The Big Kiss-Off of 1944: A Jack LeVine Mystery

by Andrew Bergman

  Dewey threw me a long look.

  “You have something to say to that, Jack?”

  “Governor, I’m not a religious man, but let God strike me dead if I’m covering up for anyone or not acting in your best interests.” I was almost ashamed of myself.

  There was an embarrassed silence. Shea was unbelieving.

  Savage broke the stillness.

  “Well, I have faith in you, LeVine. And I do want to stay out of the press.”

  Shea stood up.

  “I guess I’m not really needed here, then. Good luck, governor. All the best.”

  Dewey got off the couch, put his arm around Shea’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. Shea smiled and shook his head, then went to the door. As he started to open it up, he called me over.

  “Jack, let’s step outside for a second.”

  “No fighting, gentlemen,” chortled the candidate, who stood a few feet from Shea, with his hands behind his back.

  “Nothing like that, governor,” the detective said amiably.

  We stepped into the corridor.

  “Nice work, LeVine. I liked that part about God striking you dead.”

  “I noticed tears in your eyes.”

  “Oh yeah? I noticed something else. A report came in this afternoon that Lee Factor was carried into the Waldorf by a hackie and an elevator boy from your building, 1651 Broadway.”

  “I’m fascinated.”

  “Funny thing, I am too. When I got pulled off those two homicides, I figured it had to be orders from on high, but how high I couldn’t guess. That story about Factor starts to make sense.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Dewey about it?”

  He flashed an ice-cold grin. “Because, you miserable Jew shamus son of a bitch, I enjoy seeing you caught in the middle and mainly because I can’t do a thing on this case without winding up walking the beat on Staten Island. When I’m told to lay off, I lay off. It was a risk just coming over here tonight.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I just can’t tell the governor to go fuck himself, Jack. Don’t play dumb. I did my bit and now I’m going home. Also, I did you a nice favor in there.”

  “Telling them I was covering up? I wasn’t sure that was a favor, but if it was, I’m forever in your debt.”

  “I knew they wouldn’t go for that. But it was nice of me not to say anything about Factor.”

  “You just got through telling me you couldn’t.”

  “I could have worked it in there somehow, but I didn’t.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe one of these days you’ll help me clear up a couple of murders.”

  “Forget it, Shea. The higher-ups will never let this one see the light of day.”

  “FDR in on this?” he whispered, those blue eyes folding into slits.

  “I don’t know how high it actually goes, Paul, and that’s for real. FDR may not know a thing about it. If he did, a lot of heads would have rolled already. But suffice it to say, you should forget you ever saw anybody dead in the Hotel Lava.”

  “I have the funny feeling you’re not lying to me, LeVine. It’s a unique experience.”

  “Enjoy it.”

  “I will.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it. It was very hard. “You’re walking on eggs, huh, LeVine?”

  “On eggs on a tightrope.”

  “Well, don’t get hurt. It’s always fun to get you in the back room.”

  He turned on his heels and walked down the corridor. I watched him go and then reentered 1807.

  Dewey and Savage were seated on the couch, speaking confidentially. I closed the door and they looked up.

  “LeVine, I apologize if you thought we were attempting to interfere,” Savage said as I walked back into the living room. He sounded pretty sincere about it.

  “It was entirely my fault,” Dewey broke in. “I called Paul and asked him if he knew of any large and powerful blackmail rings operating in the area and gave him the name of the two men who had contacted Eli. When he told me that he had been pulled off their cases, I thought it was significant and he should come up here and discuss the matter with us.”

  “You’re right, governor. Shea’s being pulled off those cases was significant, but not significant enough to have Mr. Savage’s name become a household word in the tabloids.”

  “Absolutely,” said the Republican nominee, and then he said it again. “Absolutely.”

  There was silence and the two men stared at me. Savage cleared his throat and crossed his legs.

  “You said you had a plan.”

