“You know what a man like Ernest Hoffman could do, if he wanted, Cyn? It’s his trucks that move goods; it’s his factories that keep people working; it’s his… his everything. During the war, why do you think they built that huge munitions plant down in Morgan County? Because, with Hoffman at the helm, the government had an ironclad guarantee that there wouldn’t be any union nonsense getting in the way. In New York, on the docks, they had to deal with Luciano to keep things moving-in these parts, it’s Ernest Hoffman. You see what I mean, honey? The real government isn’t sitting in the statehouse. It never is.”
“But it could be? Is that what you’re saying, Beau?”
“I thought about this a lot,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Some nights, when I can’t sleep, it’s all I think about. What you just said, it’s the secret to… everything. Like a magic key, that unlocks any door.”
“I don’t under-”
“Remember when you said it could be, girl? That’s what they think. Even what they believe, like in church. Let’s say you’re a politician, and you want to clean up Locke City, okay? Here’s your plan. First, you start small. You go along to get along. You take the money, you look the other way, you wait your turn. Then, one day, you’re in charge. The mayor, say. Now what do you do? You clean house. Top to bottom. The chief of police, the municipal judges, the commissioner of public works… You sweep them all out, then you bring in your own people. Honest men, every one of them. You make Locke City into the straightest town this side of heaven. And you know what that does, Cyn?”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“It kills the town. It kills Locke City like somebody put a bullet into the heart of every man, woman, and child who lives here. This town, it rose from the ashes once. When they closed down the mills, that should have been it. The only reason Locke City’s not a deserted village right this minute is because of the same things this great ‘reformer’ would be wiping out.”
Beaumont contemplated the tip of his burning cigarette-he couldn’t remember having lit one. “And that’s when the truth comes out, Cyn. Under pressure. The harder things get, the closer to the truth they are.”
“If things happened like you say, people would see it, wouldn’t they? They’d turn on him. And vote him out of-”
“The town couldn’t wait for that to happen. It wouldn’t survive. Takes too long for people to wake up, most of them. But not people like us. We know. A man who takes our money, our support, to get where he is, it’s because we expect things from him. We have a deal. And if he doesn’t keep up his end, all the new police chiefs in the world won’t help him.”
“People like us…”
“I don’t make the mistake the others make,” Beaumont said. “I know I’m no better than Dioguardi. Or Shalare. Or anyone else in our game. I may be smarter; I may have a tighter crew; I may be dug in deeper; but I’m the same as them. And you know what that means, hon?”
“No, Beau.”
“It means Ernest Hoffman, he’s the same as me,” Beaumont said, his voice steeled with utter conviction. “I’m a boss; he’s a bigger boss. He sees everything I see, but he’s standing on top of a much higher mountain, so he sees more. Maybe all the way across the country.”
“Why is he so important now?” Cynthia asked. “Because of the election next year you keep talking about? If you’re right, what difference does it make who wins? Locke City will still be the same.”
“It matters who wins because the power flows down through every political machine in every city in America, Cyn. I don’t care about history; I care about right now. And the reason Hoffman’s so important is because of this whole ‘truce’ thing. Shalare wants to meet with me. He says he’s already got Dioguardi signed up. We’re all supposed to be pals, put our weight into making sure the election goes the right way. Who could call for such a thing but Ernest the Third?”
“So you’re going to meet with him? Shalare?”
“Sure. And I’m going to make the truce, too.”
“Then why did you send for… that man?”
“Because it’s all lies, Cyn,” the man in the wheelchair said, coldly. “Every word out of every mouth is a lie now. When this is over, there’s only going to be one man in charge. In Locke City, I mean. And you know who gets to pick him?”
“Ernest Hoffman.”
“Yes. Ernest the Third himself. That’s why he counts. That’s why he matters. We can’t have gang war in Locke City. The only way to have peace is for Hoffman to pick a boss. He only has to say the word, and the Italians would tell Dioguardi to pack his bags. Shalare, I’m not so sure. But there’s other ways, and Hoffman, he’ll know them.”
“Why would he pick one over the other? Just to keep us from fighting?”
“Because it’s more efficient. Things work better when there’s one man in charge. You make a plan, you don’t have to worry about someone else making a different one. That’s all I think about now: how I can get Ernest Hoffman to see that it’s our organization he wants to run Locke City after the election’s over.”
“Have you ever met him? Hoffman?”
“Never once,” Beaumont said. “But I’ve been studying him for years.”
“That’s why you brought him in!”
“What do you mean, honey?”
“Dett. That man, he’s here to do something about Ernest Hoffman, isn’t he?”
“Not what you think,” Beaumont said. “But once I meet with Shalare, we’ll see if this Walker Dett’s really worth what he costs.”
1959 October 05 Monday 02:19
“I had to tell him something,” Ruth said.
Detective First Grade Sherman Layne leaned against the wall of Ruth’s office, expressionless, arms folded across his broad chest. Look at him, Ruth thought. Like a big piece of rock, covered with a thin layer of rubber.
“You didn’t see him,” she said, a rush of indescribable fears creating a vortex in her chest. “He’d do it.”
“Set this whole place on fire?”
“With everyone in it,” she said.
“And he said he worked for Beaumont?”
“Yes. And that’s what Beaumont himself said, too.”
“You called him?”
“I called him myself,” Ruth said, emphasizing the last syllable. “At a number I had, not one this man gave to me.”
“And you know Beaumont’s voice?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Are you saying Beaumont… knows?”
“No! Nobody ever did. Not about… you. But this man, he… he knows how it works. One of the girls who left, that’s who I think told.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the big man said, dead-voiced.
“It does to me!” Ruth said. “You know why I-”
“I just meant, it doesn’t matter how he knows,” Sherman said, his detective’s mind raising and rejecting possibilities. “He only knows about… what happens. He doesn’t know it’s me.”
“No.”
“And you didn’t…?”
Ruth lowered her face into her cupped hands.
“It’s all right,” Sherman said. “He hasn’t got any-”
“You bastard!” Ruth snarled, lifting her tear-streaked face to stare up at Sherman. “You thought that I… that I would ever…”
“Oh Christ, Ruth. I’m sorry. I was just trying to…”
“What? Make me feel better for betraying you? After all, what could you expect from a whore anyway, right?”
“I never-”
“Yes you did, Sherman,” she said, getting to her feet and moving over to where he stood against the wall. “You hurt me deep. You’re the only man on earth who can do that. The only man who can make me cry. I hope you’re proud.”
“I’m not proud, goddamn it! I’m… sorry, Ruth.”
“You should be sorry. Because I gave that foul man what he wanted, all right. A name. I told him it was Bobby Wyeth.”