'That means Cermak's got to make his move, where FDR's concerned, here and now.'
'That's right.'
I heard myself sighing. 'He'll make a nice target,' I said.
Bill shrugged; but he seemed a little uneasy, even frightened. I was glad somebody else was taking this seriously: Miller and Lang were talking, over at the left, smiling, smoking. The dopes.
Me, I was still watching the crowd, looking for that blond head, seeking that face that had been seared into my memory the afternoon Jake Lingle died in a subway tunnel. I didn't find the face I was looking for; but there were twenty or twenty-five thousand faces here by now, I figured. It was just possible I'd missed one or two.
The crowd was getting excited now, and a little loud, but off in the distance the sound of a Jolin Philip Sousa march could be heard. That really got 'em whipped up; that meant the parade was making its way here, and as the march got louder, the crowd did too, and they were cheering by the time the drum-and-bugle corps marched through the paved area in front of the band shell, blaring the president-elect's imminent arrival.
The band filed back around the band shell and a motorcycle escort rumbled across the paved area, and, just behind them, a light green touring car, its top lowered, rolled in to a stop in front of the steps leading to the stage. In the front seat was a uniformed police chauffeur and a plainclothes bodyguard. Half a dozen Secret Service men ran alongside the car or rode the running boards. In the back seat was the mayor of Miami- a heavyset balding man- and, in a dark suit with bow tie. hatless, Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The crowd was on its feet, now, cheering; Roosevelt's smile was infectious, and when he waved, the sound of cheering swelled even louder, and Miami waved back at him. On the stage, the dignitaries were on their feet, too, applauding, and I could see Cermak anxiously trying to catch Roosevelt's eye. When Roosevelt turned to acknowledge those on the reviewing stand, he immediately recognized Cermak and registered surprise- as Cermak had known, the other big-shot Demos had all headed home or to Havana by now, and this made him the ranking national figure on the stage- and FDR waved at Cermak, called out to him. I couldn't hear over the crowd's roar, but he seemed to be inviting Cermak to come join him; surprisingly Cermak shook his head no, smiling as he did, and shouted something down to the president-elect, which I also couldn't make out. but assumed was something on the order of, 'After you've finished speaking, sir.'
Behind the light green touring car was a blue convertible of Secret Service men; several carloads of press had emptied out behind the band shell, and reporters with flashbulbs popping were moving around the edges of the paved area. A newsreel crew was hastily setting up at right. There had been a press conference on Astor's yacht, which this same batch of newshounds had just covered, so there'd been no opportunity to set up in advance.
From the touring car, the mayor was speaking into a hand mike. He was saying,'… We welcome him to Miami, we wish him success, and we are promising him cooperation and support, and bid him Godspeed.'
The crowd began applauding again, and the applause really built as Roosevelt raised himself up. using his aims to push up into a sitting position on the lowered top at the rear of the car. The microphone was passed to him: he looked tanned, relaxed, after his twelve days of fishing. Loudspeakers sent his voice out to the eager crowd, most of whom were on their feet.
'Mr. Mayor, friends.' Roosevelt began, with a smile like a half-circle, adding, 'and enemies…'
He paused, so the crowd could laugh, and they did.
'I certainly appreciate the welcome of my many friends in Miami,' Roosevelt said. 'But I am not a stranger here…'
Looking at him perched there, a perfect target. I was glad it was Cermak I was here to protect and not Roosevelt; the crowd was milling a bit, reporters moving about, the newsreel cameras grinding, people pushing through the throng to try to get a closer look. Meanwhile, the president-elect continued his chatty, regular-folks monologue.
'I have had a wonderful rest and caught a great many fish,' he was saying. 'However, I will not attempt to tell you a fish story.'
That's when I saw him.
He wasn't a blond anymore; that's part of why I'd missed him. He was to my left and stage right, off to the side, just where the green benches stopped and the standing-room-only started; he must've been back behind a layer of people, but had squeezed out in front, now. He wore a white suit; hatless, his hair was now dyed brown or had it been dyed blond? He was pale; that was the tip-off: among the tans of the Miamians and even most of the tourists, his pale countenance glowed like neon.
'I put on ten pounds during the trip,' Roosevelt was saying, 'and one of my first official duties will be taking the ten pounds off.'
I moved away from the bench and the wall of flesh behind me closed tight as I edged alone the front of the first row; no one bothered me, or noticed me, because reporters and Secret Service men were stirring around, anyway. Miller and Lang were closer to the ex-blond than me, but their eyes were on Roosevelt, caught up in his charisma instead of watching the people like they were being paid to.
'I hope that I am able to come down next winter,' Roosevelt said, finishing up, 'see you all and have another ten days or two weeks in Florida waters.'
Roosevelt smiled wide and nodded and waved and the roar of applause would have led you to believe the Gettysburg Address had just been spoken for the first time. Everybody was on their feet, some of them jumping up and down, whooping, hollering, and the people began moving forward, to get near him, right onto the paved area- the cops and Secret Service men didn't bother to try to stop the mass of humanity, perhaps realizing it wouldn't do any good. I could still see the ex-blond, moving in himself, unbuttoning his coat, but his eyes weren't on Roosevelt: his eyes were on the stage.
The newsreel boys were climbing up on the back of the green car, hollering at Roosevelt to go through the speech again, because one of their cameras had got fouled up; he said, 'Sony, boys,' and slid down onto the back seat, motioning to Cermak up on the stage.
As I did my best to plow through, moving against the tide. I could see Cermak, beaming, come down the steps off the platform toward Roosevelt. I even heard Roosevelt raising his voice above the din: 'Hello there, Tony!'
Then Cermak was shaking hands with Roosevelt, talking to him, on the side of the car next to the stage, away from the crush of people.
And the ex-blond was reaching under his coat- but I was there. I grabbed the arm and pulled it away from the
