***
The death of McBride made front-page news, along with wild speculation of what had happened and who had done it. Harris knew, or had an idea, of the events that led up to it, and he had reacted with mixed feelings. This kind of gangland battle was exactly what he had been driven to end when he began his career. Now that he had resigned, that plan was on hold until he could find a way to get it back. He also could not deny that he felt a certain sense of relief, a very guilty and closely guarded reaction that he would never share. There was enough left of McBride's type for Harris to know that this was merely a shift in power, not a change for the better.
With this in mind, he drove over to Larry O'Connor's home to talk to the man who undoubtedly had arranged for this to happen. He was ushered in, just as before, and taken to the billiard room, where O'Connor was waiting for him. There were no pleasantries as O'Connor drew his old tired body to its full length and looked down at Harris.
"What did you do?" Harris asked. O'Connor was still a large and intimidating man, and Harris knew that in his prime, the other man had been entirely frightening.
"What do you mean?" O'Connor said before settling back against the pool table. He let his head down so Harris could not look into his eyes.
"You know exactly what I mean. You had McBride killed. You had someone hired to take him out," Harris said. Before coming into office, he thought that such a crime would be traceable with the right effort. Now he knew that was not entirely possible, though evidence was not needed for him to tell what had happened.
"Yes. Right. That," O'Connor said, still not raising his head. "Well." He looked up at Harris. "McBride was a cocksucker, who had no idea what running an organization was about."
"So you admit to doing this?" Harris stated.
"I took you as smarter than that. McBride was not just killed. He was eliminated by a chain of events nobody will ever be able to trace. There're lines of communication that run throughout this city, maybe across this country, that can be used."
"Sure, everyone knows that," Harris said. "But somebody has to make the call."
O'Connor stood up again and spread his hands. "Sure, fine, I ordered this. What of it? I wanted him stopped. I tried the legal route, and the cops and Feds were useless. I couldn't wait any longer, and I had an opportunity to get this done."
Harris turned away. Of course he was right. Larry O'Connor had given him an opportunity to get this done, and he had not been able to accomplish anything. "You were too late. I was good as gone when you contacted me. Maybe the new DA could have taken this on."
"Wendell McGuffy? Porter's lap-warmer? He's the best thing that ever happened to my business. He'll do whatever Porter tells him to do, which is basically nothing."
Harris had to smile for a moment. When he had heard who he was replaced by, he could not believe such an idiot had been asked to take that job. "I think you're going to have free reign with me gone."
"You think that's an accident? McBride wanted you gone. I wanted that as well. I just let him do it. A nice coincidence that was none of my doing," O'Connor said. He stood uneasily, wavering back and forth slightly.
"I'll be back," Harris said.
O'Connor's face lit up. "Oh, I'm sure you will be. I'll be gone by then, but rest assured another will take my place. At some point, you'll be gone and there'll be a replacement. People aren't neat and orderly."
"Why do you do this? What makes a person like you run a crime organization and cause so much trouble?"
"You know," O'Connor said, moving around to the other side of the pool table. "There are people out there who think I'm a hero. I create jobs, make their lives better. Sure, we run liquor, but what kind of law is that anyway? Prostitutes? Sure. Men have drunk, fought, and screwed for thousands of years, and nobody can stop it. Why stop it? It's far more powerful than either of us. I do what I do. The virtuous try to dictate people's behaviors. They always fail, and the crowds turn around and keep coming to me. Everybody comes to me. Politicians, priests, schoolteachers. It's what they want. I just supply it."
Basic impulses are extremely difficult to change; the wiring in a person's head usually does not allow it. This was a problem that Harris had known for many years, but he had never thought of his job and purpose in that manner. He had always approached this from the aspect of shutting down people like McBride and Larry O'Connor and bringing their type of behavior under control. The idea that they were suppliers of what people wanted—craved, in many cases—was a way of looking at the problem that he had resisted.
"Sweet Jesus," O'Connor said. "A lawyer who's speechless. The real truth, the honest truth, is always the most difficult. Makes your job a hell of a lot harder. Sure," he continued, waving a hand, "people like me or McBride can't be allowed to run around too much. I'll admit that."
"I hear everything you're saying, but how can you possibly live with the consequences of your actions?" Harris said.
"Despite what you are to me, I like you. You're smart enough without being too book smart. Your question is easy to answer. I just do. It's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember." O'Connor settled back against the table again. "Are the results of my actions any worse than sending an innocent kid to war? Those young men in the trenches didn't have much choice once the bullets started to fly. People come to me out of their own motivations. How do the politicians sleep at night, knowing those youngsters probably wouldn't make it back? These great minds in Washington or wherever, thinking, planning—am I worse than them?"
