Handsome Harry (16 page)

Sheetz was perfectly groomed, every hair in place, his fingernails buffed to a shine. He was one of those guys whose age was impossible to tell by his looks—he might’ve been thirty years old or fifty. He had a diamond in his stickpin and another in his ring. His manner was casual but his eyes were constantly on the prowl. He thanked me for coming to see him and said he appreciated the risk involved in doing so, although the events of the day before had made it clear I wasn’t any more afraid of risk than our mutual friend John. He said he had enjoyed his dealings with John, which had been fruitful for them both, and he was sorry to hear of his predicament in Ohio. He hoped things worked out for him.

I said I hoped so too, and we left the subject of John at that.

As I’d expected, what he had for me was a bank, only it wasn’t a set-up. Like a lot of other banks around the country in these hard times, this one had been officially closed down, but it was still serving local business in such matters as lease and deed contracts and so forth, transactions that called for little cash beyond service fees. Through one of his sources, Sheetz had learned the bank would soon be reopened, and that a few days before then it would receive a large shipment of cash from the federal mint. Between ten and twelve thousand dollars, according to the source.

I asked what was in it for him and he said a third. I said that was a hell of a cut for just pointing me to a bank that wasn’t even a set-up.

He said he ought to take more than a third
because
it wasn’t a set-up. This wasn’t one of the banks he got skims from. The only money he’d ever see from it was a cut of the take.

I said it was still a big slice for nothing more than steering me to a bank.

He said I was free to say no and go find my own jug to rob, see how easy it was to find a fat one.

He had me over a barrel. I’m sure he knew I meant to get John out of jail and I needed some fast cash to work with.

All right, I said. Deal.

I
t took a while for Fat Charley to realize I wasn’t joking when I said the job was the First National Bank in St. Marys, Ohio.

Gadzooks, he said, my old sweet home.

Which all of us except Pearl and Mary had already known. Naturally we ribbed him plenty about it. Russell said it was a pretty sad state of affairs when a man celebrated his homecoming by robbing the town bank. Red wondered how a community with a sacred name like St. Marys could have produced such a lowdown individual as Charles Makley. And so on. For all the kidding, though, our excitement was like an electric charge. Three days out of M City and we had a score lined up.
Wooo.

The only drawback to the job was that St. Marys was so close to Lima, little more than twenty miles between them, Charley said. There was bound to be a hullabaloo after we hit the bank—cops all over, probably some roadblocks, the locals all worked up and wary—and so the smart thing to do would be to let things cool a little before we set out to spring John. The way Charley saw it, the delay would actually work to our advantage. Once the excitement about the robbery died down, the locals would relax their guard even more than usual, simply out of relief. If we waited a week or so between the bank job and John’s deliverance, we’d stand a better chance of catching his keepers with their pants down and have an easier time of it.

The way
I
figured it, John wanted out of that cell as soon as possible, but Charley had a point and we all knew it.

Copeland and Russell had got back from Shytown shortly after Pearl and I returned from East Chicago. Knuckles had picked up a .38 revolver for Shouse, so now all of us had a piece. Pearl added even more to our arsenal when she got me a sawed-off twelve gauge from her office at the Side Pocket. There’s nothing like a shotgun to ensure everybody’s full attention and prompt cooperation in a holdup.

That night we all took supper together at a café, then said so long to Pearl and Darla and left for Indianapolis to retrieve Mary before heading to the Ohio hideout. Shouse and Jenkins went with Copeland in his car. Russ and Charley and Red rode with me.

On the drive down, Russell told us about his two days in Chicago. He said Opal shared a one-bedroom apartment with her sister Patty Cherrington, and the girls flipped a coin to see who got the bedroom. Opal won the toss, so Knuckles and Patty made do with the foldout sofa bed in the living room. But Knuckles got drunk and started accusing Patty of cheating on him, and Russell finally had to get out of bed and tell him to knock off the yelling or go home. Copeland said to look who’s talking, that Russ and Opal sounded like feeding time at the zoo when they were humping. That got a good laugh out of Opal, but Patty’d had enough of Knuckles’ ranting and told him to get the hell out. The next day he telephoned her and they had a long talk and he must’ve said the right things because Patty relented and said okay, she’d go spend the night at his place. Russell didn’t see them again till it was time to get back to Kokomo.

As for himself and Opal, Russell said, they never left the bedroom in those two days except to go to the bathroom, and all they had to eat was cheese and crackers.

Truth to tell, we didn’t really care all that much about eating, Russell said, if you get my drift.

Red said if crackers and cheese was
all
Russell ate, then he wasn’t treating his lady friend as well as he ought, if he got
his
drift.

Fat Charley said he thought the conversation would be better
served if we didn’t speculate about Mr. Clark’s skills or lack thereof in the perverse sexual arts.

Fuck you guys, Russell said.

Now
that
would be perverse, Red said.

Charley said he was sure what Mr. Clark meant to say was that he and his lady had nourished themselves almost exclusively on love.

Exactly right, Russell said.

Red said that on their first night at Darla’s house Shouse made a pass at her and she said nothing doing. Shouse then offered to pay her but said she’d have to put it on the cuff since he didn’t have any money. She said she never did business on credit or in her own home.

She says to Ed, I
live
here, mister, Red said, and man, you could’ve chilled your drink with her tone of voice.

