Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness - Hardcover
In his bestselling legal thrillers, William Bernhardt has explored the dark side of contemporary politics, power, and the law. Now Bernhardt turns back the clock to the city of Cleveland, Ohio, in the fall of 1935. Based on true events and new discoveries about Eliot Ness, Nemesis is a brilliantly told story featuring this legendary lawman s fateful duel with a terrifyingly new kind of criminal: America s first serial killer.In Chicago, Eliot Ness had created the Untouchables, the fabled team of federal agents who were beyond corruption and who finally put Al Capone behind bars. Now the headline-grabbing Ness has been moved to Cleveland, where a new mayor desperately needs some positive publicity. The heroic, squeaky-clean Fed is the perfect man to become the city s director of public safety, but by the time Ness starts his new job, a killer has started a career of his own. And this man is as obsessed with blood and mayhem as Eliot Ness is obsessed wi
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
William Bernhardt is the author of many novels, including Primary Justice, Murder One, Criminal Intent, Death Row, Hate Crime, Dark Eye, Capitol Murder, Capitol Threat, and Capitol Conspiracy. He has twice won the Oklahoma Book Award for Best Fiction, and in 2000 he was presented the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award “in recognition of an outstanding body of work in which we understand ourselves and American society at large.” A former trial attorney, Bernhardt has received several awards for his public service. He lives in Tulsa with his three children.
wb@williambernhardt.com
www.williambernhardt.com
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
wb@williambernhardt.com
www.williambernhardt.com
1
September 13, 1935
It was just after three in the morning and the glint of moonlight off the metal barrel of Michael Frescone’s tommy gun told Eliot Ness he was exactly where he wanted to be.
“Let’s get back to the car and radio for backup.”
Ness’s eyes remained glued to the binoculars. “We don’t have time, Sheriff.”
“We don’t have a choice. Those mob guys are serious trouble.”
“They always are.”
“They got guns.”
“They always do.”
“They ain’t afraid to use ’em, neither!”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Some of Frescone’s men are crack shots. Like to brag about how they can hit a Nehi bottle from fifty paces.”
Ness pushed a loose strand of hair back into place, slicked-back and parted in the center. “Well, I’m not so sorry with a pistol myself, Sheriff. Won a marksmanship award at the U.S. Coast Guard range.”
Cuyahoga County Sheriff Ray Potts looked as though he were about to internally combust. “Do you understand what we’re talking about here? There’s two of us and a dozen of them. They’re heavily armed and they’re killers! Frescone has been blamed for at least ten gangland murders. They’re transporting illegal hooch worth thousands of dollars and they’ll do anything to defend it. These are impossible odds, Ness. Impossible!” Ness glanced at his colleague. In the moonlight, his eyes seemed to twinkle. “Sounds like fun. Ready?”
Ness climbed out of the ditch they were using for cover and headed toward the dock. While he crept forward, he put away his binoculars and unholstered his pistol. He was always more comfortable with a handgun than those bulky machine guns. He’d learned to shoot with accuracy, even from a distance, and he preferred that to the spray-everything-in-sight technique of the tommy gun.
The slope was steep. He had to be careful—and quiet. If the smugglers heard him coming, he’d be a goner. His only chance was to catch them by surprise.
The wind coming off the river chilled him, sending shivers coursing up and down his spine. Seemed no matter how many times he did this, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the strange combination of exhilaration and terror, never entirely subsided. Probably just as well. If he ever lost that edge, he might get sloppy. The rest of the world thought he was fearless—well, that was fine. Only he need know better. Only he needed to know that he got scared every time. And it supercharged him like nothing else could.
He chose each step cautiously, testing it before he put his weight down, careful to move as silently as possible . . .
“Stay down!” Potts hissed. “If they see you they’ll blow you from here to perdition! Let me tell you—there ain’t nothing scarier than staring down the wrong end of a gangster’s gat.”
“When I worked in Kentucky as a revenue agent, I got shot at six different times,” Ness whispered back. “Those hillbillies holed up in the Moonshine Mountains with their squirrel guns gave me more close calls than Capone’s whole gang put together.”
Ness never wanted to leave Chicago, his hometown, but he was in government service so he had followed orders. After Prohibition ended, he spent about a year working in Ohio, Tennessee, and Kentucky for the Alcohol Tax Unit within the Bureau of Internal Revenue, chasing down backwoods rumrunners. It was tough work. Things had been simpler in Chicago, when the Volstead Act was still in place. Booze was illegal, period. You saw it, you seized it. And you took the criminals to jail. But Prohibition had been repealed in 1933. Ness didn’t object on principle; he enjoyed a drink every now and then. But the new liquor laws complicated his work. He arrested moonshiners, not because they had booze, but because the rotgut they distilled from heaven-knows-what could be dangerous, tainted with leads and sometimes lethal. More important, at least from the standpoint of the federal government, they didn’t pay liquor taxes or import duties.
