“Also,” Charley was saying, “Kefauver’s ambitious. He wants to be the next president.”
“So you think this gangbuster stuff is just publicity-seeking.”
Rocco said, “Goddamn right.”
“Whatever the case, the more stable minds around Kefauver,” Charley said, “were either able to maneuver him, or talk reason to him. Anyway, even though he’s got staff poking around here, he postponed the Chicago hearings, yes, till after the election; he’s in Kansas City, now.”
“Truman must love that,” I said, thinking about the President’s own ties to convicted felon, Boss Tom Pendergast.
Charley was beaming at me; he hadn’t noticed I hadn’t touched my martini — I hate the things. “Now, Nate, I won’t insult you — I guess we know where you stand, if you get called to testify.”
I shrugged. “Nobody’s talked to me yet.”
“They’ll get around to you.”
I didn’t question how he knew this, I just said, “They’ll be wasting their time.”
Rocco sat forward and said, “You heard about this fifth amendment thing, ain’t you? Charley, tell him about this fifth amendment thing.”
Charley’s small mouth formed a smile large with condescension. “I believe our friend Mr. Heller knows his constitutional rights, Rock.”
Rocco said to me, “Even if they get us on contempt, for not answerin’? A few months and you’re on the street again.”
“Rocky,” Charley said, “Nate can decide for himself how to handle this unpleasantness.”
So that’s what this was about: getting my assurance that the Outfit had nothing to worry from me, if I testified.
Or so I thought, till Charley went on to say: “What we really want to talk to you about is this guy Drury, who works for you.”
“He doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“You let him go? Fired him?”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
Charley thought about that, then sighed and said, “I understand you’re friends — you were on the department, together. He saved your life. That has to carry weight.”
“Bill is still my friend. But he’s his own man.”
“You need to talk to him. He’s making trouble. Settle him down.”
I gestured with an open hand. “I don’t carry
Charley’s eyes narrowed under the dark slashes of brow. “You could offer him his job back — at an increased salary, if he concentrates on his work for you. I could arrange to pay you the difference, every month.”
“That’s generous, Charley. But I don’t understand — if you’re not really worried about the Kefauver Committee—”
“I told you: it’s the bad publicity. This lunatic Drury, he’ll testify, he’ll bring up all kinds of ancient history, he’ll spin his yarns, and we’ll look like a bunch of gangsters.”
Can you imagine that?
“He’s a hard-headed Irishman,” I said. “Proud as hell and twice as stubborn — you can’t buy him, and you can’t scare him. And if you... do anything else, you’ll really have bad publicity.”
Rocco glared at me. And this time I didn’t feel like kidding him.
Charley looked unhappy, too, as he got up and poured himself another martini. Still over at the bar, he said, “What you’re implying is out of line, Nate. That’s the old school. This is not 1929.”
Joey said to Charley, as he was sitting back down, “Ask him about Frank.”
Charley sipped his fresh martini and said, “You ask him. Frank’s your friend.”
Joey swallowed and sat forward. “Nate, you must’ve seen Frank out in Hollywood.”
“Just the other night, actually. Why?”
Joey’s handsome face contorted as he said to me, “I can ask him, but what’s he gonna say? I mean, to me? Being who I am. What do
I said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Joey held out open palms. “Where does Frank stand?”
“Oh. Well — he’s scared right now. The feds are squeezing him — you want bad publicity, try being a show business guy labeled a Red.”
“Never mind that,” Charley said. “What’s your opinion of Sinatra’s integrity?”
“I can’t see him selling you guys out,” I said.
Rocco asked, “Too scared?”
“No. He likes you guys. Respects you. You know how some people feel about movie stars? That’s how he feels about you.”
Charley thought about that, nodded, set his martini glass on the coffee table. “Appreciate your frankness, Nate. Your insights.” He checked his watch, then patted my shoulder. “Gotta chase you out, now — before my next appointment.”
When Charley stood, so did I, and his brothers. I shook hands with Charley and Rocco, and Joey walked me to the elevator.
“Thanks for standing up for Frank,” Joey said, in the entryway. “I’ll get you a ringside table, opening night.”
“Make it a booth,” I said.
Afternoon was turning to dusk, as I reached my car, parked across from the apartment house. I sat for a while, wondering if Drury had gotten his ass out of there yet. But I was also waiting to see who the next appointment was.
A heavy-set man in an expensive topcoat with a fur collar walked up the sidewalk to where George the doorman held the door open for him, like he was a regular. Maybe he was: the guy was Captain “Tubbo” Gilbert, candidate for Cook County sheriff.
