Pretending to read the front page of the News for an hour led to my actually reading most of it, in bits and pieces. There was news of Chicago; it had been two days since I had left, after all, the snow just starting. The storm had paralyzed the city, but fifteen thousand of the unemployed had been hired to dig out Cook County, and efforts to provide relief housing for the down-and-outers in the parks and Hooverville residents had been stepped up. So there were no more deaths by freezing, though some emergency snow-shovelers got hit by streetcars or had heart attacks. That was as far as the News article went. No doubt some of the Chicago papers were cheeky enough to point out that Mayor Cermak left for Florida just after the storm hit: even in the year of the fair, that couldn't go unreported.
General Dawes was on the front page, too. He was in Washington, D.C., subpoenaed by the Senate Stock Exchange Committee to testify' about his role in connection with Samuel Insull. Insull was the utilities tycoon who during the twenties headed companies worth some $4 billion and had a personal fortune around SI50 million. There was a new board game I had played with Janey a few times: Monopoly. Insull had turned the business of electricity and gas, and railroads, into a game of that; and when he was finished, his paper empire was worth about as much as the little colored "money" you used to buy Boardwalk.
Just two years ago, the Chicago banks were turning the city's requests for loans down and honoring Insull's; one of those loans came from the Dawes bank, to the tune of SI 1 million. Now the General was in front of a Senate committee, and Insull was in Europe somewhere.
Not that anything would come of it: the General would weasel his platitudinous way out of it. But the fact that this had made the front page of the Miami Daily News meant that the embarrassment was nationwide- hardly the sort of publicity the General might hope for, in the year of the fair. It made me smile.
More pertinent to my present interests was the small inset article announcing a testimonial dinner for James A. Farley, chairman of the Democratic National Executive Committee, to be held by the Roosevelt for President Club at the Biltmore Saturday. Also as honored guests would be "a group of leading Democrats who are guests of metropolitan Miami this week." That would include Cermak, undoubtedly. Tickets were two dollars each and reservations could be made at the Biltmore. Looked like I better rent a tux. I wondered if I could rent one my automatic wouldn't unduly bulge under.
It was ten till six. and I'd seen a lot of pretty girls, but no blond killer. Normally, that would be okay with me; but any hope of my getting this over with quickly was slipping away. I'd have to be Cermak's shadow for the next few days or week or however long His Honor decided to stay in a sunnier clime; and tailing somebody who knows you isn't the easiest thing in the world to pull off, particularly over a relatively long stretch of time.
You met the trains outside, in front of the station, right out in the middle of the street, with the courthouse looming at left. The sun was on its way down, but it wasn't quite twilight yet, and I felt conspicuous, though I probably wasn't. It was just light enough out to justify leaving the sunglasses on, and I leaned against the building and watched the people waiting, watched the Royal Poinciana come up the middle of a Miami street. Then it was a scramble of redcaps with carts and porters and people getting off the train and others greeting them. Several of the pretty girls I'd been daydreaming about met their husbands or boyfriends and walked out of my life. I watched for the blond. He could be meeting the train; he could even have been on it. I didn't see him.
I saw Cermak. He came down off the train, looking overweight and tired, a hand on his stomach, a conductor helping him down the couple steps. Two watchful bodyguards preceded him- one of them was the son of Chicago's chief of detectives, a pale fellow about thirty; the other was Mulaney, the skinny cop I'd seen in Cermak's suite at the Congress, that time with Miller.
Speaking of whom, Miller and Lang followed Cermak off the train, and I said a silent Shit I'd hoped they wouldn't be along; I'd hoped their notoriety in the Nitti matter would've precluded Cermak's bringing them. But here they were.
Now my work was really cut out for me. The chances of Lang and Miller making me were far greater than Cermak, who might not recognize me if I walked right up to him; to him, I was just another nobody. But with Miller and Lang around, I'd have to keep my distance.
On the other hand, the four bodyguards, and their watchfulness, indicated Cermak was somewhat aware of the danger he was in. It meant this Florida trip might be at least partially an attempt to get away from Chicago till it cooled off, figuratively speaking.
Well, there was no blond killer here to greet the mayor. Instead, two wealthy-looking businessman-types in their late fifties approached him with smiles and outstretched hands. Cermak's tiredness fell away like a discarded garment and he beamed at them, his cheeks turning red, immediately pumping their hands like the politician he was. All the while, the four bodyguards kept around him, almost circling him, looking the crowd over. No one from the press seemed to be present; no fanfare at all. just these two businessman friends, who stood and talked with Cermak while a redcap rounded up his luggage.
I kept well back as I followed them around the station to the parking lot behind. Cermak and his wealthy-looking friends (who seemed to be apologizing for Miami's shabby train station) and Miller got into one of two waiting chauffeured Lincolns. So did Lang and the other two bodyguards; the luggage went with them.
I followed them over the county causeway to Miami Beach; as I expected, they went to Cermak's son-in-law's house. I didn't turn down the street after them, but pulled over and waited till they'd had a chance to unload the Lincoln and go inside. It was twilight by the time I parked across the road and down three quarters of a block, in the shadow of some palms, to keep watch.
The night was cool; I rolled the windows most of the way up, locked the doors, and sat in the back seat. That may sound stupid to you, but it's standard procedure: a person in the back seat is less noticeable, and people at a glance see only the empty front seat and assume the car has been parked and left.
Between eight and eleven, Cermak had several visitors: several more prominent-looking types I thought I recognized Chicago millionaire John Hertz- called on him. So did a carload of what I took to be politicos, come over from the Biltmore. Once in a while one of the bodyguards could be seen strolling across the front yard. That was a good sign, actually: if Cermak's bodyguards were keeping on their toes, I wouldn't have to keep an all-night surveillance.
I stayed till two. and noticed that a shift of bodyguards was keeping watch; once an hour, one of them- so far it had been the young son of the chief of detectives, followed by thin, pale Mulaney- would prowl around the lawn with a flashlight and a gun.
I drove back to the Biltmore and put in for a wake-up call at six. By seven I was sitting down the street from Cermak again, down the other way. three quarters of a block. It was raining; it was cold. Florida was doing its best to make us Chicagoans feel at home.
At eight, a chauffeured limo drove up to the house, and in a few minutes, Cermak and his four bodyguards were getting in, Mulaney holding an umbrella for the mayor.
I followed them back to the Biltmore. That was no surprise: I expected Cermak to meet with Farley as soon as possible. I waited till they were inside before turning the Ford over to the attendant; when I got into the lobby, Cermak was glad-handing it with six or seven politicians who were gathered around him, protecting him at least as well as the bodyguards, who seemed nervous about the crowd. I threaded my way through the lobby, but didn't see the blond- just the cigar-puffing, bullshitting Demos.