Little Men, Big World Read online

  And to crown it all, Judge Greet himself took her away to the conservatory, where, through the glass doors, the Commissioner could see them whirling round and round while the string band played an old-fashioned waltz. Was it Blue Danube? Perhaps. The Commissioner had no ear for music and could hardly distinguish one tune from another. And yet he felt pretty sure it was Blue Danube. He’d always liked waltzes and had at one time been quite a waltzer at the big dances given by the Knights of Pythias in his home town.

  Time went on interminably. The Commissioner shifted from one foot to the other. A colored servant replenished his punch. He began to sweat and dab at his forehead with a handkerchief. Gracious, it was a hot night! A scorcher. No wind at all even out here on the upper river among the trees and open country, far away from the heated asphalt of the city.

  From time to time he glanced about him at the sumptuousness of his surroundings. But he did not envy the Judge his beautiful house with its beautiful furniture. Possessions meant nothing to the Commissioner. He considered them merely a source of worry. Not that the Judge seemed worried about anything.

  At fifty-five the Judge looked about the same as he’d looked ten years earlier—no heavier, not a touch of grey in his abundant dark hair, which he kept pasted down to hide the curl, no sign of ageing in his broad face; a big robust, sometimes arrogant, but almost always genial man, who had hundreds of friends and well-wishers, was considered an ornament to the community, an unsurpassed toastmaster and political speaker, a first-class citizen who was always ready to give time and money to any worthy civic venture.

  He had been called “judge” for a long time, but actually he was an ex-judge, and had only been on the bench for a few years in his thirties. Since then he’d made a fortune out of various businesses, including real estate; he’d been one of the original developers of Riverview, and besides, he was the senior member of the firm of Greet, Judson, Braithwaite and Judson, corporation lawyers who handled some of the biggest accounts in the city. The Judge seldom appeared at the office, and paid little attention to the handling of cases. He merely lent his name and prestige to the firm

  Although he had never run for elective office, he had been in politics for years: City Party Chairman, State Party Chairman, National Committeeman, and other offices so numerous as to be lost in the mists of the past. He had a sure hand in such matters and his advice was eagerly sought and almost always taken. He had been responsible for the election of Charles Marley as mayor—not a very good choice as it had turned out—and it was said that his influence extended even to the State Capitol.

  On top of all this, he had married money. His wife was reputed to have a million or so in her own right. She was fifty, but hardly looked forty. She was slim and blonde and nervous, and rushed about like a young girl. It was hard for the Commissioner to believe that Mrs. Greet was the same age as his wife.

  Later, he danced with her, feeling very awkward and at sea due to her strong perfume, her semi-nudity, her quick graceful movements, and her chatter. She talked incessantly, looking about her with a bored air.

  The Commissioner sighed with relief when the dance was over, and he was once more back in the huge living-room with a glass of punch in his hand.

  Commissioner Stark sat smoking a cigar in the Judge’s book-lined study. Through the open French doors the music drifted back from the big glassed-in conservatory, sounding remote, sad, and nostalgically sweet. There was bright moonlight and from where he sat the Commissioner could see the tall old trees, big elms and oaks, casting sharp black shadows across the bluish-white lawn. A cool, damp breeze was blowing in from the direction of the river now, dispersing the heat, and the Commissioner, sweaty, tired, and aching, began to feel a certain relief, and sighed.

  “Nice breeze,” he commented.

  Smoking, the Judge nodded. “Yes,” he said, “if there is a breeze going, I get it in this room. Spend most of my time here. Not so active as I used to be. Been doing a lot of reading and thinking.”

  The Commissioner smiled slightly. “Well, I wouldn’t say you’d exactly retired, Judge.”

  The Judge smiled. “No, not exactly, but I’m moving toward it. The men of my family begin dying off about my age. My father was fifty-six. My Uncle Tom was fifty-four. My grandfather about sixty. But the women live forever. You know what they say about women on a pension.” The Judge laughed. “Not that our womenfolk were ever exactly on pensions. But it amounts to the same thing. They always end up with all the money. That’s the secret of woman’s power in America; they outlive all the men.”

