husband or Miller?'

Eliot shrugged. 'I don't know. My guess would be she doesn't stand at all. More like reclines.'

'For both of'em?'

He shrugged again. 'This is just rumor. But I've been monitoring the hoodlum squad on the police radio in my office, and after what happened with you the other day. I thought you'd find Miller's further adventures… interesting.'

'What's your connection?'

'You. My excuse is the bank robbery, which involves interstate transportation of a stolen vehicle. And Nydick is wanted for questioning in some Volstead-related matters.'

'You mean he drinks?'

Eliot grinned this time. 'That's what I hear.'

I shook my head and smiled. I knew it was more than just our friendship that had sparked Eliot's interest: the mayor's hoodlum squad was indulging itself on his turf. The cops weren't supposed to raid Frank Nitti; Eliot Ness was supposed to raid Frank Nitti. Miller and Lang (and even yours truly) had got the kind of press thunder Eliot loved. Look how he showed up after the Nitti shooting, to ride the story's coattails and make it into the papers.

'So you came out all right on the inquest,' Eliot said, as he weaved around streetcars and other vehicles. He wasn't going quite fast enough to need a siren, which was a good thing, because he didn't have one. He did have