smiled.
“Somebody fart?” she loudly asked.
“Fuck off!”
“Snappy come-back, J. J.! Wonder why you’re always striking out with the girls?”
Johnson glared at her.
“People!” It was McFall, once again trying to keep the train on the tracks. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, most of us still have a lot of our old contacts. If we could somehow organise and enhance that information, we could pool it and draw up a plan of action. Theoretically, we could develop one helluva network.”
“Theoretically!” Now it was one of the civilians joining in. “I was on DA Hogan’s staff and I don’t know about this stoolie idea. I can tell you from experience that the Mob has no sense of humour about songbirds. And the Mob controls the waterfront. Period! Nobody was allowed to even think that at the DA’s office, but that don’t change the facts. Nothing goes on down there without their say-so or them knowing about it.”
Johnson saw his chance to euthanise the idea. “Gentlemen! You too, Betsy Ross. Do we honestly believe that stoolies, the most untrustworthy of criminals, the scum of the scum, are about to risk gettin’ their heads ventilated just to help the people who are being paid to put them away? It’s a stupid idea!”
“Hell! They could be bumpin’ off Germans and dumpin’ their bodies in the East River right now and we’d be none the wiser!”
“Yeah! Can you see some poor dumb Kraut bastard caught down on the West Side Drive by a couple of union guys?” The civilian agent mocked a German accent as he held his hands in the air, in mock surrender. “Nein, nein. I am nut a polleece man! I am only a shpie!” There was a ripple of laughter.
“As that may be our dream scenario, gentleman, we can’t bank on it. I would also remind you that our infiltrators are not necessarily German. They may just as well be Italian Facists or
Spanish Anarchists.” MacFall interjected the sobering thought to the assembled group, and everyone was involuntarily reminded that the overwhelming majority of the people they would have to deal with on the waterfront would be Italians or Sicilians.
“‘Stupid’ is a little strong, don’t you think, Mr Johnson?” O’Malley was careful not to use Johnson’s title. O’Malley folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked across at the bureaucratic treasury agent.
It took a couple of beats to soak through to the rubber-stamp-orientated agent, but he eventually came to the realisation that he was being challenged. The older man continued the volley.
“Sorry I hurt your feelin’s, Junior. But we have a serious situation here. We have a lot of things to do and no time to do them. This is no time to be grasping at straws.” Although the row had essentially been reduced to the two men, civilian against military, everyone else paid close attention to where it was going.
MacFall sat in his chair at the head of the table and observed with more attention then the others exactly how O’Malley defended his argument.
“Has it been tried?”
“As a matter of fact, yes it has! And as soon as it was sent up for approval, it came right back down again. Disapproved!”
“On what grounds?” The Lieutenant knew he was losing ground but refused to yield.
“On the grounds it was stupid. Worse yet, politically risky.”
“With all due respect to the Treasury Department, your people aren’t exactly trained for wartime counter-intel.”
“If you have a better suggestion, I’m willing to listen,” offered the Lieutenant.
The fat, balding man lost what little composure he had left. “You know what, sonny? I’ve been in government service since before the last war! Since before you were born, god-damn it! I made my bones on the Palmer raids, fer fuck’s sake! And, besides having no respect, you haven’t got the faintest idea what the hell ballpark you’re playin’ in!”
“At the very least we could kick it around and see if anything comes out of
“Somebody fart?” she loudly asked.
“Fuck off!”
“Snappy come-back, J. J.! Wonder why you’re always striking out with the girls?”
Johnson glared at her.
“People!” It was McFall, once again trying to keep the train on the tracks. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, most of us still have a lot of our old contacts. If we could somehow organise and enhance that information, we could pool it and draw up a plan of action. Theoretically, we could develop one helluva network.”
“Theoretically!” Now it was one of the civilians joining in. “I was on DA Hogan’s staff and I don’t know about this stoolie idea. I can tell you from experience that the Mob has no sense of humour about songbirds. And the Mob controls the waterfront. Period! Nobody was allowed to even think that at the DA’s office, but that don’t change the facts. Nothing goes on down there without their say-so or them knowing about it.”
Johnson saw his chance to euthanise the idea. “Gentlemen! You too, Betsy Ross. Do we honestly believe that stoolies, the most untrustworthy of criminals, the scum of the scum, are about to risk gettin’ their heads ventilated just to help the people who are being paid to put them away? It’s a stupid idea!”
“Hell! They could be bumpin’ off Germans and dumpin’ their bodies in the East River right now and we’d be none the wiser!”
“Yeah! Can you see some poor dumb Kraut bastard caught down on the West Side Drive by a couple of union guys?” The civilian agent mocked a German accent as he held his hands in the air, in mock surrender. “Nein, nein. I am nut a polleece man! I am only a shpie!” There was a ripple of laughter.
“As that may be our dream scenario, gentleman, we can’t bank on it. I would also remind you that our infiltrators are not necessarily German. They may just as well be Italian Facists or
Spanish Anarchists.” MacFall interjected the sobering thought to the assembled group, and everyone was involuntarily reminded that the overwhelming majority of the people they would have to deal with on the waterfront would be Italians or Sicilians.
“‘Stupid’ is a little strong, don’t you think, Mr Johnson?” O’Malley was careful not to use Johnson’s title. O’Malley folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked across at the bureaucratic treasury agent.
It took a couple of beats to soak through to the rubber-stamp-orientated agent, but he eventually came to the realisation that he was being challenged. The older man continued the volley.
“Sorry I hurt your feelin’s, Junior. But we have a serious situation here. We have a lot of things to do and no time to do them. This is no time to be grasping at straws.” Although the row had essentially been reduced to the two men, civilian against military, everyone else paid close attention to where it was going.
MacFall sat in his chair at the head of the table and observed with more attention then the others exactly how O’Malley defended his argument.
“Has it been tried?”
“As a matter of fact, yes it has! And as soon as it was sent up for approval, it came right back down again. Disapproved!”
“On what grounds?” The Lieutenant knew he was losing ground but refused to yield.
“On the grounds it was stupid. Worse yet, politically risky.”
“With all due respect to the Treasury Department, your people aren’t exactly trained for wartime counter-intel.”
“If you have a better suggestion, I’m willing to listen,” offered the Lieutenant.
The fat, balding man lost what little composure he had left. “You know what, sonny? I’ve been in government service since before the last war! Since before you were born, god-damn it! I made my bones on the Palmer raids, fer fuck’s sake! And, besides having no respect, you haven’t got the faintest idea what the hell ballpark you’re playin’ in!”
“At the very least we could kick it around and see if anything comes out of
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