  “They do at that,” said the Commissioner. “Never thought of it before, though.”

  “Well,” said the Judge after a moment, “if there is anything to heredity—and nobody seems to think that there is any more, except horse breeders—then I might as well slow down my activities a little, and prepare myself. I’ve always tried to be realistic about things, not emotional.” The Judge sat turning something over in his mind for a moment, then he went on. “However, realistic thinking can lead a man into strange paths. Maybe idealistic thinking is best after all. Take my son now—Byron. Strictly idealistic. At times, talks like a jackass, for my money. Fooled around with communism for a while. Then it was socialism. Now it’s ... well, God knows. But at least he’s looking for something ... a faith. I never seemed to need a faith. I just took the world as it was—a dirty place, so make the most of it!” The Judge laughed again and glanced at the Commissioner. “I don’t know why I'm boring you with this silly talk…”

  “You’re not boring me at all,” said the Commissioner, quickly. “I find it very interesting. In fact, I’ve done considerable thinking myself along those lines. Most people consider me a sort of wild-eyed idealist—a jackass, as you say—but I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. All I’m after is a reasonably clean city, for reasonably clean people, including myself. As long as men want to gamble, there will be gambling—an army couldn’t stop it. As long as men want women for a night, there will be prostitution. The best that any man can do is to try to control it. The greatest danger is the corruption of officials. As you know, Judge, I have no sympathy for the corrupt official. If I had my way he’d be dealt with to the limit of the law. There is no excuse for malfeasance. None at all. Sometimes a professional thief, even a murderer, has my sympathy—a corrupt official, never.”

  “Those are harsh words, Commissioner,” said the Judge, laughing slightly. “I’m sure you’ve raised yourself a nice crop of enemies in the city. I’ve heard many officials talk that way, but nobody thought they meant it—and they didn’t. Everybody knows you mean it. It’s made you a big man, Commissioner—and it’s the reason for the appointment that’s being offered you.”

  “That appointment worries me,” said the Commissioner.

  “In what way?”

  “Well, Judge, I never was more than an average lawyer and an average judge, and I’ve been growing more and more rusty of late. The thought of the Supreme Bench ... well, frightens me. I’ll be frank. Am I up to it?”

  The Judge looked down at the carpet and composed his face. What a man! Remembering some of the party hacks and worn-out slobs who had been railroaded to the Supreme Bench in order to get them out of everybody’s way, the Judge could barely restrain his laughter.

  “Oh, you’re too modest, Commissioner,” he said. “You have a good enough grounding in the law, and you’re a man of marked conscientiousness. Nobody owns you. You’re a free man. Any decision you hand down will be a true decision —uninfluenced, unbiased, honest. Can the taxpayers ask for any more?”

  The Commissioner thought for a moment. “To tell you the truth, Judge, if it wasn’t for my wife, I’d stay right here. I’ve been a part of this community all my life. I’m no longer young and I’d like to finish out my life here. Besides, I’m worried about what might happen here if I left. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think I’m indispensable. If Commissioner Hardy wasn’t, nobody can be. But I’ve got a movement
started now and I’d like to keep it rolling.”

  “Times are changing, Commissioner,” said the Judge, easily. “More and more people want a clean town, and are talking about it: civic groups of all kinds. Your work will carry on here, Commissioner. Don’t worry about that.” There was a brief pause, then the Judge went on: “For myself, I would prefer to have you stay—for selfish reasons. I admire your work, and I appreciate your friendship. But I don’t think I ought to look at it that way. You are too valuable a man to spend the rest of your life as a police official. Good men are scarce.”

  The Commissioner sighed. “It’s a hard decision for me, Judge. Very hard. I was ready to give my word this evening ... and then I talked to a certain newspaperman and he unsettled me…”

  “A newspaperman?” exclaimed the Judge, raising his eyebrows. “I’m surprised one could have so much influence on you. I stopped paying any attention to them years ago.”

