Then, suddenly, he dug into the lobster, cracking it apart like the enemy. He sat, determinedly, eating, dunking the lobster's flesh into the pot of melted butter, using his fingers as often as his fork, till they were dripping with butter and juice from the lobster. His table manners were lousy. He ate fast; he ate as if ravenous but I don't think he tasted anything. He was obviously a man who enjoyed eating, who
regarded eating a carnal pleasure- but he wasn't enjoying this meal. He barely noticed it.
He finished way ahead of me. It was the first lobster I'd ever eaten, and I was learning as I went. I liked the way it tasted, though it was nerve-racking, eating the last third of the thing with Cermak staring at me with large eyes behind the round frames of his glasses, looking out at me like the fish behind glass in the aquarium I'd walked through a few minutes ago.
"It surprises me," he said, "that Mr. Piquett's client would still have my best interests at heart, after all these years."
"Quite frankly," I said, through a mouthful of lobster and butter. "I don't think Mr. Piquett's client gives a goddamn whether you live or die. I just think he's somebody who learned the kind of damage bad publicity can do. After all. Saint Valentine's Day is just a few days away, if you get my drift."
He said, "It's a power play, then. To remind 'em who's boss. An attempt to one-up Nitti from inside."
I shrugged "You know how it is. Politics."
He nodded. Then he looked out at the pleasure craft on the bay. Twilight had turned into night and the lights on the boats winked at the mayor. The skyline of Miami shimmered on the water.
A waiter came and took our desert order: we both requested vanilla ice cream, but before it came. Cermak grimaced, apparently hit by a sharp pain. He stood, excused himself, and Miller trailed after his boss, who walked with one hand on his ample belly.
My ice cream came and I ate it. By the time Cermak returned, his ice cream had begun to melt; he ate it slowly, nibbling at it. with uncharacteristic lack of interest.
When he'd finished, he said. "You mean to shadow me. then? And wait for the assassin. And stop him."
I nodded. "I hoped to stop it before it got that far. but, realistically, yes."
"But Miller and Lang saw you at the track and you decided not to try to bluff your way out."
I shrugged. "I could've bluffed my way out if I was prepared to drop the matter. But I've got to stay on it, as long as you don't take steps to stop me."
He let out a short laugh. "Why the hell should I? You're here to keep me alive."
"It means a pretty penny to me to do so, Your Honor."
We had coffee.
"I'd like you to describe this man to me, and to my people," Cermak said.
"Sure."
"And you can maintain your surveillance on me with nothing but cooperation from Lang and Miller and the rest. You can report to me from time to time, if you like. Check with me daily regarding any of my plans." plans.
"Good. What plans do you have?"
"I've done everything where Jim Farley's concerned that I can. He's made a few promises, but precious few. And I have a bigger fence to mend."
"What do you mean?"
"Farley told me Roosevelt plans to come to Miami next Wednesday. It hasn't been announced to the press yet. But there's a lot of big shots in Miami who put the pressure on to have him end up his yacht trip here. Good publicity for the city, and good for the president-elect, too. He's going to give a public speech. All the newsreel boys will be down here, brass bands, radio, the works."
"So?"
"You know about Roosevelt and me, Heller?"
"I know you backed Smith at Chicago."
"Did you know I turned down Farley's repeated personal pleas to switch sides? We were all set to give the favorite-son nomination to that dumb bastard J. Ham…"
J. Ham was J. Hamilton Lewis, the aging, dandyish senator from Illinois who, although a Democrat, was aligned with the reform-minded former mayor. Republican Carter Harrison II. son of Chicago's first world's fair mayor, who before the White City closed down had died from an assassin's bullet.
"… and then J. Ham double-crossed us, pulled out. and I stuck that banker Tray lor in as favorite son in his place."
"But that got J. Ham in solid with Farley, and he stole your patronage thunder."
Cermak frowned at that, but could hardly deny it. He said, "I delivered Chicago to the sons of bitches. Largest presidential vote in Illinois history. They owe me."
"Anyway, that's what you've been telling Farley today."
Cermak looked through me. Sipped his coffee. "I need to make a gesture. I need to be seen in public with FDR. I need to get his ear, privately if I can." He leaned forward. "Farley's going home. Sunday, after his banquet. Then the rest of the boys are planning a side trip to Cuba. By Wednesday, everybody'll be back home in New York or wherever, else layin' on their fat ass on a beach somewhere. But I'll still be here. It'll make an impression on him."
"On Farley? You said he'd be leaving Sunday"
"No! I mean Roosevelt. He'll take it like a personal tribute. Like a public apology for my doing him wrong at the convention."
"You really think so?"
Cermak laughed; it was sort of a snort. "Roosevelt is not only weak in the legs, he's also weak in the head."
"I don't think you should do it."
■
"What do you mean? Don't be stupid."
"Don't you. You figured you were safe down here. You figured because the Syndicate boys vacation down here themselves, because Capone and Fischetti and the rest have homes here, and stay on their good behavior to stay welcome here, you figured nobody'd try to hit you down here."
Cermak shrugged. "Yeah. Right. You don't shit where you eat. Heller."
"Not unless you can make it look like you're doing something else."
"How do you mean?"
"Political assassination. You're down here in the midst of politicians from all over the map, including Roosevelt's entire Kitchen Cabinet. Some nut starts shooting up the Biltmore lobby while you and a hundred other politicians are standing around, and you happen to catch one of the bullets, nobody's going to think Syndicate. They're going to think of the poor unemployed bastards out on the breadlinewho're looking for somebody to blame for their troubles. And nobody better to blame than a politician.
And now you want to shoulder up to Roosevelt in public? Did you bring that bulletproof vest you were telling me about along?"
Cermak leaned his elbows on the table, folded his big thick hands, and looked over them at me. "I have to do this. There's no way 'round it. I hate that crippled bastard but we got troubles in Chicago, bigger troubles than fucking Frank Nitti. We got teachers that ain't been paid in months. We need loans from the federal government, and we need 'em fast. Can you grasp that. Heller? Can you grasp something bigger than your own goddamn dick?"
Well. I could've made a smart comment or two. I could've mentioned that I knew one of the patronage posts he was after Farley for was one he intended for yet another son-in-law. that position being internal revenue collector for Chicago, which would come in handy, because word was Cermak was being investigated for income tax evasion. Oh, there were maybe a hundred cynical things I could've said, but, you know, somehow I thought the bohunk bastard meant it. I thought he really did want to get Chicago on its feet again; I thought, for just a moment mind you, that he really did care about the teachers and the cops and the other city workers who were getting paid in scrip…
Cermak said, "Besides, the Secret Service'll be all over that place. There hasn't been a successful presidential assassination since McKinley, you know, and there never will be. 'Cause those boys are good. And my boys'll be there. And you'll be there, Heller. Won't you?"
I nodded. "But till then, stay low. No more public places."
"That could be tricky. It's open to the public."