  LEVINE’S PLAN was fairly simple but required explanation. It also required another scotch and soda.

  “My contacts with the blackmail group, gentlemen,” I began, like Eisenhower standing before a map of Normandy, “have led me to believe that they are a frightened group of men who have gotten in over their heads.”

  “You know who they are, then?” asked Savage.

  “I have a sense of who they are, and what their limits are, but that is different from knowing all the names and addresses. We don’t need the names and addresses, as far as I can see; all we need are the films. Having discovered what I believe to be their weak points, I believe the time has come for us to go on the offensive.”

  “Agreed,” said Dewey. He took a small cigar from his breast pocket and lit up. If he got elected, they would have to keep the windows open at the White House.

  “My strategy hinges upon the blackmailers’ deepest fear: that their scheme be exposed.”

  “It’s not the Syndicate then, that’s for certain,” Dewey remarked. Then he hit the bull’s-eye. I could tell when his eyes took fire like a bed of coals. “The Democrats.”

  “Good God,” murmured Savage.

  “Close,” I said, forging ahead. “Very close. These, I believe, are friends of Democrats, but that should be obvious. If these are individuals who don’t want Dewey elected, it stands to reason that they do want Roosevelt elected. That is elementary logic.”

  But the governor was in his own world. “We can use it My God, what an issue!”

  “There’s nothing to use, governor, not without getting Anne Savage into some big black headlines. And respectfully, I really don’t see an issue play here. What can you say, that Roosevelt has blackmailers on his side? What does that prove?”

  “It proves a lack of moral leadership.” Dewey was warming to the task. “It proves that the Democratic party is riddled with gangsterism.”

  “It proves nothing of the kind, governor; you’re taking this way too far. Look, a lot of people are going to vote for you in November and among them are going to be wife-beaters, draft dodgers, and guys who cat with their fingers. Like I said, it doesn’t prove a thing.”

  There was silence. Jack be nimble.

  “He’s right, Tom,” Savage finally said. “We can’t make an issue out of it without hurting ourselves.”

  Choruses of angels sang in my head.

  “I’ll admit that one or two important names are involved in this,” I continued, more confidently. “The bank roll obviously has to come from somewhere and that is where we have them. Exposure for them would be as ruinous as it would for Anne Savage, more so, and like you said, governor, morality is on our side. We’re not shaking anyone down. And so I propose the following, in order to keep Savage in the campaign and keep his daughter out of the papers: we will take fifteen minutes of radio time, let’s say on July 4th, for an undisclosed purpose. Just take the time for an unspecified ‘political broadcast.’ No release to the papers, of course, just an innocuous listing in the daily radio log. Nobody will ask any questions: it’s an election year, it’s July 4th. Everybody figures it’s just some guy who’ll get on and say that Governor Dewey is a swell guy.”

  Dewey smiled. “I think I’m pretty good.” He and Savage chuckled, two very tough Republican tigers.

  “We’re all great guys,” I agreed, “granted. To continue: I will run off, on Dewey for President letterhead, a
few copies of a press release that will explain that the distinguished banker, Eli W. Savage, will speak on the topic ‘Politics and Ethics: What Every American Should Know.’”

  Savage paled. “We can’t …”

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “You’ll never give the speech.”

  “But we said nothing to the press,” Dewey interjected. “This will get picked up. If the wire services get it …”

  “The wires won’t get it because it won’t be sent to them. Perhaps a half-dozen copies will be run off and sent only to the blackmailers, who will think it’s a general release and, hopefully, panic. I’ll attach a note to the release which will say that receipt of the negatives and prints of the films will cancel the broadcast. That release, repeat, will only go to the blackmailers.”

  “Just to them,” said Savage, his color returning.

  “Correct. But it has to look like a general release.”

  Dewey puffed on his cigar.

  “You sure this is going to work?”

