70. Pendergast

Gonzo walked with Huntress Thompson through the city, sweat running down his camera head as he glanced nervously around them.

“Are you sure we should meet with this person?” Gonzo asked. “They seem pretty scary…”

“Shut it,” she snapped between yawns. “I woke up at the crack of dawn to meet them, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let my sacrifice go to waste!”

“You woke up at 9:30…”

Thompson shot Gonzo a glare, then looked back to the streets.

“Anyways,” she went on, “the fact remains that we need to figure out who those gangsters meeting with Truman were; and this person is our best bet at identifying them.”

“Can’t we just look for them ourselves?”

“The city is too big and our deadline is too short for that.”

“True…we only have until the end of the week before the tournament ends.”

“We have even less time than that,” Thompson grumbled, “Don’t you remember? Those punks were talking about fixing a fight! We need to figure out who we’re dealing with well before then.”

The two rounded the corner, finding themselves in front of a large banquet hall with a pair of armed thugs standing in front of its entrance. Thompson walked up to a guard and showed her ID. They studied it, then opened the door before her.

“In the end…” Thompson mumbled as they stepped inside, “…the only way to catch a gangster…” she looked to the plump man seated at the back of the room in his gorgeous, gilded chair, “…is with another gangster!”

Chester Arthur lifted a thick drumstick off his plate, sucking the meat from its bones as Thompson and Gonzo approached.

“Welcome!” he said with a grin. “It’s so nice of yous to join me for breakfast. Go and grab yourself a plate; my treat.”

“We aren’t hungry for food,” Thompson replied, pulling Gonzo’s collar as he started for the buffet, “The only thing we’re hungry for…is knowledge.”

Thompson tapped Gonzo’s camera head, causing a photo to print out his mouth.

“We’re looking for someone,” she said, holding the picture before her, “do you know who this is?”

Arthur examined the image while shoveling another piece of chicken into his mouth.

“I might,” he gave a sly smile, “what’s in it for me if I do?”

“For starters,” Thompson continued, unabated, “I can tell you why those Secret Service agents have been tailing you since yesterday.”

Arthur gave a toothy smile.

“I had been rather curious about that.”

Arthur closed his eyes, weighing the value of the respective offers in his head. He opened his eyes, looking straight at Thompson.

“Yous got yourself a deal,” he rubbed the rings along his fingers, “now tell me what yous got.”

“You first,” she snapped.

Arthur gave a snort.

“Listen, dollface,” he leaned back in his chair, “I could go my whole life not knowing what these agents are up to. But, for you to call me out of the blues likes this…well…let’s just say it seems you need me a helluva lot more than I need you. So I’ll say it once more…”

Arthur dropped his smile.

“…talk.”

Thompson clicked her tongue.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “You know how Jennifer Davis snuck into the tournament? Well, us organizers think she got her Presidential Seal from a President…and you’re our primary suspect.”

Thompson watched Arthur’s reaction with care, but he didn’t so much as blink at her bold accusation.

“Hmm,” he rubbed his chin, “how curius…was Hayes the one to bring me up?” He gave a chuckle. “The two of us never got along, not even when we fought together under Lincoln in the Civil War.”

“I ain’t telling you nothing!” she snapped. “Not until you answer my question first.”

Arthur deepened his smile.

“Smart girl…”

He turned his attention to the photo, studying it with care.

“Tell me,” Arthur spoke up, “have yous ever heard of the Pendergast Machine?”

Thompson furrowed her brow.

“Isn’t that the big crime syndicate out in Missouri?”

Arthur nodded, then pointed to the photo.

“This brute here is their boss, [Big Tim] Tim Pendergast.”

Thompson stared at the picture, rubbing her chin.

“Pendergast you say…what else can you tell me about him?”

“Normally I’d quip saying it’s your turn to answer one of my questions,” he shook his head, “but honestly, that’s all I’s got. The two us might be in the same line of work, but we run in entirely different circles.”

“That’s bull!” Thompson screamed. “I see that cocky grin you’ve got! You’re holding something back, aren’t you?”

“Relax,” Arthur chuckled. “I really don’t knows nuttin…but I knows someone who probably does.”

He poured a glass of wine for himself, leisurely sipping the beverage as Thompson watched with visible agitation.

“The person I’m talking abouts,” he continued, “is a gang leader themselves, one who’s based in the Midwest just like Pendergast. Moreover,” he gave a smirk, “they’re one of the fighters in your little tournament.”

Thompson widened her eyes.

“Of course!”

She pulled a crumpled up printout of the bracket from her pocket and unfolded it before her.

“We’ve got the leader of The Ohio Gang right here…”

She bit her lips as she read the name listed for the next upcoming match.

“…[The Harmonizer], Wanda Harding!”

=====================================================================================

=====================================================================================

Pendergast Machine. This was the name of a large political machine based in Missouri. As for what Harry Truman had to do with it…well…we’ll just have to wait and find out…