Aside from the sticky temperatures outdoors, another element is working against the mayor. U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald has had his hand on the thermostat at City Hall and he’s been ratcheting up the swelter all season, with indictments of several members of the mayors’ administration—and he’s not done yet.

Daley is "a conflicted human being," said Don Rose, long-time Chicago political consultant. "He is legitimately under attack for a whole lot of things ... I think he’s genuinely distressed."

In a rare nod to personal and professional strain, the mayor commented at a recent news conference that, "Sometimes you’re in the mountains and sometimes you’re in the valley," and added his oft-heard mantra, "I love my job. I love this city"—perhaps uttered as much to prop himself up as to indicate his steadfast devotion to Chicago.

The mayor’s response to the ever-lengthening litany of allegations of "massive fraud" in his administration appears to be an innocent astonishment—what several City Hall observers have called the Casablanca standard:

"I’m shocked—shocked to hear there’s gambling in this casino." The line was famously said by a police chief feigning surprise at the discovery of local corruption in the classic Humphrey Bogart film.

But politically, Daley may have no other choice. "What he’s doing under best advice is deny, deny, deny," Rose said. "I’m sure he’s getting coached in it, and instinctively he knows he can’t put himself in that position [to admit wrongdoing]."

But this begs the question: Exactly how is the mayor of Chicago supposed to act when some of those near and dear—from his Bridgeport neighborhood and his past; those he’s personally appointed to his inner circle—are falling to corruption charges, embroiled in patronage scandals, busted for skimming off the city’s trough and heading to the slammer for it?

It’s like a "Chinese torture drip," said Donald Haider, former budget director and chief financial officer for the city of Chicago, now a program director at Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management.

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Federal investigators have an incentive to "get the big fish" in order to prove the charge of conspiracy, Haider said, and the more city workers they can entangle, the easier it will be. The indictments have reached only a few levels away from the mayor, climbing as high as Daley’s former patronage chief, Robert Sorich, and the city’s water commissioner, Donald Tomczak. And the city’s streets and sanitation commissioner, Al Sanchez, resigned recently.

Of course, Mayor Daley is no stranger to political crisis; he’s dealt with it throughout much of his time in office, points out Laura Washington, deputy press secretary to the late Mayor Harold Washington. Mayor Washington had his own federal investigations to contend with. "Both [Mayor Washington and Mayor Daley] have been very savvy political animals," she said.

"Daley has probably built up a thick skin, but it sometimes doesn’t let him see reality," she suggested, speaking of his refusal to acknowledge publicly the improprieties of some in his administration. "Any corruption is wrong," was all he would say at a news conference this week.

Thick skin or not, the heat is on—and federal investigators aren’t the only forces working to make the mayor sweat. From calls by attorney Michael Shakman to have Daley and City Hall held in contempt of court, to the Cook County Republican chairman putting a $10,000 bounty on Daley’s head for evidence that leads to his indictment, the pressure has been considerable.

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After repeated questioning by reporters in recent weeks that he must have had some knowledge of corruption with his reputation as a micromanager, the mayor snapped back with a stiff upper lip, grasping his lectern. "I’m not a micromanager. I have never done that—because you cannot micromanage a government like this. It is impossible."

As the summer blazes on and Daley makes proverbial treks up and down from valley to mountains and back again, his approach has been to shift focus from Fitzgerald’s regular allegations by keeping busy with the work of a mayor’s office. In recent weeks, he’s proposed to take hiring out of City Hall, he’s appointed a new cleanup crew of top aides, and he’s talked up a potential bid for the 2016 Olympics.

When questioned by reporters at a news conference last week, called to promote fall school attendance, the mayor tried to steer reporters’ questions away from a potential 2007 mayoral campaign back to his current work for the city.

"It’s amazing," the mayor said. "I just got elected in 2003, and everybody is asking every day if you are running for re-election. Why don’t you just let the mayor do his job ... and let the people determine whether or not [to run]?"

