"This is from Mr. Horvitz," the violinist said softly, handing Ness a note.
Ness took it but did not tip the man; that was Horvitz's job. The note read, "A few moments of your time. In the parking lot. M.H." Ness nodded to the violinist, who departed. He wadded up the note and tossed it in a small glass ashtray.
"Have some spumoni," Ness told Gwen, smiling tightly and rising. "And wait for me here."
She reached out to him. "Eliot…"
"Have some spumoni," he repeated.
As he got his topcoat and left the restaurant, he noted that the gaudy young blonde was still at the table. She was smoking. She looked bored. He wanted to feel sorry for the child, but couldn't quite.
The parking lot, behind the three-story building, was small and secluded. There was no lighting at all, and the night was typically overcast and cold. Ness glanced around, looking for Horvitz, and heard the honk of a horn.
It led him to a black Lincoln, parked, its motor going. Behind the wheel sat a pockmarked thug in a chauffeur's uniform. The back door swung open and Horvitz's nasal voice called out, "Please join me, Mr. Ness."
Ness slid in beside the dapper little man. It was warm in the car. Horvitz had apparently instructed his chauffeur to keep the motor running while he and his bimbo ate.
Horvitz offered a slim, diamond-heavy hand. Ness thought about it-then, what the hell, shook it.
Horvitz had a pleasant smile. It wasn't particularly sincere, but it was pleasant. He sat with his arms folded, his head back, the gesture of a small man who wants to look down at you.
"Some of my business associates," he said, "are concerned about your little hobby."
"My little hobby?"
"These raids. The gambling joints. And today, the policy bank. Really. They're annoying. Like bee stings."
"Then you and your business associates better buy some heavy clothes. Because you're going to get stung again. And again."
"You're certainly a determined young man."
"Did you follow me to Antonio's? Or did the manager call you, or what?"
The smile widened momentarily. "Does it matter? Perhaps the hand of fate brought us together."
"What do you want, Horvitz? I don't like to talk to gangsters unless it's in a courtroom or a jailhouse."
Horvitz, without unfolding his arms, gently patted the air with one jeweled hand. "Take it easy, Mr. Ness. We heard about Chicago. We know where Al Capone is these days. We take you seriously."
"That's wise."
"We know you have a job to do. My people can help you do it."
"Help me?"
"Sure. We can point you toward some of our competitors. We can keep some of what we do outside the city limits-the larger casinos, say-even outside the county, if you insist. And more and more of our business interests are legitimate now. I know that frustrates you, but I would think a member of a Republican administration would appreciate good old-fashioned American free enterprise."
"I do, unless you define free enterprise as stealing."
Horvitz shook his head gently no. "I'm interested only in business, Mr. Ness. But you need to be reasonable. There will always be some gambling in a city like Cleveland, and the numbers? You're not going to get popular taking that away from people."
"Who says I want to be popular?"
Horvitz laughed. "Please. I just ate. Don't make me bust a gut. You're an ambitious man. I like that. We can make you look good. You can make some flashy arrests, no problem. We might even be able to arrange to make the local court system more sympathetic to some of those arrests. You might actually get a conviction now and then that didn't result in a suspended sentence."
"Imagine that."
"You might even find certain members of the city council more disposed toward passing your budget next month."
"Do tell."
"Mind-boggling, isn't it? But anything is possible in a world where reasonable men, men of business, cooperate."
"No kidding."
"Will you cooperate, Mr. Ness?"
"No."
"Fifty thousand dollars a year and all the headlines you can fit in your scrapbook. Think about it."
"I have. Good night, and go to hell."
Ness opened the door and began climbing out. Behind him, Horvitz said, "I can give you your crooked cops."
Ness paused, then pulled the door shut. He looked at the little mole-like man.
"Well," Horvitz smiled, "not all of them. We need some friends on the force, after all. Isn't that what this conversation is all about?"
"This isn't a conversation, Mo. It's a bribe. And if I had a better witness than your 'chauffeur' here, you'd be in cuffs. Keep talking, and I'll cuff you another way."
"I'll give you a special fish, Mr. Ness. A great big blue fish."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the name of the high-ranking cop who controls every bent bull on the department."
The "outside chief."
"Why in hell would you want to give me that name?"
Horvitz shrugged. "Maybe he's getting too big for his britches. Maybe it's just time for a change."
"Then why don't you just give me the name, no strings?"
"Are you interested in my offer?"
Ness grabbed two fistfuls of Horvitz's gray suit lapels and pulled the little man within an inch of his face and stared into frightened rodent eyes.
"I'm interested in the name," Ness said.
Then he felt something in his neck.
Something cold, something metallic, something very much like the nose of a revolver.
Ness let loose of Horvitz and shoved him, easily, back to the other side of the car. The revolver withdrew from Ness' neck.
Ness withdrew from the car.
Horvitz leaned out the rear door. He'd regained his composure but he was a little ragged around the edges.
"I never took you for stupid before, Ness."
"You're not going to take me for anything," Ness said as he walked away, talking back over his shoulder toward the Lincoln. "I'll let your blonde know she can come down and join you now. It must be past her bedtime, anyway."
CHAPTER 17
Ness, in a gray sweatshirt and black gym trunks, dove for the birdie, slicing with his racket, knocking the projectile back over the net so that it dropped gently at the feet of the similarly dressed Mayor Burton. Burton winced in good-natured defeat and said, "That's all, folks," and the four men, Burton paired with John Flynt, and Ness with automobile manufacturer Alexander Wynston, one of his slush-fund angels, left the court, breathing heavily, and picked up their towels and wiped off the sweat, except for Ness, who was the youngest and didn't sweat much anyway,
Burton and Ness met before lunch several times a week here at Dewey Mitchell's Health Club in the Standard Building, for workouts that included badminton, hand-ball, or jujitsu. Ness was giving His Honor lessons in the latter. By mutual consent they left all discussions of budgets and ticking clocks outside the building, except that today, Burton had broken the rule. In the locker room, as they'd gotten dressed for their game, Burton asked Ness if he was any closer to finding the "outside chief." Ness had admitted he wasn't.
And Burton had said, "We need him, Eliot. Or we need something just as big. It's a matter of weeks now. And the way the factions in the council are squabbling, the rocky way the budget hearings are going, it doesn't look good."
Other than that, today, Wednesday, had been no different than any other workout at the club-except for the presence of the stocky figure who stood waiting in the doorway between the badminton court and the weight-lifting room, virtually barring the way. He was an absurd, potbellied figure in an unseasonal straw hat and a brown topcoat open over a brown suit, with a black bow tie and a red rose in his lapel. He was smoking a cigar and looked as out of place in this health club as a nun in a beer hall, and had a similar holier-than-thou demeanor.