The Unknown Beloved(99)
“Something’s happened, Dani,” he said.
She nodded, silent, and he slipped away, in search of Eliot.
Eliot’s car was at the curb, and seconds later, he exited from the shop and saw Malone, and his relief was evident. He clapped his hat on his head and pointed at his automobile.
“I gotta talk to you, Malone. Get in.”
Malone didn’t argue, but he furtively checked his buttons and his collar in the passenger window before he opened the door. He was rumpled and flushed, but no more than Eliot. Eliot looked like he was subsisting on alcohol and hadn’t slept since the gala.
The safety director slid behind the wheel and slammed his door. But he didn’t turn the ignition. He put his hands on the wheel as if he needed something to hold on to and stared through the windshield.
“Eliot?”
“You look good together, Malone.”
“Huh?”
“When I saw you at the gala, dancing with Dani, you looked happy. I’ve never seen Michael Malone look happy. It gave me hope for myself.”
“Eliot, why are you here?”
He sighed and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I need you to tell me what to do.”
“About what?”
“You’ve got a clearer head than I do right now, Malone. I’m not doing so good. I need someone to tell it to me straight.”
“Are you drunk, Ness?”
“I wish.”
“Are you going to drive us somewhere, or do you need me to?”
“I never took his money. You know that, right?”
“Whose money, Eliot?”
“Capone’s. Sometimes he’d have one of his guys leave a thousand dollars on my desk. And I didn’t have any trouble turning it down. Because that . . . that shit was obvious. Right and wrong. Black and white. They mighta got me if they’d been a little more subtle about it.”
“More shades of gray?”
“Yeah. The thing is . . . I don’t know any man who has chosen the right who didn’t think it was worth it in the end. And I don’t know any man who has sold his soul who thought he got the better deal.”
“Eliot . . . what do you need to tell me?” Ness was scaring him a little. He was weary and wilted and taking an awful long time to get to the point.
“The problem is, we don’t sell ourselves in one swoop. We sell ourselves sliver by sliver, little by little, until one day it’s all gone. This feels like that. Like taking a bribe that’s so small I can pretend it isn’t a bribe at all.”
“Eliot! What the hell is going on?”
Eliot took a deep breath. “You know Martin L. Sweeney has been a thorn in my side.”
“Yeah.”
“Since I got here, he’s done everything he can to get me fired, to make me look like a flunky, a stooge, an incompetent.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s got a lot of sway in this city, and he doesn’t like me.”
Malone grunted. Ness was picking up steam now.
“I told you that there was a group of businessmen who were funding this operation. Kind of like the Untouchables.”
“The Unknowns,” Malone said, mocking.
“Yeah. Well. Most of them are big donors too.”
“Big donors to who?”
“To everyone, Mike. The money is spread nice and thick.”
“Like jelly toast. All you can eat.”
“Huh?” Ness said. Malone just shook his head.
“The thing is. I’m out on a limb here, all by myself. They aren’t going to like what I’ve done.”
“What have you done, Eliot?”
He took another deep breath. “We got that list from Dr. Peterka after your tip about the apartment. Thing is, there was a name on it. A doctor who was a partner and lived upstairs for a while. It was a name I was already familiar with.”
Malone just waited. Eliot seemed intent on circling around the issue, for whatever reason.
“This guy grew up over on Jessie Avenue, not too far from here. A guy who knows the Run. A doctor. Smart too. Brilliant, even, according to his school records. His wife has petitioned the court—twice—about his mental state. She divorced him in 1934, right before all this garbage started going down. He did his internship at St. Alexis, though his work history has been spotty. He’s got an alcohol problem. Barbiturates too.”
“And you knew all this before you came to me in Chicago and asked me to take this job?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t think to put an asterisk by his name . . . maybe give me a heads-up about him going in?” Malone asked softly. “I don’t remember seeing that guy in the files.”
“I thought about it. But I told myself that woulda been wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because his name is Francis Sweeney.”
“Sweeney?” Malone asked, voice flat.
“Yep. Francis E. Sweeney. First cousin to Martin L. Sweeney.”
“Ah, shit,” Malone hissed.
“He goes by Frank. He even introduced himself as Dr. Frank when I met him at the gala last Saturday. He said he’s a ‘big fan’ and told me to ‘keep my chin up.’ Shook my hand with both of his. Looks a lot like his cousin. Same big nose and receding jaw. Same wide forehead and blue eyes.”