"What's going on, Heller?" Lang said. It wasn't a demand: my presence here, understandably, had him confused, and he seemed to be doing his best not to come on tough.
"I'm down here on business," I said. "For a client. An attorney."
Miller, who was standing behind Lang like another palm, said, "What are you doing carrying a heater?"
"I'm here as a private cop," I said. "I'm licensed to work in Florida, and I got a special permit to cany a gun. I'm legal and aboveboard. You boys are nothing but glorified bodyguards, in Miami. Not that you're anything else in Chicago. But you got no jurisdiction here. You got no call to put the strong-arm on me, or anybody."
Miller was openly scowling, now, but Lang was thinking that over.
"Okay," he said. "That sounds reasonable, I guess. What were you doing watching the mayor?"
"What do you mean?"
"We caught the sun glinting off your binoculars, Heller. You been watching Cermak, and he ain't running today."
"Maybe he should be," I said.
Miller said, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'll tell Tony," I said. "That's who I'll talk to. Not his stooges."
Lang thought some more. "The mayor can't be bothered right now. He's with some VIPs at the moment."
"He's begging Jim Farley for scraps, you mean."
Lang and Miller looked at each other; it bothered them that I even knew who Farley was.
I surprised them some more: "Is Tony going to move to the Biltmore, now. or stay at his son-in-law's place again?"
That really threw them.
■ ■
"What do you mean?" Lane said.
"Just answer."
Lang shrugged. "His son-in-law's."
"Is he going to see Farley again tonight?"
Lane didn't answer.
"If he isn't," I said, "I could drop by around seven."
"I'll have to ask the mayor," Lang said.
"Why don't you?"
Lang looked at Miller, motioned with his head to come along, and the two went back up into the grandstand.
The rain had let up; the sun peeked through the palms. Some people started to drift out of the stands, now that the Cup was over. Panama hats and pretty women.
Lang came back alone.
He said. "The mayor says he'd like to meet with you in a public place."
"Why?"
"Maybe he thinks there's less likely to be trouble. He's got some people coming to the house this evening, and doesn't want you there, oaky?"
"Okay. Where?"
The Miami Aquarium was a beached ship, the Prim Valdemar, an old Danish barkentine that sank in a storm in the early twenties, blocking the harbor, paralyzing shipping traffic for months. A hurricane in '26 raised the ship and left it on the beach, like driftwood; but it was mostly intact, and in '27 it was turned into an aquarium. At the entrance of the white four-masted ship-tumed-building, pretty girls in pirate outfits drew sketches of patrons, for a modest fee. I stood and let a dazzling brunette do mine and gave her a buck and she gave me a smile and if she hadn't made me start thinking of Mary Ann Beame, I might have done something about it. Behind her, two monkeys chained to a revolving ladder went round and round- like my thoughts.
I strolled through the ship and looked at the glassed-in exhibits: sea turtles, alligators, crocodiles, a couple sea cows, stingrays, sharks, morays, and a slew of mounted specimens. On the upper deck of the sand-locked ship was a restaurant, where Cermak was waiting.
Cermak had a table at portside. perhaps so he could have Miller and Lang toss me overboard- they sat at a separate table opposite him. behind the chair where I'd be sitting; the other two bodyguards were at a table at His Honor's back. At any rate, we had a ringside view of Biscayne Bay. which at twilight was like a mirage, its many houseboats and yachts looking small, unreal, like toys floating in a big blue-gray bath.
The mayor was in a dark gray suit with a blue bow tie, and he rose from the table- there was no one else there- and extended his hand and gave me a smile that must have looked friendly to anybody looking at us. The eyes behind the dark-rimmed glasses were as cold as I remembered
I shook the hand; as before, it seemed a trifle damp. Whether from nerves or a recent trip to the lavatory, I didn't know. He gestured for me to sit and I did.
"I'm surprised to see you in Miami, Mr. Heller," Cermak said, still standing, looking down at me.
"Make it 'Nate.'"
"Fine," he said, sitting, putting his napkin in his lap. "Fine. I hope you like lobster. I took the liberty of picking one out for you."
"Sure. Thanks."
A busboy in white sailor garb came and poured us both some water, asked if we'd like some coffee, and we said yes. A waiter in a blue sailor suit walked by with a tray that bore a quartet of bright red lobsters, with claws like catcher's mitts.
"First goddamn aquarium I ever saw." Cermak said, "where you can eat the exhibits."
I smiled politely. "Right."
He sipped his water. "Why are you in Miami. Heller?"
"Nate. I'm here for a client."
"Who?"
"An attorney."
"What attorney?"
"I consider that privileged information. Your Honor."
"Really."
The waiter put some clam chowder in front of us. I started in on the soup; we'd been served some crackers on the side, Saltines, and Cermak began breaking them up over his chowder.
spoon into the mixture and said. "You were watching me today. Nate. Why?"
"I was watching you at the train station, too. And at your son-in-law's place. And at the Biltmore."
Cermak dropped his spoon; he dropped the smile, too.
"You want to tell me what this is about. Heller?"
"Nate."
"Fuck you, Heller." He was smiling again, and his voice was very soft: no one in the world could hear him but me. "Fuck your cute tough-guy shit. You can be dead in an alley in an hour, if I want it that way, you little bastard. Now what the hell are you doing here? And what does it have to do with me?"
"That's no way to talk to somebody who's trying to keep you alive."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The attorney I'm working for has a client. The client has an interest in your well-being."
"Who are you talking about?"
"I'm telling you more than I really should. Your Honor. There's a line I can't cross."
The waiter brought us each a plate of coleslaw; I began to eat mine. Cermak ignored his.
"You're saying my life's in danger."
"What do you think? Are you down here strictly to court Jim Farley's favor? Or are you here partly at least to duck Frank Nitti's disfavor?"
"Keep your voice down."
"I wasn't speaking loud. Those words just seem loud. Your Honor."
"You were sent here to protect me? I have bodyguards."
"I know. I said 'boo' to two of'em in the toilet at Hialeah and they peed their pants."
"They're good men. What makes you especially qualified to be my protector?"
"I can recognize the man Nitti is sending."
"I see."
"I know? what he looks like. I've seen him before."
"When? Where?"
"After he shot a man. That's all I care to say about it."
Cermak looked at me for a long time.
Then he said. "What attorney are you working for?"
I thought about whether to answer him or not. Maybe he thought this was a shakedown, or a scam of some kind, growing out of hard feelings I harbored over the lies I'd agreed to tell for him; maybe I needed to make one more point, before he could buy it, before he could believe the truth.
"Louis Piquett," I said.
His face turned whiter than the chowder.
The waiter in blue served the lobsters. He put one in front of the mayor and another in front of me; they were enormous: like the flamingos at the racetrack, they were beautiful, ugly things. I began to crack mine open with the pliers we'd each been provided. The cracks were like gunshots, but Cermak didn't seem to hear them, or see the dead scarlet crustacean on the plate in front of him; he was staring, and not at me, and not out at the darkening bay. He was looking off, somewhere. Nowhere.