This was a man who looked even younger than his thirty-two years. This was a man who looked like he should be wearing a college graduation mortarboard, not a headful of pomaded, parted-in-the-middle hair, a dark disobedient comma of which made its way down his forehead.

"Your Honor," Ness said, his voice soft, husky, "allow me to be the last to congratulate you on your election." With a smile, he extended a hand.

Burton took the hand, shook it, relieved that the grip was as strong as it was.

He said, "I'm glad to finally get around to meeting you, Mr. Ness. I've heard so much about you, I feel I already know you."

Again Ness smiled, almost shyly Burton thought, and stood and waited until the Mayor rather awkwardly moved across the spacious office, gesturing toward a chair waiting opposite the desk in the corner.

"Sit, please, sit," Burton urged, taking his place behind the desk.

Ness sat, keeping his topcoat on, in apparent anticipation of a brief meeting. He crossed his legs, ankle on knee. Good, Burton thought: he wasn't nervous. He might look like a collegian, but he didn't intimidate easily.

"Smoke, if you like," Burton said, trying a smile out on the young Treasury agent.

"No, thanks. I don't smoke cigarettes."

Burton opened the cigar box on his desk. "Perhaps you'd like one of these Havanas?"

"No. Thanks. Go ahead, though."

Burton smiled tightly and shook his head no and shut the box. Then he said, "I do hope you have some vices. I don't trust a man who's too goddamn pure."

"I'm known to take a drink now and then."

"Ah. That's reassuring somehow. The most famous Prohibition agent of them all is a drinking man."

Ness lifted an eyebrow. "I've never had anything against drinking. The Prohibition law was a lousy piece of legislation."

Burton smiled again, not tightly this time. "That's interesting, coming from a man in your line."