  “Well, he’s been with me almost from the first. He’s got behind everything I’ve tried to do. He told me this evening that the underworld would feel very happy if I left the city—it would make it so much easier for them to operate. When I say underworld—a silly, meaningless word the way it is generally used—I mean the men who control the gambling and the vice. Not the professional thieves—that’s a precinct matter.”

  “Well,” said the Judge thoughtfully, “he is probably right, in a sense. The men you refer to will no doubt feel very happy —at first. But your leaving will not make it any easier for them to operate. You’ve started the ball rolling, Commissioner, and I assure you it is not going to stop. As you know, I was to some extent responsible for the election of Marley. And in a sense, he’s answerable to me. I’ll keep a close eye on him, Commissioner. You have my word.”

  The Commissioner sighed heavily, then a smile broke over his rather solemn face. “You don’t know how you’ve relieved my mind, Judge. Naturally, the idea of being on the Supreme Bench is very attractive to me. So attractive that I’ve tried to resist—being a Puritan at heart, I suppose, and afraid of all temptation. I couldn’t quite make up my mind which way my duty lay. You’ve convinced me, Judge.”

  “Well, now I feel highly flattered,” said the Judge, “that I’ve been able to influence a man like yourself. As you know, the Party will be delighted—we need some favorable publicity for a change…” The Judge laughed heartily. “It will be a very important announcement for the newspapers. How would you like to have it announced? Will you handle it at a conference? Or will you leave it up to the Party?”

  “Either way,” said the Commissioner, “but I would like to give my newspaper friend a little head-start with it. He deserves the favor.”

  “Oh, certainly, certainly,” said the Judge quickly. “I’m sure he won’t divulge the source. Shall I handle it otherwise?”

  “Maybe that is best,” said the Commissioner.

  Later that night the Commissioner called Reisman at his home and explained the whole business to him.

  “I have Judge Greet’s word on the matter,” he said when Reisman seemed inclined to question the wisdom of the decision. “And his word should be good.”

  “It’s been good for many years,” said Reisman. “The only thing I’ve got against the Judge is Marley. On the other hand, good men are hard to find. Well, congratulations, Justice Stark. I suppose I’m the first.”

  “Except for the Judge and Mrs. Stark. Good night, Reisman.”

  “One of these days I’ll come up to the Capitol.”

  “You’ll always be welcome.”

  “Thanks, Commissioner.”

  As soon as the Commissioner rang off, Reisman phoned the Journal and asked for Pee Wee. Pee Wee came on at once and Reisman gave him the story.

  “Whoops!” cried Pee Wee. “Now the boys can go back to their marbles again.”

  “Even Pee Wee knows it,” mused Reisman, shaking his head as he hung up.

  He sat lost in thought for a long time, then he went out to the icebox to get himself a snack, moving as quietly as possible, but in a few minutes Sarah appeared in her bathrobe and slippers, then just as Reisman was yelling irritably that he only wanted to fortify himself, as he intended to write a column before he hit the hay if it took him till dawn, the three girls peeked into the open kitchen door, giggling, and Ruth said:

  “Mom, we’re hungry.”

  Reisman blew up. But in a little while they were all sitting around the kitchen table eating cold fried chicken and drinking milk. The girls wanted to know who had called, so Reisman told them about the Commissioner at considerable length, being as boring as possible. They tried to escape but he wouldn’t let them. Fixing them with a stem eye, he began to elaborate on the operations of the police department. At first Sarah didn’t grasp what was going on and listened with some interest; presently, she got the idea and it amused her; but finally she grew as bored as her three daughters.

  “All right, all right, Ben,” she cried. “That’s enough.”

  “Oh, I’m just getting warmed up,” said Reisman.

  But finally he allowed the girls to file off to bed.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Sarah.

  “I’ll teach ’em to get up in the middle of the night and ask me questions!”

