"Yes." the woman said. "One of the other officers came down, and said, 'We got him.' And then he went up, too."
"When was this?"
"A couple minutes before you came in, detective."
We took the elevator up to the third floor. A man in a brown rumpled suit and brown hat stood in the hallway, gun in hand, guarding a dowdily attractive woman in her thirties in a blue-and-white-pattern dress, and a boy in a blue-and-red-striped sweater who was maybe twelve. The boy was quite understandably confused, looking all about him, looking at the cop, looking at his mother, the mother staring off into space, a somber, somehow resigned look on her face.
We had just reached them when we heard the shots.
Three of them, each on the other's heels.
The woman's composure broke; she screamed "No!" and the cop restrained her, and the kid hung onto her, afraid.
"What do you think you're doing?" the cop said as we moved by, pointing the gun toward Eliot, who flashed his credentials at the guy.
"I'm Eliot Ness. And I'm going in that room." He pointed to the room with the number 361 on it. across from where we stood. He didn't have to say. Care to try to stop me? I doubt the cop would have, even if he didn't already have his hands full with the woman and boy.
Eliot put his credentials away and took his gun out and opened the door.
A man was sprawled on his stomach over by a far window; nearby there was a chair, a calendar on the wall, a dresser with an open drawer. On the dresser, a scrawny two-foot-tall Christmas tree roped with tinsel sat in a little green wooden stand that looked to be home-made. The man was bleeding; there were three entry wounds in his back, three bloody scorched bulletholes against the pale yellow of his shirt. If this guy wasn't dead or about to be, I was the Marx Brothers.
Speaking of comedy, Miller was standing over the apparent corpse with a gun in his hand; smoke trailed out the barrel like a ghost.
Two other plainclothes cops, neither of whom I recognized, were closer to us as we came into the hotel room: a stocky guy with a mustache, and a stocky guy without a mustache. The one with a mustache was near the door; the one without was over at the left, by the double bed, which had a cream-color bedspread and a nightstand with phone. Everybody looked at us- except the guy on the floor.
"Ness," Miller said, something like surprise registering on the blank putt)' face, eyes wide behind the
Coke-bottle lenses. "Heller? What the hell…?"
Eliot bent over the body. Eased him over, barely; put him back.
"Nydick," he said to me. I was still over by the door. "I think he may be breathing, but it's a habit he's going to break real soon." He looked at the cop near the phone. "Call an ambulance. Now!"
The cop did as he was told; in sotto voce, he could be heard asking the switchboard for Mount Sinai, the closest hospital.
Eliot rose, staying by the body. "How did it happen. Miller?"
"What jurisdiction you got here, Ness?"
"I have jurisdiction anywhere I damn well want it. This man was wanted for questioning in several federal matters, if it matters. How'd it happen. Miller?"
Miller put his gun on the dresser, under the Christmas tree, like a gift; it was the only one. He pointed at the open drawer, where a little.32 lay; the drawer was otherwise empty.
"He went for the gun." he said, like the bad actor he was. "I had to shoot."
"Three bullets in the back." Eliot said. "That'll slow a man down."
Miller continued. "The boys came up and broke in and secured the suspect. I came up and sent the wife and kid out. and I read him the warrant. He grabbed it and tore it up." He pointed. The warrant lay on the floor, not far from Nydick, torn in two.
I said. "Are you sure he didn't try to eat it?"
Miller got a little red. "You got no jurisdiction anywhere, Heller, so shut the hell up."
Eliot said. "Then what happened?"
"He was sitting a few feet from that dresser. Then he turned and tried to reach in a dresser drawer for that pistol. I couldn't take any chances. I fired and he fell."
Eliot turned to the cop near me. "Why didn't you just grab Nydick?"
The cop made a helpless, shrugging gesture. "I wasn't close enough." The other cop, having finished with his phone call, was staying in the background.
"How about you?" Eliot asked him. "Why didn't you grab Nydick when he went for the gun?"
"I started to jump over the bed, but- Miller, he- already fired."
Eliot glared at Miller. "Let's step out in the hall." He pointed a finger at first one, then the other cop. "You two stay put. Make sure your suspect doesn't make a break for it."
When we got out in the hall, the wife, being held by one arm by the cop in the brown suit, said, "What in God's name happened in there?"
Eliot said, "Are you Mrs. Nydick?"
The woman lowered her head. "I'm Mrs. Long."
Miller said, "That's the name Nydick was registered under."
Eliot said it again: "Are you Mrs. Nydick?"
She nodded, looking at the floor. "He's… dead, isn't he?"
"He's been shot," Eliot said. "It doesn't look good for him."
She kept nodding, kept looking at the floor. She didn't ask to go in and be with her husband; she just nodded and looked at the floor. The boy started to cry. Nobody comforted him.
A few other guests were cracking their doors and peeking out. In a loud, firm voice, Eliot said, "This is a police matter- go about your business." The doors closed.
Then he took Miller by the arm and led him down the hall and around a comer, glancing back at me to follow, which I did.
With a smile that was in no way friendly, he backed Miller up against the wall, gently.
"Didn't you kill somebody else this year?" he asked.
Miller nodded. "A thief. I don't like thieves. Nydick was a thief."
"Ever meet Nydick before?"
"No."
"He didn't hold a gun on you and your partner Lang once?"
"No. That… story got around, but it was just a story. Nobody can…"
"What?"
Miller swallowed. "Nobody can prove it happened."
"I see. Boy. the hoodlum squad's going all out. First you and Lang nail Nitti. Now the notorious Nydick. What next?"
"We're just doing our job. Ness."
Eliot took him by one arm and squeezed and said, "Listen to me. you trigger-happy son of a bitch. I got my eye on you. You keep turning your job into a shooting gallery and I'm going to fall on you like a wall Got me?"
Miller didn't say anything, but he was shaking- it was barely perceptible, but he was shaking.
Eliot turned his back on him and started to walk away. Then he glanced back and said, "How long do you think your buddy Cermak is going to back you up on these pleasure cruises? The word's out about Newberry offering fifteen grand for Nitti dead, you know. And if that wife of Nydick's isn't your girl friend. I'll invite you over for Christmas dinner."
Miller started to blink behind the glasses.
"Oh. by the way," Eliot added. "Heller wasn't here tonight. Neither one of you needs the stink that might raise, and Heller's along innocently, just 'cause he happened to be with me. I'll tell your boys, and you tell 'em. too. The civilians won't remember how many cops they saw. Got it?" He turned to me. "Anything you care to add?"
I said, "Give me a minute with him alone, Eliot."
He nodded and walked back around the corner and down the corridor.
Miller looked at me and tried to get a sneer going; he didn't quite manage. "I don't like the company you keep," he said.
"Maybe you picked the wrong person to pull in out of a speakeasy to do your shit work for you."
"What's the idea of bringing Ness into this?"
"Ness has been in since the first day, but never mind. You and Lang should've told me about Newberry, Miller."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Let's just say if Nitti has a relapse and kicks the bucket, I'll expect my five thousand. Give my love to Lang. Tell him when his finger heals to stick it."