Ness shifted in his chair, his irritation barely in check. "Chief, we have one of the worst departments in the world. And rooting out the corruption that makes it that way is my top priority."
The chief balled his free hand and shook the fist and did his best to look determined. "And well it should be. Those rotten apples can spoil the whole barrel."
Ness sighed and cleared his throat. "I feel we should discuss the situation."
"So do I," Matowitz said forcefully. "So do I." He placed the watering can on a window sill and moved to the parakeet's cage, where he began feeding the bird bread crumbs.
"Do you have any ideas, Chief?"
The chief turned momentarily away from his chirping bird to look at Ness blankly. "Ideas?"
"I thought you might have some suggestions on where our investigation might begin."
"What investigation is that?"
"Into our corrupt goddamn department."
The chief’s face took on a thoughtful look. "Let me get back to you on that. I'd like to check with my staff on that one."
Ness shifted in his seat again. This guy was driving him batty. "Chief, I'm going to be moving very fast. You're going to have to play some heads-up ball, here."
Matowitz moved away from the bird cage. He walked behind the desk and sat. Ness was not sure whether the chiefs plant-watering and bird-feeding reflected a lack of concern, or masked his nervousness. Or maybe the guy just wasn't playing with a full deck.
"I have heard bad things about the fourteenth and fifteenth precincts," the chief admitted, twiddling his thumbs. "Rumors, mainly. The Detective Bureau hasn't been able to confirm anything."
"The Detective Bureau is something I wanted to discuss with you."
"Oh?"
"Chief of Detectives Potter strikes me as a problem."
The chief’s expression turned grave. "Inspector Potter has many friends, Mr. Ness."
"Friends in the Davis administration. Not Burton's."
"He's still a powerful man…"
"I'm not surprised. The word I heard back at the Alcohol and Tax Unit was that Potter is the guy to see if you want your gambling resort or bookie joint protected."
"That's a serious allegation."
"And I don't intend to make it, not publicly."
"You don't?"
"No. Not yet, anyway. I'm going to transfer Potter. Maybe even promote him. But he's not going to head up our Detective Bureau anymore."
Ness knew that Potter had been running the show in the department during the two years of Mayor Davis' feckless administration, and that Matowitz, a holdover from an earlier regime, had been more or less a figure-head.
"You could run into trouble, Mr. Ness," the chief said. "The former mayor is still a powerful figure politically."
"I know. I know all about the free-for-all that the city council's going to turn into. And I don't really care."
Matowitz's expression darkened. He seemed to be taking Ness more seriously now, and, if nothing else, had stopped twiddling his thumbs. "If I might say so, this is nothing to take lightly, Mr. Ness."
"Chief, I'm not a political appointee. I'm beholden to nobody, except Mayor Burton, and he only got me to take this job by promising me a free hand. So we're going to shake things up, understood?"
The chief didn't seem to, but he said, "Understood."
Ness sighed. He didn't dare mention Burton's ticking clock. If Matowitz got wind of the fragility of Ness' position, then the chief could lean back and do nothing except water his plants and feed his birds and wait for Ness to fail.
Ness tried again, a different tack. "I looked over your record this morning before coming over. It's impressive. Impressive as hell."
That threw Matowitz a little. He almost mumbled his thanks.
"You're a good cop," Ness said. "And, I think, a clean one."
The chief said, tersely, "No one has ever suggested that George Matowitz was on the pad."
"You have one of the most distinguished records of any detective in the city," Ness went on. "Perhaps the country. You were dogged in your work, chasing killers to Mexico, and to Sicily. Hoodlums feared you. You were a boxer and a wrestler and you put those skills to use on the street."
Ness stopped there. He could see in the older man's sagging face that he'd made his point, that the chief had discerned the unasked question: how could a hard-nosed, first-rate cop like you turn into an ineffectual, incompetent chair-holder?
This man had, after all, been a cop for almost as long as Ness had been alive. Would time do that to him, too? Did years inevitably put the fire out?
And the chief answered the unasked questions. He smiled, but there was sadness in the smile, and his hands were folded in a dignified manner as he said, "You're a young man, Mr. Ness. You're going places. When you get there, you will be better fit to judge."
"I didn't mean to sit in judgment."
"You're new to the city, Mr. Ness. I've been here a long time. Since I was six, since my father brought us over from Hummeno, in Austria-Hungary." His parakeet was chirping in the corner. The eyes behind the glasses grew even more distant, though they seemed to smile. "I remember Hummeno. Especially the orchard next door, and the fields where poppies grew." The eyes stopped smiling. "Cleveland wasn't as pretty. I remember selling shoes on Public Square and selling papers in front of May's Drugstore. There were a lot of fistfights, so I could maintain my… economic integrity. They called me 'greenhorn,' and I guess I was, but I took care of myself. It was a continual scrap for existence, your veritable survival of the fittest. But I made it. I learned to speak English. Do you hear an accent, Mr. Ness?"
Ness shook his head.
"I went to school, and I was good at my studies. I was a janitor, and an errand boy, a grocery delivery boy, finally a streetcar conductor, coming up in the world.
Then I got into the police department, and I started going to night school. I guess I had about every job in the department-sub-patrolman, sergeant, lieutenant, captain, inspector, acting chief, director of Police Training School, Detective Bureau chief-and I was the first officer in charge of Cleveland's mounted troops. I took a civil service exam for every rank and no one, no one, ever beat me out in an examination." He was shaking a lecturing finger now. "I kept taking night school, too, Mr. Ness. It took me twenty years, but I passed my bar exam a few years ago-1928 to be exact. And in 1931 became chief. Chief of Police of a great city."
"You're to be congratulated," Ness said, meaning it. "You made the American dream come true. And worked hard to do it."
A firm jaw jutted out of a face long since gone soft. "That's right. I worked hard to get where I am. I would like to stay where I am."
"And rocking the boat isn't a good way to do that."
"That is quite right. I don't wish to rock the boat. I merely want to do my job."
Ness laughed shortly. "That's a coincidence. I merely want you to do your job, too."
Behind the wire frames, the eyes tightened. "Are you suggesting, sir, that I'm not?"
"I'm suggesting nothing. I don't give a damn about yesterday. How you chose to stay afloat while the Davis administration was in power is between you and your conscience. But I'm putting you on notice today: following the path of least resistance is not going to help you hold onto your job. I'm your boss, and I say the boat needs rocking. And you, Chief Matowitz, are going to help me rock it or you'll find out how easy it is to drown on dry land."
The chief thought about that.
Then he began to nod, slowly. "Where do we begin?"
Good, Ness thought.
He said, "We cut out the politics and graft and favoritism, where promotions are concerned. Here on out, the only qualification for promotion will be ability and performance. Seniority be damned."