  Later, he shut himself up in his workroom and wrote a column devoted entirely to the career, character, and achievements of the new Supreme Court Justice, Thos. W. Stark. It was a deadly serious column, which was unusual for Reisman, though it had sardonic overtones and ironically sharp comments about the Administration, and Mush Head shook his head over it, said it would offend a lot of bigwigs, but ran it just the same.

  9

  IT WAS mid-July and the weather in the big town had been almost unbearably hot since the 4th. Otherwise things were pretty much as usual.

  Commissioner Stark had left for the Capitol and a party hack by the name of Creeden, a former chief of police, had been appointed by Mayor Marley to fill out the Commissioner’s unexpired term. The appointment was received in silence by the press, except for a few mild jeers from the Journal.

  The disappearance of Leon Sollas was still an unsolved mystery and his Life Story, hastily whipped up by a bored police reporter, was still running in the Examiner. Rudy Solano was now the target for editorial blasts from several papers and his activities were highly publicized and “viewed with alarm.”

  Here and there a few bookies were arrested, a few prostitutes jailed, a few poker and dice parlors knocked over in the remote suburbs. But the Front was flourishing as convention after convention hit the big town like a plague of locusts.

  Things were so quiet that Arky felt uneasy. Captain Dysen had phoned him three times, wanting to call a halt to the guarding of the Mover. “It’ll get us in trouble yet, Ark,” said the Captain. “And I don’t think it’s necessary. Such a thing as being too cautious.” But Arky wouldn’t listen.

  If Leon had called again, if the Big City boys had made new overtures or even threats, if there had been the slightest hint of another effort to work in on the Front, Arky would have felt better. But the weeks passed ... and ... nothing! He picked up the take from Rudy, who looked fat and happy; kidded with Robbie, who seemed to like Rudy as well as she had liked Leon, or as little; Zand drove him to the Paymaster’s; and at long intervals he talked to the Mover on the phone. The Mover now always seemed in a good humor and made many jokes, convulsing Arky at times, although the Mover accused him of overdoing it and trying to get in good by being an easy audience.

  Under Creeden, things moved smoothly. It wasn’t that Creeden knew anything about what was going on; he didn’t. Nor did he care. After a rather protracted siege of “retirement” he was in office again, and basking. He had a big tough copper drive him about the city in a limousine both Hardy and Stark had disdained to use, siren going. He never missed a station on the banquet circuit, and made long boring speeches interspersed with tired jokes, prefaced by: “And that reminds me of a hilarious
incident that…” Judge Greet was called to the phone time after time when Creeden rose to speak. He always apologized at length later to Creeden for “missing your amusing talk,” flattering Creeden so that he went around boring people by bragging about his friendship with “our eminent fellow-citizen, Judge Greet,” and beginning many of his remarks by the statement: “As Judge Greet was saying to me just the other day…”

  Yes, things were very smooth, but Arky was worried in spite of the fact that the take rose steadily week by week, bookie arrests fell sharply, and the big madams, with the exception of Mrs. Lansing, who was still in clink, operated unmolested.

  Money passed from hand to hand. Big smiles broke out all over the city, from the suburbs to the slums.

  Creeden was a success, and the only sour note heard was an occasional faint rumble from the newspapers.

  Arky, in his shirtsleeves, sat in the deserted bookie-room, smoking a cigar and from time to time wiping his face with a limp handkerchief. This was the worse yet! That day at noon the thermometer had registered a hundred degrees of heat. A young hoodlum in the pool hall had told Arky that he’d tried to take a swim in the river and the water had been so warm it had made him sweat. Ambulance sirens had been going all day as people collapsed in the streets.

  Zand came in, mopping his face, and sat down beside Arky in gloomy silence. Arky glanced at him finally.

  “What’s the matter, Zand—the heat?”

  “That, too,” said Zand. “But Lola, mostly.”

  “What now?”

  “She’s gone baby-crazy. It’s all I hear day and night. Say, couldn’t we work out a trade for that little Polack you got upstairs?”

  Arky glanced at Zand resentfully. “Don’t start on me. You want a poke in the nose?”