In a Financial Times article that ran on Tuesday, Daley said of a potential bid for re-election in 2007 that he’s "not ruling it in or out ... I’m not here to beat my father’s record," he added.

A former alderman who frequently fought with the first Mayor Daley, Leon Despres, is empathetic to the current mayor’s situation. "I think it’s a heavy toll to be criticized day after day," Despres said. "He has to rely on the people around him to keep him up."

Adding to political pressures, the closely held Daley family has been facing prolonged challenges at home. His wife, Maggie, has battled with breast cancer for some time; his son, Patrick, enlisted last year in the Army and may soon be deployed from boot camp to Iraq or Afghanistan.

For a family that has long had a reputation for its solidarity—the mayor’s father, Mayor Richard J. Daley was famous for his quiet election night dinners with his wife and children after winning multiple terms—such blows to the center of Daley’s strength are no doubt trying.

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Though politicians must assume a certain amount of criticism by the nature of the work, the experience can still be harrowing. "As alderman I was—for some months—getting constant public criticism," Despres recalled. "It was very hard. It makes you feel discouraged."

The personal element of political life is quite real for the mayor, whose very name carries the weight of expected political success. "He’s very upset," said Dick Simpson, former alderman and professor of political science at UIC. "He takes [attacks on his administration] very seriously ... and he doesn’t want his legacy tarnished."

While the shine seems to be coming off a bit as indictments come down from Fitzgerald and his team, the mayor cannot be counted out, Simpson contended.

"He can’t be defeated on just corruption or patronage," he said, if Daley choses to seek re-election in 2007. Simpson also pointed out that Daley could easily raise the necessary millions to set off "another presidential-style campaign" replete with polling, direct mail and television ads.

But if the tide of indictments and convictions continue to compound "with a few more Reverend Meeks stops," referring to the prominent black state senator who recently alleged a racially biased police traffic stop in Chicago, it could all "come together in a perfect storm," Simpson said. And Daley’s re-election—or a decision to run again—could be in doubt.

Some think Daley may be able to mitigate the pain through efforts of his own and also through a little luck. We can expect him to "continue to ribbon cut," Haider said of the mayor’s efforts to keep a positive spin out front and center. But ultimately, "It’s a waiting game. You light candles at night hoping for something to pre-empt this [negative publicity]," such as news from Washington, D.C., or an investigation into Governor Rod Blagojevich’s administration — either of which could shift the focus from the embattled mayor.

From a crisis-management perspective, it’s about watching the calendar, Simpson said, identifying critical dates and events that could direct the focus elsewhere.

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Strategy and calendar-watching aside, to endure the prolonged airing of City Hall’s dirty laundry, some think Daley’s success will be determined by a struggle—and eventual victory over—his own inner demons.

"He was a mean little guy," Rose purported, speaking of Daley’s early days in office as an Illinois state senator when then-fellow senator Dawn Clark Netsch used to call him "dirty little Ritchie."

With the death of his firstborn son, Kevin, around the same time his father died, "he went through a very humbling, personal challenge," said Rose.

"Suddenly everything immortal about him from his father to his offspring [was gone]."

Through this period, Rose said, Daley experienced the "personal epiphany" that launched him into his position as a "more serious governmental activist."

Real efforts at beautifying Chicago, advocacy for "green" development in the city, school reform, an interest in mental health and advocating for the disabled —all began to emerge as his politics evolved.

"But he is still that other guy, too," Rose said. "[He’s] still part of the Bridgeport political culture."

Although Daley has no control over the depth and severity of the federal investigations, he is expected to face them with a continued stubborn denial.

The wildcard factors of his wife’s health, his son’s military career and his brother’s own political pressures will surely play a quieter, but no less important role in his future than the probing of investigators. And in the great Daley tradition, blood may prove thicker than the intensity of a scorching Chicago summer.