  “I’m not sure of anything. But we have to play this to the hilt. If July 4th rolls around and they think we’re bluffing, they’ll look up the radio listings and see that the Republicans have fifteen minutes of air time, national time. Then I suspect they’ll have to do some quick thinking.”

  “Will there be any broadcast at all?” the governor asked.

  “You feel like making a speech?”

  “No, no.” He waved his cigar. “It’s way too early for anything like that. We can’t get really going—officially, that is—until around Labor Day. It’s traditional.”

  “Then I guess we get fifteen minutes of organ music.”

  Savage exhaled long and deep. Dewey got up and went to the window. I helped myself to another scotch and soda, making this one a double.

  “I’m not sure I like it,” the candidate said softly. “The basic idea is very, very good but …” he shook his head, “buying fifteen minutes of time and then canceling. That’s terribly awkward, I think. Eli?”

  “Very awkward,” the banker echoed.

  I took care of half of my drink.

  “Make it ten minutes, then. Can’t Savage give a straight little campaign speech, something modest?”

  “No,” said Savage like he meant it. “It’s pointless, kicking off a campaign July 4th in wartime.”

  “You see, Jack,” Dewey said soothingly, explaining the bad world to his little nephew, “we have until November. This is so awfully early. Plus, to start off with something vague and thrown-together, people will wonder. Look, can’t we let the network know somehow that we’ll probably cancel?”

  “If you’ve got a good friend at a network who knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

  Savage and Dewey searched each other’s faces for the answer. Savage found his first.

  “Herb Feigenbaum at EAF.”

  Dewey hesitated. “He’s for us but he still might ask questions.”

  “Not if you promise him plenty of paid time in the fall,” I heard myself saying.

  Dewey started laughing. “Have you ever thought of going into politics, Jack? God, that’s perfect. He discounts this time against the certainty we won’t go on the air, so he doesn’t lose any paid time, but we get listed in the newspaper log. There’s no announcement, no cancellation, and nobody knows the difference. Marvelous.” Dewey was very happy.

  Savage got up and made a couple of drinks. He gave one to the governor. I was killing mine more slowly. Savage lifted his glass.

  “To the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “And to the best damned detective in the country,” Dewey added. We drank to both propositions.

  I hoped they weren’t unduly exuberant.

  THE NEXT DAY I set about typing up my press release on ditto paper; I needed a ditto job so the release I sent out would look like one of thousands. I roughed out a few short paragraphs to my satisfaction, then waited for confirmation of the air time from Savage. He called at eleven and said that things had gone pretty smoothly with Feigenbaum, who usually drove a hard bargain. The Republicans would pay one-fifth rates for five minutes and would be listed on the log. One-fifth was very nice: Dewey must have promised the moon, come October. We were scheduled for July 4th at 10:00 P.M., WEAF in New York

  A secretary in the building across the way noticed a run in her stocking and pulled her skirt way up to inspect it. I inspected with her, then turned back to the release. I wanted it finished before noon.

  The end result sounded good enough to take ten years off Factor’s life.

  SAVAGE TO SPEAK JULY 4TH:

  POLITICS AND ETHICS THE SUBJECT

  Eli W. Savage, president of the Quaker National Bank of Philadelphia, will deliver a radio address, “Politics and Ethics: What Every American Should Know,” on Tuesday, July 4th, at 10 P.M. over the Blue Network, WEAF in New York.

  Mr. Savage supports the candidacy of Governor Thomas E. Dewey, whose “courage, youth and honesty are vital for the shaping of the postwar world.” His radio address will touch on the need for ethical and moral leadership in the nation, “qualities in which the Democratic party has proven woefully deficient.”

  I phoned it in to Savage, who cleared it with the candidate and gave me the green light ten minutes later.

  “Tom said something, though, LeVine, and I think he may be right.”

  “What?”

  “He’s afraid the blackmailers will think it’s a bluff when they don’t see the story picked up in the press.”