"It's totally different. One is for a good purpose, to stop an injustice. The other is just for control and influence," Harris said.
"But isn't that all a war is? A battle for control and influence, or an attempt to wrestle it back? Isn't that the same thing with McBride and me?" O'Connor said. "I'll tell you one difference: McBride deliberately ruined people, like your boy there. It was almost a sport. I would never do that. That's despicable. He had no respect. That's an injustice, and I stopped it."
"Yes, he had no respect for anybody," Harris said. "But, that's all we agree on."
"Then there will always be a fight between us," O'Connor said.
O'Connor, old and aching, still capable of violence, knew where he stood in the world. Harris was not sure about much right then, but was certain of the difference between right and wrong. O'Connor was wrong. There was no use arguing the point. O'Connor leaned against the pool table, taking some of the load off his body. Harris left him like that and showed himself to the door without saying another word. His job had changed, and he needed to get away and think about how he was going to approach what he long ago intended to do.
56
The mining job ended after about a year. The Depression was not getting any better, and the demand for metals was down, as production stopped and businesses went under. However, there were rumors of a large construction project in Arizona, a huge dam that needed people with mining skills. Eddie hopped a train and made his way to Boulder City, where he found thousands of men like himself looking for work. He stood in line for most of a day and was finally taken into a room full of tables and chairs, where a chaotic collection of job seekers were talking to people doing the interviewing. The noise was deafening in the hastily constructed room, as the only way to converse was to shout. When Eddie made his way to a table, the man started by having him fill out a short form which asked for any special skills. The interviewer took one look, saw he had explosives experience from when he was mining, and sent him to another room. This room was off to the side and much smaller. In here, about twenty men waited in chairs to meet with a man taking notes and a larger man who was doing all the talking. This room was strangely quiet compared to the other room, with the only sound being the large man asking questions and the job seeker answering.
There was no doubt who was in control as the man asking questions did so in a calm
but direct manner. Tall (Eddie guessed he was over six feet), he wore a crisp white shirt and tie in the otherwise sweltering heat. A large Stetson hat was sitting on the table beside where he was writing down notes in response to his questions. When Eddie's turn came up, he sat down and looked up at him.
"I'm Frank Crowe, manager of the project. I like to be called Mr. Crowe, please. You are?" Mr. Crowe said.
"Stu Atkins," Eddie said.
"Tell me about your work background. It says you did some mining." Frank Crowe scanned down the form.
Eddie began to describe his working in the Hibbing mines, but then Mr. Crowe stopped him. "You have some education. I can hear it in your voice. Did you attend college?"
He had not anticipated that question. Eddie suddenly had a sense he was with a different sort of person in Frank Crowe. "I'm from Youngstown and worked in a furniture factory that went out of business. I have one year of college, but I had to leave."
Mr. Crowe studied his face for a moment, then asked, "We need men with explosives experience. If this checks out with Hibbing, we have a job for you. You're small and wiry. You afraid of heights?"
"No sir," Eddie said, though he was not sure.
"We need men to rappel, go down the canyon wall on ropes, set charges, and take the wall back to solid rock. Think you can do that?" Mr. Crowe asked.
"Yes, sir."
Frank Crowe set the form to the side. "Stop by tomorrow, and we'll have a list out front for those hired. Next!" Frank Crowe was already reading the next man's form and talking before Eddie was out of the chair.
In the morning, Eddie found his name on the list. That afternoon, they took him and a group to a small cliff and showed them the basics of rappelling. Eddie picked it up quickly and was soon going down the face of the cliff with ease. The next day, they had the group out on the canyon wall gliding down and working their way across. Soon they were given dynamite charges and sent to work. It took him about a week to get used to the routine and to become efficient in moving around. At first he was amazed when he watched the more experienced workers hop over the edge and crawl around like spiders on a wall, but before long, he was doing the same.
Again, like the mines, the work was dangerous, but it was better than what other workers had to do. After blasting the rock, workers below had to move it away into trucks. That work was back-breaking in 130-degree heat. In the four divergent tunnels being dug around the dam area, men were being hauled out with carbon monoxide poisoning. In town, after the workday, Eddie would hear of these things. The rappellers did what they did, knowing they were the lucky ones.
Train to Anywhere Page 27
