"I think so," Ness said. "I don't think either Caldwell or McFate would do the machine-gunning themselves, so it required strong-arm assistance. To which end they only used one man."
Gordon's irritation was barely in check; but he couldn't disguise his interest, either. "So what?"
Curry, standing next to his chief, said, "Our understanding of the approach McFate and Caldwell take, when putting the squeeze on the likes of yourself, is to do everything themselves, from first contact to payoff. They like to keep the circle small."
"Using one man as their strong-arm," Garner explained, "fits that same pattern. They used one man on what most would consider at least a two-man job. Keeping the circle tight, and small."
"Vern," Ness said, "you've done a lot for Cleveland. Do something more-help us get rid of this sickness."
Gordon's eyes tightened and his reluctance to turn Ness down was apparent, but nonetheless he shook his head no.
"We can give you and your family police protection," Curry said. "We can watch the restaurant, too."
Ness nodded, confirming what Curry said, finally catching Gordon's eyes and locking on to them. "You can help rid Cleveland and its business community of one hell of an embarrassment."
The sunlight streaking through the room caught Gordon in the face and he winced; he moved till his face was out of the light and then he looked at Ness with eyes that were tired and sad and resigned to it all.
"Like everybody else in the business community," Gordon said, "I need to stay in business. I do what I have to do to do that."
Ness had an edge in his tone. "And you don't think putting Caldwell and McFate in jail would be good for business?"
"Eliot, I can't help you on this one. I have contractors to call; I have much to put in motion. I have a restaurant to open. If you'll excuse me."
Gordon, glass snapping under his shoes, exited through a bullet-scarred doorway that led to a stairway.
The three detectives stood in the rubble-scattered room, looked at each other and, with the precision of choreography, shrugged.
Ness picked up a chair, glanced at it to see if it was more or less intact, shook some crushed glass and detritus from its seat, and sat down. He nodded to Garner and Curry to find chairs and sit, and they did.
"We need Vern Gordon," Ness said. "I'll keep working on him. I'll talk to the mayor and see if he and Frank Darby, the Chamber of Commerce president, can't apply some pressure."
"I hope they have better luck than Will and I," Curry said glumly.
Ness looked at Garner, who shrugged with his eyebrows. "No luck?" he asked them.
Curry pulled his pocket notebook and began to thumb through it. "Over the past several days, we've talked to several dozen merchants who've been victims of vandalism that seems to be union-related."
"A number of them were willing to speak off the record," Garner said, "but no one wants to buck the unions and talk to a grand jury."
"That new shoe store on Euclid, they were hit up for a grand," Curry said. "It was the same tactic the boys no doubt pulled here at the restaurant: threatening to pull the union glaziers off the job, leaving 'em windowless on the eve of their big opening."
"Our friends hit the smaller businesses, too," said Garner.
Curry nodded, leafing through the notebook, stopping here and there to point out an example. "Here's a fashion shop, also on Euclid, that paid Caldwell a hundred-buck 'fine' because they had some nonunion painting done. And a soda shop paid a fifty-buck 'fine' because the owner allowed his cousin to paint a storeroom, and a butcher who paid 'em sixty bucks because he used nonunion labor to install some fixtures. And a clothing store that, during a work halt, coughed up five hundred for a fund for unemployed union workers."
"That," Garner said with a quiet sarcasm, "was in return for Caldwell and McFate settling a jurisdictional dispute' between two unions."
"What about this 'jurisdictional dispute' business?" Curry asked Ness. "Is there anything to it?"
"Phony as a three-dollar bill," Ness said, shaking his head no. "A real jurisdictional dispute is settled by arbitration, and work on jobs continues until the arbitration is settled."
"We haven't talked to everybody," Garner said. "We may get somebody willing to talk on the record, yet."
"If we could convince Vernon Gordon," Ness said, "the rest would fall in line."
Curry glanced around at the shot-up room. "This is the one to nail 'em on. We got a lot of photographs this morning; they'll look great blown up as court exhibits."
A voice from behind them said, "What did I miss?"
They turned to see Sam Wild, in a red bow tie and pale yellow seersucker suit and straw fedora, grinning at them through the framing of a shot-out window.
Ness motioned for Wild to join them, and he did, coming around through the front double doors that were barely there. He found a chair on the floor, set it upright, brushed it off and sat on it backward, leaning up against the back of it.
"Some air-conditioning system this joint has," he said wryly, noting the sunshine snooting in. "I bet our safety director's feeling homesick."
"Homesick?" Curry asked.
Ness said, "I think he means this place ought to remind me of Chicago."
Wild nodded, grinned wolfishly, dug a pack of Lucky Strikes out of a pocket. Lighting up a smoke, he said, "Looks like the Hawthorne Hotel's coffee shop the day Hymie Weiss tried to have Capone splattered."
"You're a sentimental soul, Sam," Ness said.
"Has Gordon been around? I'd like to interview him. We got some dandy photos this morning, but the great entrepreneur himself wasn't around."
"Gordon came in not long ago," Ness said. "He's upstairs in his office, I'd imagine. I don't think he'll want to talk to you."
"He's not cooperating with the Department of Public Safety?"
"He's not uncooperative."
"But he's not cooperative, either."
"You could say that."
"Yeah, but not in print." He shrugged. "The Gordon family are big advertisers. You know, these clowns Caldwell and McFate've got everybody scared-and now this machine-gun nonsense-brother. You're going to have a hell of a time getting anybody to testify."
"You're telling us," Curry said.
"I think we can give you a list of merchants," Ness said, "who might be willing to talk off the record."
"Yeah, that'd be something, anyway," Wild said reflectively, blowing out smoke. "We could do a nice big expose on the 'boys.' That might build some nice public pressure."
"Worth a try," Ness said. "You can get the names from Detective Curry."
"Any other ideas? We dissipated denizens of the Fourth Estate need all the help we can get from our public officials."
"Go around and see Jack Whitehall," Ness said casually.
Both Garner and Curry looked sharply, with some surprise, at their boss.
"The Teamster?" Wild asked, equally surprised. "That thug?"
"He's no angel," Ness said, "but unlike Caldwell and McFate, his goals are rooted in something more than just making a buck. He really believes in the union ideals. He's no shakedown artist, and I've heard he resents the two Jims."
"Are you serious?" Wild asked, smiling, eyes narrowed, thinking Ness might be stringing him along.
"Give it a try," Ness said, with a little shrug.
Wild lifted his eyebrows and put them back down. "Oh-kay," he said.
The reporter and Curry sat and put their heads together for a few minutes as the young detective gave Wild a list of merchants, with words of guidance on each.
Then the lanky reporter rose, stretched, yawned, and pitched his spent cigarette to the glass-littered floor.
"See you in church, kids," he said, and ambled out.
"Do you trust him?" Garner asked. The Indian was watching Wild's departing back through the row of windowless windows, as if considering whether or not to put an arrow or maybe a tomahawk between the reporter's shoulder blades.