  “Who’d pick this up? It’s a routine puff, a piece of campaign flackery.”

  “I’m not so sure, LeVine. It’s an ominous little release.”

  “It’s ominous only because you know what’s behind it. And besides, the nuances aren’t important because the newspapers aren’t going to get the story anyhow. It’s academic. The important thing is that when the blackmailers call EAF and ask if there’s a political broadcast on July 4th at ten, a little man will leaf through his books and tell them yes. That is when it will get interesting.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Of course. Tell the governor what I told you. He keeps forgetting that the release isn’t actually going out. God knows these mugs aren’t going to call the papers themselves and start asking questions. And look, I need that letterhead.”

  “A messenger is bringing it over.”

  “Fine. You staying in New York, Mr. Savage?”

  “Oh no, LeVine, it’s a little more than I can bear right now. I’ll return to Philadelphia this afternoon and come back Monday night, if necessary. I do hope the films are in our possession before then.”

  “I hope so, too, but don’t count on it. Chances are you’ll have to come back.”

  “What a son of a bitch this turned out to be, didn’t it, Jack?” He sounded very tired all of a sudden.

  “It’ll be over soon.”

  “Yes,” he said vaguely and then hung up. I was left holding the phone and taking another look at the secretary across the way. She noticed and threw me a finger.

  A messenger boy brought me the Dewey letterhead about a half-hour later. I signed a slip while he picked at a walnut-sized pimple on his neck. Very pretty, it almost brought my breakfast up. There are certain things LeVine finds stomach-wrenching and this kid was hitting the bull’s-eye.

  When he left, I went on down the hall and knocked on Abe Rosen’s door. He opened up with a sleepy smile.

  “It’s Bulldog Drummond.”

  “Hope I didn’t spoil your concentration, Abe.” I walked in. “Where’s the blanket and pillow?”

  “So I took a little nap. Crucify me. You want the machine?” he asked, seeing the sheet dangling from my hand.

  “Yeah. It working?”

  “It always works. What are you running off?”

  “No show, Abe. Not this time.”

  “No keyhole report this time? I observed Mrs. Rappaport performing an unnatural act upon a horse in room 604 at the Hotel Cumstain.”


  “You left out what kind of horse.”

  “Palomino. Let me look, Jack. I love those things.” He looked over my shoulder.

  I turned and held the sheet behind my back.

  “Abe, gimme a break. I can’t. Do Jack a favor and look out the window while I run this thing off. It’ll take a minute.”

  He realized I wasn’t kidding.

  “This got something to do with those shots yesterday?”

  “You mean the firecrackers?”

  “Check, the firecrackers. Same case, Jack?”

  “Same one, Abe. Now be a sweetheart and turn around for a minute. Look at the girls out the window.”

  “That’s all I’ve done this morning. That and sleep.” He turned around slowly, like a revolving ashtray. Which is sort of what he was. People in the music business called him a “decent guy.” In that racket “decent guy” is the kiss of death.

  I ran off five copies and quickly checked them.

  “Okay Abe, you can come out.”

  He looked over his shoulder.

  “You’re sure I don’t have to stand here all day?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  He walked me to the door. “I’ll go back to sleep. Thanks for breaking up my day a little.”

  Back in the office, I typed a personal note to Factor.

  Dear Lee,

  Savage will blow the whistle over a nationwide hookup on July 4th, unless the prints and negatives are returned before that date. He feels his reputation can only be enhanced by such a show of integrity. And, of course, it ensures a Dewey victory.

  It’s all over, Lee. Return the material to my office.

  Hoping your head feels better,

  I am …

  It was a good note. I liked it, particularly the “of course” at the end of the first paragraph. It wasn’t every day that I could “ensure” a presidential election. After patting myself on the back, I attached the note to a press release and folded both inside an envelope marked “Lee Factor, Waldorf Towers, URGENT.” Then I grabbed my hat off the moose head and locked up.