America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 96 Is this our future? (1/10 available)

Eight o'clock.

At the newsstand in Grand Central Station, a middle-aged accountant in a wool coat picked up the New York Herald. His previously nonchalant expression froze.

He saw a photograph: two thugs handcuffed to a radiator. Next to them were two enlarged one-way ferry tickets to Mexico.

The accountant paid the bill, and instead of folding the newspaper as usual, he unfolded it and began reading before walking into the waiting hall.

The same scene unfolded in a Wall Street café. Several stockbrokers sat around a table, one of them reading a headline, while the others listened in silence.

The same scene unfolded at a breakfast shop in Brooklyn and at a subway station in Queens.

The headline read like a court verdict: "This is a murder."

Dear New York City residents:

An attempted murder occurred at the Manhattan Detention Center at 2 a.m. last night.

The victim was Thomas Cronin, the former clerk who admitted to accepting bribes and was prepared to testify.

The perpetrators were two professional hitmen employed by the Tammany Society's upper echelons.

Their plan was simple: enter the cell, strangle Cronin, and then stage a scene to make it appear as if he had committed suicide out of guilt.

If it weren't for a few brave citizens who happened to be there, and if the guards had hesitated even slightly, this morning's headline would have been: "Bribery Witness Commits Suicide Out of Guilt."

Then, all the blame will be placed on him alone.

We will be told that justice, though delayed, has been manifested in some way in this unfortunate suicide victim.

What a perfect script!

But this script doesn't treat people like human beings at all.

In their eyes, Cronin was not a person, not a father, not a public official who had worked in the courts for ten years. He was simply a mistake that needed to be erased, a troublemaker who needed to be shut up.

They were willing to pay the price of two lives to cover up a $5,000 bribe.

In this cold winter, we are all struggling to survive.

We may be poor, we may be unemployed, but we still believe that as long as we don't break the law and as long as we walk in the sunlight, we won't disappear inexplicably.

But last night, that sense of security was completely shattered.

If even a key witness under police custody could be nearly strangled to death, then who is safe?

Is it you? Is it me? Or is it just an ordinary person who is seen as a threat simply because they know too much?

Is this the city we live in?

Is this the future we're handing over to our children?

Charles DeLa sat in his office at the Tammany Institute headquarters. A copy of the New York Herald lay on his desk. His hands were trembling, but he struggled to control himself.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number of Frank Curry, who was in charge of the operation.

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

Dila asked in a hoarse voice, "Frank, I think you should explain why those two good-for-nothings were photographed? Why were the newspaper people able to take down the trash under your command?"

Frank's voice was also very tired, clearly worn down by the incident: "Dila, I want to know too. My information is that Patrick led his men in, and they were armed. My men don't want a shootout."

Dila roared, "Are all your men pig-brains? Don't you want a bloodbath? What's happening now is a hundred times worse than a bloodbath!"

Frank's temper flared: "What you're saying is really hurtful to the brothers! We're working for you, not risking our lives!"

"I'll smash your mother's head!" Dila slammed the phone down.

He took a deep breath and dialed the New York Police Commissioner's number again.

After the call connected, Dilla said, "Immediately issue a statement saying that the two killers are mentally ill, or that the crime scene was staged by the newspaper for sales purposes. Shut down the newspaper office!"

The police chief was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the line, then said, "It's impossible."

Dila said, "What do you mean by 'not enough'? You're the police chief!"

The police chief said, "Mr. Dilla, you'd better look out the window. Nobody believes our announcements anymore. Those two killers were wearing police uniforms and even had guns. How am I supposed to explain this?"

Dilla said, "Then say it's an imposter! Say someone is impersonating a police officer!"

The police chief said, "The photos have been printed. The tickets have been printed too. Cronin himself is still alive."

You want me to look at those photos in the newspaper and say they're fake? What will the public think of us?

"I don't care what you do, this matter must be suppressed!" Dila roared, somewhat losing her temper.

The police chief said, "This can't be suppressed anymore, Mr. Dilla. Since this morning, three newspapers have called requesting interviews with Cronin. The state investigation committee is on their way. You'd better figure it out yourself."

The phone hangs up.

Dillah stood there, receiver in hand. He picked up the phone again and dialed Mayor Walker's office number.

The secretary answered: "Mayor's office."

"I'm Dila," Dila said. "Is the mayor in?"

The secretary said, "The mayor is not seeing anyone today."

Dila said, "Tell him it's me."

The secretary paused for a moment, then said, "Mr. Dila, the mayor specifically instructed us, especially you."

The phone hangs up.

Dila looked at the receiver in his hand and slowly put it back on the landline. He walked to the window and looked at the street outside.

A crowd had gathered in front of the newspaper building. They held newspapers, and some wore white rabbit badges. No one shouted slogans, no one threw stones; they simply stood there, looking up at the building.

A man in a gray overcoat stepped out of the crowd and held up a newspaper towards the building. The headline was particularly glaring in the sunlight.

Dila turned away from the window, walked to her desk, picked up the newspaper, crumpled it into a ball, and slammed it against the wall.

At 3 p.m., in the investigation committee's office, Judge Samuel Sibyl was on the phone. He said into the receiver, "Yes, we've sent people to the detention center. Cronin will be under the protection of the state police. Yes, he's willing to testify."

After hanging up the phone, he looked at Arthur sitting across from him.

Samuel said, "Are you satisfied? Someone's already suggesting starting impeachment proceedings against Walker."

Arthur shook his head: "Not satisfied. This is far from enough."

"What else do you want?" Samuel asked, somewhat puzzled.

Arthur said, "Let everyone see clearly how the Tammony Association operates. Not just Dira, not just Walker. One Cronin isn't enough, ten aren't enough. We need to make them jump out on their own, one by one."

Samuel asked, "Do you think they'll still jump?"

"Dila has already jumped. The next one won't be far behind."

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