“Eliot Ness also regards you highly,” Robinson said, referring to the former T-man who had been key in the Capone case. “He indicates you helped him, and effectively, on several matters in Cleveland, during his years as Public Safety Director.”
I said nothing.
He went on: “You are aware, certainly, that we’re concentrating on illegal gambling, in general, and the racing wire racket, in particular.”
“I am.” I grinned at him, which seemed to unsettle him. “And just why is that, Mr. Robinson?”
Robinson frowned in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why gambling? Why aren’t you dealing with narcotics, or loan sharking, or prostitution? Or perhaps the relationship between machine politics and the mob? Or maybe the criminal infiltration of labor unions?”
Robinson looked at a page of his spiral notebook. “We have to begin somewhere, Mr. Heller. Gambling is our focus.”
“Gambling is a safe target, you mean—you don’t step on as many toes, in an election year. You can play Joe Friday, and look good, and still not get yourselves or your political parties in any trouble.”
Halley had been sipping his coffee; he set the cup down in its saucer, clatteringly. His nasal lisp notched up, in volume and indignation. “Mr. Heller, if that’s going to be your attitude, we won’t do you the courtesy of meeting with you in private. We’ll send you a subpoena and put you on public display with the rest of the hooligans.”
I saluted him with my Coke glass. “Oh, this is a courtesy? Five’ll get you ten—hypothetically speaking—there’s a mob watchdog in the lobby keeping track of every informant coming up the elevator to see you. Charley Fischetti and Jake Guzik and Paul Ricca and Tony Accardo and assorted ‘hooligans’ will all know Nate Heller was meeting with the Kefauver quiz kids, this afternoon. And I’ll have some explaining to do.”
“You have some explaining to do, right now,” Robinson said. The slit of his mouth curled in contempt. “You were James Ragen’s bodyguard the day he was shotgunned in the Chicago streets, were you not? In June 1946?”
“Yeah. I was Mayor Cermak’s bodyguard, too, and Huey Long’s.” I took a swig of Coke, and swallowed obnoxiously. “How’s that for a track record?”
“I’m afraid your point eludes me,” Robinson said.
“My point is, I do that sort of thing for a living…not always very well, obviously. It doesn’t mean I’m a mobster or that I have any particular insights into the breed. Look, I testified at the Ragen inquest; it’s all in the public record.”
“Ragen was your wife’s uncle, I understand.”
“She was my girl friend, at the time. She’s my ex-wife, now.”
O’Conner said to me, “Bill Drury thinks the way to bring the racing wire mobsters down is to crack Ragen’s murder. After all, Ragen was murdered so the Capone crowd could take over his racing wire business.”
I didn’t respond; I mean, it wasn’t a question.
Frustrated, O’Conner pressed on: “Back in ’46, you and Bill Drury searched out the eyewitnesses, Nate. You helped Bill!”
“We did find the eyeball witnesses,” I admitted, “and they ID’d the shooters—a trio of West Side bookies.”
Robinson read from his notebook: “David Finkel, Joseph Leonard, and William Yaras. Yaras is still a Chicago resident, and Mr. Drury would very much like to see him brought to justice. The whereabouts of Finkel and Leonard are unknown, though I’m sure Mr. Drury would like to see them brought to justice, as well.”
But I decided not to share that tidbit with the Crime Committee’s representatives.
“The witnesses recanted,” I said. “Except for the one that was murdered.”
Robinson blinked. “Doesn’t that make you…angry?”
“It makes me…cautious.”
“Mr. Heller, do you really want us to call you as a witness?” Halley lisped. “Wouldn’t you prefer to help us, behind the scenes?”
“Gentlemen, call me to testify if you like. My answers will fall into two categories: taking the fifth amendment, against self-incrimination; and invoking attorney-client privilege.”
Halley reacted like I’d thrown a drink in his face. “You’re not an attorney!”
“Individuals you might assume are clients of mine are, in most instances, actually the clients of attorneys I represent…. The attorney-client privilege pertains.”
All three of them were lawyers; none of them disagreed with me.
Kurnitz, though—who had stayed silent, thus far—seemed vaguely amused; his arms were folded—he was leaning back. “Where
“You do criminal law around these parts, Mr. Kurnitz. I would imagine you just do your best to serve your clients’ interests and keep your head above these murky Chicago waters.”
Kurnitz smiled, arching an eyebrow.
“We can seriously embarrass you, Mr. Heller,” Robinson said, “if you force us to.”