Frescone got his illegal hooch someplace in the blue hills of Kentucky and smuggled it upriver into Chicago. The mob controlled the flow of corn syrup, the easiest and cheapest way to make moonshine liquor, which allowed them to control distribution as soon as the hooch was hatched. He’d been waiting for more than an hour, watching the men unloading casks from the boat and carrying them into a dockside warehouse not far from the Detroit-Superior High Level Bridge. Just a few minutes before, a truck had pulled up, probably to transport the goods to their final destination, one of the Irish gambling parlors that sprang up during Prohibition and remained illegal.
Ness stopped his slow descent. There was no chance of moving any closer without being detected.
“Do we have a plan?” Sheriff Potts asked. They were only about twenty feet from the warehouse. Ness could see two men in white undershirts loading the truck. “?’Cause I would feel a lot better if we had a plan.”
“I do my planning before I leave the office.” Ness watched as the docked boat pushed off, back onto the river, taking six of the men with it. That left four men inside, two loading. They would never have a better opportunity.
The dockside double doors were closed and, judging from the sound, bolted with a wooden crossbar. A few more minutes and the truck would be loaded and the hooch would be gone. “Still got that long axe?”
Potts passed him the sharp implement. “I don’t think running in there with an axe is the same as having a plan.”
“Worked well enough in Chicago.”
“This ain’t Chicago.”
“You’re right about that. Let’s go.”
“Wait just a—”
Too late. Ness was already running down the wooden planked bridge that led to the dock. Sheriff Potts swore silently and followed. Ness stopped in front of the warehouse doors and, without hesitating a second, swung the axe.
The crash of metal against the doors was like a crack of thunder splitting the silence of the night. The wet and weathered wood splintered easily. Potts looked frantically all about them. So far as he could tell, no one was coming this way and no one was shooting at them. Yet.
Ness turned just in time to see the two men previously loading the truck leap into the front seat and speed away. Cut and run at the first sign of trouble—that must have been their working orders. Which was just fine with him. Now the enemy’s numbers were down to four.
With the second swing of the axe, Ness severed the crossbar holding the doors closed, but a lock still held them together. With the third swing, he tore open a passage wide enough to step through.
He dropped the axe and grabbed his pistol. “Best hurry,” he told Potts. “I imagine they know we’re here.” He winked, then pushed through the opening.
“Freeze! Federal agent!”
Four men in gray pinstriped suits and white hats stared back at him. “Hands in the air!”
They complied. They seemed neither threatened not threatening.
Come to think of it, Ness thought, this really isn’t the same as Chicago.
“Something I can do for you, sir?”
Ness recognized Michael Frescone. The droopy left eye he’d picked up in his boxing days and his acne-scarred skin were unmistakable. Plug-ugly—and dangerous. Not just because he was a killer—they all were. But Frescone had the added threat of being smart.
The warehouse was almost completely filled with wooden barrel casks. The kind moonshiners favored.
Ness approached slowly, winding his way through the barrels, his pistol poised, keeping his eye on the four men. “I’m holding you under suspicion of violating the federal tax laws by illegal importation. I have a warrant to search this warehouse. You have the right to examine it.”
Frescone remained calm. “Not necessary. Search all you like.”
“You’re very obliging.”
“Least I can do to show my respect to a duly appointed officer of the law.”
The three goons with Frescone exchanged confused glances. Ness knew they were wondering if their boss wanted them to take him on, and if so, whether they could do it. And who would make the first move.
“Don’t try anything foolish, gentlemen,” Frescone said calmly.
More furtive glances. No one spoke.
“Good.” Ness tugged at the lid of the nearest cask. It didn’t budge. He turned slightly to face his companion. “Potts, get—”
Ness only looked away for a moment, but it was long enough. The goon nearest him lunged forward, swinging. Ness blocked the punch and delivered one of his own to the stomach. The attacker lashed out again, but Ness ducked and the only thing the thug punched was air. Angry, the man rushed forward, arms outstretched. Ness whirled around and reached back over his shoulder, grabbing the man’s left hand. With one fluid motion, he pulled the man over and, thrusting upward with his back, flipped him into the air. The man fell in a heap among the casks.
Ness leveled his gun again. “Anyone else?”
Frescone’s lips parted. “What—was that?”
Ness smiled, a guileless grin that lifted years off his already boyish face. “Jujitsu.”
“What?”
“Something I learned in college.”
Frescone twisted his neck. “Swell way to keep the flies off. Maybe I should learn it.”
“Requires discipline. Yo...
September 13, 1935
It was just after three in the morning and the glint of moonlight off the metal barrel of Michael Frescone’s tommy gun told Eliot Ness he was exactly where he wanted to be.
“Let’s get back to the car and radio for backup.”
