Race Morgan’s only contact with the Kefauver Committee was the headlines he read every day in the papers. That changed the night an obscure attorney dropped by the club and told him he had a message from the Organization. Morgan felt the chill finger of fear along his spine, bowed to the inevitable, and led the messenger back to his office.
“You know Mike Hughes?” the messenger asked, the minute the door was closed behind them.
Morgan bobbed his head. “I know Mike Hughes.”
“He’s been getting out of line, muscling in. The big boys can’t make a move because the spotlight’s on everything they do. Hughes has been stooling and trying to take over.” His eyes grew bleak. “You draw the contract.”
Morgan’s face went slack. “That’s not my line. I don’t—”
“You do now,” the messenger told him fla
