of Mayor Cermak's bodyguards, showed some identification, and another of them checked a list on a clipboard, found my name there, nodded, and let me be. As twilight settled in, there wasn't a seat to be had in the joint- and FDR wasn't set to talk till nine-thirty.
Of course, if this mixture of Miamians and tourists had read the paper, like I had, they'd known downtown traffic was going to be stopped at eight-thirty, and had decided to get down here while some parking- for their cars and their backsides-- was still available. A parade would be leaving the pier where Astor's yacht.
I was nervous about Cermak making this public an appearance. But the blond killer was a pro, and he'd have to know this was a suicidal situation- with FDR here, the place would be swarming with security: cops and Secret Service and bodyguards. And here it was barely seven, and the areas to either side of the sloping benches were already filling with people. The crowd might give him a certain anonymity, but it would be impossible to move through quickly. Of course, if he used a silencer, his slug could take Cermak down before anyone knew what happened; and he might be able to disappear into the throng. The street was close by; Miami was close by. It could be done. But it was hardly ideal.
I was beginning to think either Capone's information was wrong, and the blond had never come at all; or my efforts to have Cermak lie low had paid off. His only public excursion had been the Farley banquet, which I attended in black tie and shoulder holster, and I'd stood by the doorway within the Biltmore Country Club and watched every dignitary and his lady enter, and there was no ringer; nor was any of the Biltmore help a blond hired killer posing as a busboy or waiter. I sat in the front, facing the head table, and Cermak's four bodyguards were variously placed- one on either side of the banquet room, standing, and the other two outside, one in front of the building, one in back. I'd given Lang, Miller, and crew a description of the blond and figured them competent enough to spot him, should he try to party-crash.
But he didn't, and I suffered through a night in a monkey suit, swallowing cigar smoke and dull speeches and tough beef, for nothing.
The rest of the time Cermak stayed at home; I kept a watch from outside, sitting in my forty-buck Ford, stopping in a couple times a day to report to the mayor, and keep track of his itinerary. He entertained various Demos, and an alderman from Chicago, James B. Bowler, showed up, and various millionaire Chicagoans who kept winter homes in Greater Miami called on him; but he made no public appearances. It turned out his son-in-law
I had hoped for a cool night: the wind was swaying the palms gently, but it was muggy, and I wished I could take my coat off; the guns prevented that. Around eight- the crowd having swelled to at least twice the arena's capacity, many of them sitting on the sides of the grassy bowl Miller and the thin bodyguard, Mulaney, showed up.
'Too many people,' Miller said.
'Could be a blessing,' I said.
'Only a goddamn crazy man would try something here.'
'Yeah, I agree with you. But keep your eyes open anyway.'
'I know how to do my job. Heller.'
'I know you do.'
Miller looked at me. searching for sarcasm; there wasn't any to find, and he figured that out, and took a position over toward the left of the stage. The other bodyguard moved over right. A few uniformed cops were on hand, by now; they were keeping people off the paved area, except for occasional children playing, who the cops tolerated good-naturedly. Vendors were moving through the crowd, as best they could, selling peanuts and lemonade. I had some.
Floodlights- red, white, and blue- swept the palms that fringed the amphitheater. A silver-helmeted drum-and- bugle corps from the Miami American Legion, preparing to march down the pier to greet FDR, assembled in the paved area in front of me and blared out half a dozen 'tunes.' They apparently didn't know I was armed.
The aisles were filled now; the areas to either side of the band shell and, I imagined, behind were clogged with people: men in shirt sleeves, women in thin summery frocks, a man's white shirt alternating with a woman's colorful dress, a flower bed of a crowd, a smiling crowd, despite the balmy night. The air hummed with conversation, as the crowd anticipated the presence of the man who, in just two weeks, would be inaugurated our thirty-second president, the crippled aristocrat who promised to lead us out of hard times. What the hell I voted for him myself, and nobody paid me to, which in Chicago speaks well for both voter and candidate.
Once the band had gone, limos bearing dignitaries swung around through the paved area, and the crowd, getting waved at, waved back and applauded, occasionally cheered; the limos went back behind the band shell, the dignitaries were unloaded, and they walked around front and up the steps at the center of the stage, and climbed the makeshift reviewing stand. Cermak. escorted by Lang and the other bodyguard, the chief of detectives' son, was one of the last to take his place, in the front row of the stands.
Lang came over to me. 'Anything?' he asked.
'Nothing so far,' I said
'Nothing's going to happen.'
'It might. Stay on top of it.'
He smirked and wandered off, toward Miller.
The chief of detective's son, whose name was Bill, said, 'You think something's going to happen?'
'I don't know. I don't like the mayor sitting in the front row of those stands. I don't think anybody in this crowd could hit him, with a revolver, where he is. But he'd be better off on one of the back rows.'
'Impossible. He's got to be able to get down quickly to Roosevelt before that car pulls out of here.'
'What do you mean?'
'We got word Roosevelt isn't staying the night. He's catching the ten-fifteen train out of here.'