Ness’s eyes remained glued to the binoculars. “We don’t have time, Sheriff.”
“We don’t have a choice. Those mob guys are serious trouble.”
“They always are.”
“They got guns.”
“They always do.”
“They ain’t afraid to use ’em, neither!”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Some of Frescone’s men are crack shots. Like to brag about how they can hit a Nehi bottle from fifty paces.”
Ness pushed a loose strand of hair back into place, slicked-back and parted in the center. “Well, I’m not so sorry with a pistol myself, Sheriff. Won a marksmanship award at the U.S. Coast Guard range.”
Cuyahoga County Sheriff Ray Potts looked as though he were about to internally combust. “Do you understand what we’re talking about here? There’s two of us and a dozen of them. They’re heavily armed and they’re killers! Frescone has been blamed for at least ten gangland murders. They’re transporting illegal hooch worth thousands of dollars and they’ll do anything to defend it. These are impossible odds, Ness. Impossible!” Ness glanced at his colleague. In the moonlight, his eyes seemed to twinkle. “Sounds like fun. Ready?”
Ness climbed out of the ditch they were using for cover and headed toward the dock. While he crept forward, he put away his binoculars and unholstered his pistol. He was always more comfortable with a handgun than those bulky machine guns. He’d learned to shoot with accuracy, even from a distance, and he preferred that to the spray-everything-in-sight technique of the tommy gun.
The slope was steep. He had to be careful—and quiet. If the smugglers heard him coming, he’d be a goner. His only chance was to catch them by surprise.
The wind coming off the river chilled him, sending shivers coursing up and down his spine. Seemed no matter how many times he did this, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the strange combination of exhilaration and terror, never entirely subsided. Probably just as well. If he ever lost that edge, he might get sloppy. The rest of the world thought he was fearless—well, that was fine. Only he need know better. Only he needed to know that he got scared every time. And it supercharged him like nothing else could.
He chose each step cautiously, testing it before he put his weight down, careful to move as silently as possible . . .
“Stay down!” Potts hissed. “If they see you they’ll blow you from here to perdition! Let me tell you—there ain’t nothing scarier than staring down the wrong end of a gangster’s gat.”
“When I worked in Kentucky as a revenue agent, I got shot at six different times,” Ness whispered back. “Those hillbillies holed up in the Moonshine Mountains with their squirrel guns gave me more close calls than Capone’s whole gang put together.”
Ness never wanted to leave Chicago, his hometown, but he was in government service so he had followed orders. After Prohibition ended, he spent about a year working in Ohio, Tennessee, and Kentucky for the Alcohol Tax Unit within the Bureau of Internal Revenue, chasing down backwoods rumrunners. It was tough work. Things had been simpler in Chicago, when the Volstead Act was still in place. Booze was illegal, period. You saw it, you seized it. And you took the criminals to jail. But Prohibition had been repealed in 1933. Ness didn’t object on principle; he enjoyed a drink every now and then. But the new liquor laws complicated his work. He arrested moonshiners, not because they had booze, but because the rotgut they distilled from heaven-knows-what could be dangerous, tainted with leads and sometimes lethal. More important, at least from the standpoint of the federal government, they didn’t pay liquor taxes or import duties.
Frescone got his illegal hooch someplace in the blue hills of Kentucky and smuggled it upriver into Chicago. The mob controlled the flow of corn syrup, the easiest and cheapest way to make moonshine liquor, which allowed them to control distribution as soon as the hooch was hatched. He’d been waiting for more than an hour, watching the men unloading casks from the boat and carrying them into a dockside warehouse not far from the Detroit-Superior High Level Bridge. Just a few minutes before, a truck had pulled up, probably to transport the goods to their final destination, one of the Irish gambling parlors that sprang up during Prohibition and remained illegal.
Ness stopped his slow descent. There was no chance of moving any closer without being detected.
“Do we have a plan?” Sheriff Potts asked. They were only about twenty feet from the warehouse. Ness could see two men in white undershirts loading the truck. “?’Cause I would feel a lot better if we had a plan.”
“I do my planning before I leave the office.” Ness watched as the docked boat pushed off, back onto the river, taking six of the men with it. That left four men inside, two loading. They would never have a better opportunity.
The dockside double doors were closed and, judging from the sound, bolted with a wooden crossbar. A few more minutes and the truck would be loaded and the hooch would be gone. “Still got that long axe?”
Potts passed him the sharp implement. “I don’t think running in there with an axe is the same as having a plan.”
“Worked well enough in Chicago.”
“This ain’t Chicago.”
“You’re right about that. Let’s go.”
“Wait just a—”
Too late. Ness was already running down the wooden planked bridge that led to the dock. Sheriff Potts swore silently and followed. Ness stopped in front of the warehouse doors and, without hesitating a second, swung the axe.
