was being optimistic for me. I stretched out on the bare mattress. It wasn't as comfy as Janey's bed, but it beat the hell out of what I had at the Adams. I studied where some paint was starting to peel on the ceiling, for a while, then got up; put the bed back up and in.
The closet was hardly spacious, but it was roomy enough for my three suits. And I had a box of books and other personal junk, which I slid onto the shelf at the top of the closet; it just fit. My suitcase went on the floor in there; I figured to live out of the suitcase, till I got some kind of dresser or something.
Which presented a problem: How could I make this place look like an office and not a place I lived in? I didn't think
that
would impress prospective clients much: an office with a dresser and a Murphy bed in it, an office that was obviously where this poverty-stricken private dick was forced to live. It wouldn't inspire confidence.
Well, the Murphy bed I couldn't do anything about; but I could get around the dresser. I'd get ahold of a couple filing cabinets, or maybe one big multi-drawer one. and file my clothes and such in the bottom drawers. And speaking of bottom drawers. I could then file my underwear under
U
, I supposed. I smiled to myself, shook my head; this was ridiculous. What was I thinking of. giving up the cops and a life of crime for this? I was sitting on the edge of the desk, laughing silently at myself, when I noticed the phone.
A black, candlestick phone with a brand-new Chicago phone book next to it. My flat-nosed Jewish mother, Barney Ross,
did
work fast. Bless him.
So I sat behind the desk and I tried it out. I called my uncle Louis at the Dawes Bank. He and I weren't particularly close, but we kept in touch, and I hadn't talked to him since this mess began, and I thought I should. I also thought he might be able to get me a couple file cabinets wholesale.
I had to go through three secretaries to get him, but I got him.
"Are you all right, Nate?" he said. He sounded genuinely worried. But this was Wednesday, and the shooting was Monday, and I didn't exactly remember Uncle Louis calling on me at the Adams to express his concern.
"I'm fine. They had an inquest today, and I'm completely in the clear."
"As well you should be. You deserve a medal for shooting those hoodlums."
"The city council's giving me three hundred bucks. Me and Miller and Lang, each of us get that. And commendations. That's like getting a medal, I suppose."
"You should be honored. You don't sound it."
"I'm not. I quit the department, you know."
"I know, I know."
"You saw it in the papers, too, huh?"
"I heard."
Where would Uncle Louis have heard?
"Nate," he said. "Nathan."
Something was coming; otherwise it would've just been Nate.
"Yes, Uncle Louis?"
"I wondered could I have lunch with you tomorrow."
"Certainly. Who's buying?"
"Your rich uncle, of course. You'll come?"
"Sure. Where?"
"Saint Hubert's."
"That's pretty fancy. My rich uncle's going to
have
to pick up the tab if we go there. I never been there before."
"Well, be there tomorrow, promptly at noon."
"Promptly, huh? Okay. You're the boss; you're the only rich relative I got."
"Dress nice, Nate."
"I'll wear the clean suit."
"I'd appreciate that. We won't be dining alone."
"Oh?"
"There's someone who wants to meet you."
"Who would that be?"
"Mr. Dawes."
"Yeah. sure. Rufus or the General?"
"The General."
"Say, you aren't kidding, are you?"
"Not in the least."
"The biggest banker in Chicago wants to see me? Former vice-president of these United States meets former member of the downtown division's pickpocket detail?"
"That's correct."
"Why, for Christ's sake?"
"Can I count on you for noon. Nathan?"
Nathan again!
"Of course you can. Hell. Maybe we can stick Dawes for the check."
"Noon, Nathan," Uncle Louis said humorlessly.
I sat looking at the phone, after hanging up. for maybe ten minutes, trying to figure this. And it just didn't figure. Cermak and Nitti
The closet was hardly spacious, but it was roomy enough for my three suits. And I had a box of books and other personal junk, which I slid onto the shelf at the top of the closet; it just fit. My suitcase went on the floor in there; I figured to live out of the suitcase, till I got some kind of dresser or something.
Which presented a problem: How could I make this place look like an office and not a place I lived in? I didn't think
that
would impress prospective clients much: an office with a dresser and a Murphy bed in it, an office that was obviously where this poverty-stricken private dick was forced to live. It wouldn't inspire confidence.
Well, the Murphy bed I couldn't do anything about; but I could get around the dresser. I'd get ahold of a couple filing cabinets, or maybe one big multi-drawer one. and file my clothes and such in the bottom drawers. And speaking of bottom drawers. I could then file my underwear under
U
, I supposed. I smiled to myself, shook my head; this was ridiculous. What was I thinking of. giving up the cops and a life of crime for this? I was sitting on the edge of the desk, laughing silently at myself, when I noticed the phone.
A black, candlestick phone with a brand-new Chicago phone book next to it. My flat-nosed Jewish mother, Barney Ross,
did
work fast. Bless him.
So I sat behind the desk and I tried it out. I called my uncle Louis at the Dawes Bank. He and I weren't particularly close, but we kept in touch, and I hadn't talked to him since this mess began, and I thought I should. I also thought he might be able to get me a couple file cabinets wholesale.
I had to go through three secretaries to get him, but I got him.
"Are you all right, Nate?" he said. He sounded genuinely worried. But this was Wednesday, and the shooting was Monday, and I didn't exactly remember Uncle Louis calling on me at the Adams to express his concern.
"I'm fine. They had an inquest today, and I'm completely in the clear."
"As well you should be. You deserve a medal for shooting those hoodlums."
"The city council's giving me three hundred bucks. Me and Miller and Lang, each of us get that. And commendations. That's like getting a medal, I suppose."
"You should be honored. You don't sound it."
"I'm not. I quit the department, you know."
"I know, I know."
"You saw it in the papers, too, huh?"
"I heard."
Where would Uncle Louis have heard?
"Nate," he said. "Nathan."
Something was coming; otherwise it would've just been Nate.
"Yes, Uncle Louis?"
"I wondered could I have lunch with you tomorrow."
"Certainly. Who's buying?"
"Your rich uncle, of course. You'll come?"
"Sure. Where?"
"Saint Hubert's."
"That's pretty fancy. My rich uncle's going to
have
to pick up the tab if we go there. I never been there before."
"Well, be there tomorrow, promptly at noon."
"Promptly, huh? Okay. You're the boss; you're the only rich relative I got."
"Dress nice, Nate."
"I'll wear the clean suit."
"I'd appreciate that. We won't be dining alone."
"Oh?"
"There's someone who wants to meet you."
"Who would that be?"
"Mr. Dawes."
"Yeah. sure. Rufus or the General?"
"The General."
"Say, you aren't kidding, are you?"
"Not in the least."
"The biggest banker in Chicago wants to see me? Former vice-president of these United States meets former member of the downtown division's pickpocket detail?"
"That's correct."
"Why, for Christ's sake?"
"Can I count on you for noon. Nathan?"
Nathan again!
"Of course you can. Hell. Maybe we can stick Dawes for the check."
"Noon, Nathan," Uncle Louis said humorlessly.
I sat looking at the phone, after hanging up. for maybe ten minutes, trying to figure this. And it just didn't figure. Cermak and Nitti
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