Read Online The Death Instinct by Jed Rubenfeld - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jed Rubenfeld
Ads: Link
Coney Island?'
'Not so people can die,' answered Littlemore.
'So they can feel the terror of death. Rich men, with comfortable lives, kill themselves climbing mountains. Flying aircraft for sport. Do you know what happens when newspapers report that someone died on a Coney Island roller coaster? More people come out to ride the next day.'
'Well, I don't ride coasters.' Littlemore refilled their glasses. 'Why would somebody bomb a street corner? It doesn't figure.'
'Because you're thinking like a policeman. Looking for a motive.'
'Sure am,' said Littlemore.
'What if they just wanted to kill people?'
'Why?'
'Whom do you assassinate,' replied Younger, 'if you hate a whole country? In the old days, it would have been the king. Attack the King of England, you attack England itself. But a president? A presidents just a politician who will be gone in a few years anyway. With a democracy, you have to take assassination out of the palace. You have to assassinate the people.'
Littlemore thought about that. 'Why would they hate us?'
'The whole world hates us.'
'Nobody hates us. Everybody loves America.'
'Germany hates us because we beat them. England and France hate us because we saved them. Russia hates us because we're capitalist. The rest of the world hates us because we're imperialist.'
'That's not a motive,' said Littlemore. 'Say, you never asked me why I needed Colette today.'
'Why did you?'
'There's this guy, Fischer, okay? Couple a days ago, he sends a warning to a banker pal of his telling him to stay out of Wall Street after the fifteenth. Fischer works at some French outfit a few blocks from Wall. So I went there. Took Colette to translate. Now get this: the French got a letter from Fischer yesterday too, warning them to get everybody out because something was going to happen on Wall Street.'
Younger whistled: 'Who is he?'
'Question is where is he. Seems he went AWOL from the French about a month ago. Looks like he's in Canada somewhere. We'll find him: I told the press. A million people will be looking for this guy in a few hours. Know what's funny? Fischer's French boss tore his letter up and threw it away. We had to pull the pieces out of a wastepaper basket. Nobody took this guy seriously.' Littlemore corked the whiskey bottle, laid it on one side, and spun it on the table. 'They're trying to cut us out.'
'The French?'
'The Feds. They're trying to take over the investigation. Big Bill Flynn's here already. Palmer's coming up too.'
A. Mitchell Palmer was the Attorney General of the United States, William J. Flynn the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
'The whole Bureau's coming up to New York,' Littlemore went on, looking like he had a bad taste in his mouth. 'Plus Treasury guys, Secret Service guys - dozens of them. The investigation is "in the hands of the federal government": that's what Big Bill told the boys last night. Flynn. Tell you what - he's no Teddy Roosevelt. Big Bill used to be chief of detectives here a couple years back. Nobody liked him. You know, when I was a kid, all I wanted was to become a federal agent. My dad and I used to talk about how it would be. Still do. I'd work my way up in the Department, then go to DC and work for Roosevelt. Guess it's a good thing I didn't make it. With Palmer and Flynn running the show down there, and the Congress passing Prohibition, I don't know what they're doing in Washington anymore.'
'Too bad about Roosevelt,' said Younger. Unlike the detective, who said Roos-velt , Younger pronounced it Rose-a-velt , as did the Roosevelts. 'What killed T.R. - the bullet they never got out of his chest?'
'No,' said Younger. 'It was his malaria.'
'You ever meet him?' asked Littlemore.
'Once or twice,' said Younger. 'He was a
'Not so people can die,' answered Littlemore.
'So they can feel the terror of death. Rich men, with comfortable lives, kill themselves climbing mountains. Flying aircraft for sport. Do you know what happens when newspapers report that someone died on a Coney Island roller coaster? More people come out to ride the next day.'
'Well, I don't ride coasters.' Littlemore refilled their glasses. 'Why would somebody bomb a street corner? It doesn't figure.'
'Because you're thinking like a policeman. Looking for a motive.'
'Sure am,' said Littlemore.
'What if they just wanted to kill people?'
'Why?'
'Whom do you assassinate,' replied Younger, 'if you hate a whole country? In the old days, it would have been the king. Attack the King of England, you attack England itself. But a president? A presidents just a politician who will be gone in a few years anyway. With a democracy, you have to take assassination out of the palace. You have to assassinate the people.'
Littlemore thought about that. 'Why would they hate us?'
'The whole world hates us.'
'Nobody hates us. Everybody loves America.'
'Germany hates us because we beat them. England and France hate us because we saved them. Russia hates us because we're capitalist. The rest of the world hates us because we're imperialist.'
'That's not a motive,' said Littlemore. 'Say, you never asked me why I needed Colette today.'
'Why did you?'
'There's this guy, Fischer, okay? Couple a days ago, he sends a warning to a banker pal of his telling him to stay out of Wall Street after the fifteenth. Fischer works at some French outfit a few blocks from Wall. So I went there. Took Colette to translate. Now get this: the French got a letter from Fischer yesterday too, warning them to get everybody out because something was going to happen on Wall Street.'
Younger whistled: 'Who is he?'
'Question is where is he. Seems he went AWOL from the French about a month ago. Looks like he's in Canada somewhere. We'll find him: I told the press. A million people will be looking for this guy in a few hours. Know what's funny? Fischer's French boss tore his letter up and threw it away. We had to pull the pieces out of a wastepaper basket. Nobody took this guy seriously.' Littlemore corked the whiskey bottle, laid it on one side, and spun it on the table. 'They're trying to cut us out.'
'The French?'
'The Feds. They're trying to take over the investigation. Big Bill Flynn's here already. Palmer's coming up too.'
A. Mitchell Palmer was the Attorney General of the United States, William J. Flynn the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
'The whole Bureau's coming up to New York,' Littlemore went on, looking like he had a bad taste in his mouth. 'Plus Treasury guys, Secret Service guys - dozens of them. The investigation is "in the hands of the federal government": that's what Big Bill told the boys last night. Flynn. Tell you what - he's no Teddy Roosevelt. Big Bill used to be chief of detectives here a couple years back. Nobody liked him. You know, when I was a kid, all I wanted was to become a federal agent. My dad and I used to talk about how it would be. Still do. I'd work my way up in the Department, then go to DC and work for Roosevelt. Guess it's a good thing I didn't make it. With Palmer and Flynn running the show down there, and the Congress passing Prohibition, I don't know what they're doing in Washington anymore.'
'Too bad about Roosevelt,' said Younger. Unlike the detective, who said Roos-velt , Younger pronounced it Rose-a-velt , as did the Roosevelts. 'What killed T.R. - the bullet they never got out of his chest?'
'No,' said Younger. 'It was his malaria.'
'You ever meet him?' asked Littlemore.
'Once or twice,' said Younger. 'He was a
Similar Books