The crash of metal against the doors was like a crack of thunder splitting the silence of the night. The wet and weathered wood splintered easily. Potts looked frantically all about them. So far as he could tell, no one was coming this way and no one was shooting at them. Yet.
Ness turned just in time to see the two men previously loading the truck leap into the front seat and speed away. Cut and run at the first sign of trouble—that must have been their working orders. Which was just fine with him. Now the enemy’s numbers were down to four.
With the second swing of the axe, Ness severed the crossbar holding the doors closed, but a lock still held them together. With the third swing, he tore open a passage wide enough to step through.
He dropped the axe and grabbed his pistol. “Best hurry,” he told Potts. “I imagine they know we’re here.” He winked, then pushed through the opening.
“Freeze! Federal agent!”
Four men in gray pinstriped suits and white hats stared back at him. “Hands in the air!”
They complied. They seemed neither threatened not threatening.
Come to think of it, Ness thought, this really isn’t the same as Chicago.
“Something I can do for you, sir?”
Ness recognized Michael Frescone. The droopy left eye he’d picked up in his boxing days and his acne-scarred skin were unmistakable. Plug-ugly—and dangerous. Not just because he was a killer—they all were. But Frescone had the added threat of being smart.
The warehouse was almost completely filled with wooden barrel casks. The kind moonshiners favored.
Ness approached slowly, winding his way through the barrels, his pistol poised, keeping his eye on the four men. “I’m holding you under suspicion of violating the federal tax laws by illegal importation. I have a warrant to search this warehouse. You have the right to examine it.”
Frescone remained calm. “Not necessary. Search all you like.”
“You’re very obliging.”
“Least I can do to show my respect to a duly appointed officer of the law.”
The three goons with Frescone exchanged confused glances. Ness knew they were wondering if their boss wanted them to take him on, and if so, whether they could do it. And who would make the first move.
“Don’t try anything foolish, gentlemen,” Frescone said calmly.
More furtive glances. No one spoke.
“Good.” Ness tugged at the lid of the nearest cask. It didn’t budge. He turned slightly to face his companion. “Potts, get—”
Ness only looked away for a moment, but it was long enough. The goon nearest him lunged forward, swinging. Ness blocked the punch and delivered one of his own to the stomach. The attacker lashed out again, but Ness ducked and the only thing the thug punched was air. Angry, the man rushed forward, arms outstretched. Ness whirled around and reached back over his shoulder, grabbing the man’s left hand. With one fluid motion, he pulled the man over and, thrusting upward with his back, flipped him into the air. The man fell in a heap among the casks.
Ness leveled his gun again. “Anyone else?”
Frescone’s lips parted. “What—was that?”
Ness smiled, a guileless grin that lifted years off his already boyish face. “Jujitsu.”
“What?”
“Something I learned in college.”
Frescone twisted his neck. “Swell way to keep the flies off. Maybe I should learn it.”
“Requires discipline. Yo...
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherBallantine Books
- Publication date2009
- ISBN 10 0345487583
- ISBN 13 9780345487582
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages368
- Rating
Buy New
Learn more about this copy
US$ 14.97
Shipping:
FREE
Within U.S.A.
Top Search Results from the AbeBooks Marketplace
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: New. Buy with confidence! Book is in new, never-used condition. Seller Inventory # bk0345487583xvz189zvxnew
Buy New
US$ 14.97
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: New. New! This book is in the same immaculate condition as when it was published. Seller Inventory # 353-0345487583-new
Buy New
US$ 14.97
Convert currency
Seller Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness A Novel [Hardcover] by Bernhardt, William
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Hardcover. Condition: New. 000-645: Hardcover with Dustjacket. 355 pages. No Defects. A New, Unread Book. A beautiful, square, tight copy with clean, unmarked, acid-free pages. Tight hinges indicate book has never been opened. Perfect Gift Quality. Set in Cleveland, Ohio in the Fall of 1935, Eliot Ness has a terrifying duel with America's First Serial Killer. 2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 1 Stated First Edition, First Printing 2009. Published by Ballantine Books. Seller Inventory # 28512
Buy New
US$ 10.50
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Hardcover. Condition: new. New. Fast Shipping and good customer service. Seller Inventory # Holz_New_0345487583
Buy New
US$ 21.86
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Hardcover. Condition: new. New. Seller Inventory # Wizard0345487583
Buy New
US$ 26.68
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Hardcover. Condition: new. New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. Seller Inventory # think0345487583
Buy New
US$ 28.49
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: new. Seller Inventory # FrontCover0345487583
Buy New
US$ 29.05
Convert currency
Stock Image
Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness A Novel Bernhardt, William
Published by
Ballantine Books
(2009)
ISBN 10: 0345487583
ISBN 13: 9780345487582
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Hardcover. Condition: New. Seller Inventory # XO--055
Buy New
US$ 26.50
Convert currency