Jenkins was polite the whole time they were there, but he generally kept his distance from Darla. Red thought the little fruit was scared of her. He himself got along with the lady just swell. He mowed the lawn and helped her re-pot some plants, and after they did the supper dishes they danced to music on the radio. Shouse tried to cut in, and Red was willing, but Darla told Shouse Sorry, my dance card’s full up for the night.

I guess he’ll think twice before offering a working girl money under her own roof again, Red said.

He and Darla danced and talked until Shouse and Jenkins turned in, and then she took him to her room. He slept with her on the second night too. In the morning he’d asked her if she’d like to come along with him and live the exciting life of an outlaw-ette. She said it sounded like fun, but no thanks, her life was satisfying enough as it was. Satisfying wasn’t the same as exciting, Red told her, and she said he was right about that, but it tended to last longer.

He understood and so did we. He’d only asked because he didn’t want to have to wonder the rest of his life if she might’ve said yes.

W
e were almost to Indytown when an announcer cut into the radio music to report all excited that Oklahoma Jack Clark had been captured in Hammond, about thirty-five miles east of Michigan City.

A taxi driver Jack had asked to take him to Chicago turned him over to the cops instead. According to the report, Jack was having terrible stomach pain and said he was glad he’d been caught so he could get medical treatment. I didn’t doubt it. What’s more, the old sheriff they’d taken hostage, Sheriff Neal, had shown up out of nowhere at the Gary police station. Everybody thought he’d been killed, but he was only a little worse for wear and had caught a bad cold.

Sheriff Neal told reporters he’d been abducted in his car by four escapees from the Michigan City penitentiary. They’d gone about a dozen miles when the car slid off into a ditch and broke an axle. The fugitives figured the highway would be full of cops any minute, so they took to the woods, hauling him along as a hostage. They spent two days tramping through the boondocks, chilled and wet and hungry, drinking from ponds and mud puddles. Neal said Dietrich was the leader of the bunch and gave Jack Clark a gun and the job of keeping an eye on him. But Neal and Clark were both in a bad way and had a hard time keeping up with the others, and yesterday around noon they’d been deserted.

After another miserable night in the woods, they’d stumbled onto a highway and hiked into some burg. Okie Jack made the sheriff give him his overcoat to cover up his prison issue. The other convicts had taken the sheriff’s wallet, but Neal had a few dollars in his pocket and they got a bite in a café. Neal said he didn’t think Jack was the sort to shoot him, but you never know, so he thought it best not to let on to anybody in the place that one of the fugitives in the news was right there among them. They then rode an interurban to Gary, where Jack wished the sheriff well and left him. And Neal went to the police station.

There was no word on the other three convicts, nor on the six of us. The announcer promised more details as they became available.

Poor old Okie Jack, Russell said.

Yeah, Red said. But don’t it sound familiar, Dietrich leaving a buddy behind?

W
e turned onto Mary’s block and everybody piped down and kept a sharp eye out for cops. I drove slowly down the street and past her apartment house, Copeland trailing me by a few car lengths. The coast looked clear, so I signaled Knuckles to pull over, and I parked at the corner and left the motor running while I went to get her.

Margo answered the door and smiled big when she saw me. It’s him, she called out, and gave me a hug. Mary came into the living room with a small suitcase in hand and her mother at her heels, looking none too pleased. Jocko wasn’t around. I’d find out from Mary that he’d been gone since the day after I showed up, none of them knew where to, or cared. Mary gave her mom a peck on the cheek and said to take care of herself. She hugged Margo and they said something to each other in whispers. Then Mary hooked her arm around mine and we hustled out of there.

I had Jenkins and Red switch cars because Jenkins was the smallest of us and could ride up front with me and Mary without crowding her, then Copeland followed me to the east-west highway and we headed for Ohio.

We’d barely cleared the city limits when I looked in the rearview and saw a car swoop around Copeland’s Olds and come up fast behind me. The silhouette of its rooftop bubble showed against the glow of Knuckles’ headlights.

Cops, I said.

Russ turned and looked through the back window. Two of them, he said. One’s checking something in his lap with a flashlight.

I’ll wager it’s a list of plates, Charley said.

They stayed close behind us for about another mile, then hit both the red light and the siren.

I said Here we go, and stomped on the gas and the Ford jumped forward like a dog let off a leash.

Whatever the cops were driving, it was pretty speedy too. I passed a farm truck at sixty-five and the cops stayed right with us, only a few car lengths behind. Through the rumble of the motor I heard a muted pop-pop and glanced in the mirror as the one leaning out the passenger window fired again with a yellow spark and there was a thunk against the rear of the car.

I said Get down, and Mary ducked her head below the top of the seat. Jenkins was hunched low against the shotgun door with his hand on the revolver in his waistband.

They wouldn’t be shooting except they know it’s us, Russell said. He bent down to get the sawed-off from under the seat and I heard Charley work the slide on his .380.

Not yet, I said. Hang on.

I’d spotted a junction road up ahead and we were almost to it when I tapped the brakes and cut the wheel hard. We swerved into the turn with the tires skidding and the left side of the car started lifting as we went off on the shoulder and I thought we were going to roll. I heard the shotgun door snap open and Mary gave a little shriek and I managed to steer the car back onto the road and we sped on. I glanced over and saw the flapping door and no Jenkins and then looked in the rearview and saw the cop car sliding off the shoulder in a haze of dust and
wham
it hit a rail fence I hadn’t even known was there and knocked posts flying and lost a headlight and came to a sideways stop with the one light shining across the road. Copeland’s car wasn’t behind us anymore.

Then Russell and Charley were looking out the back window and blocking my view. Holy shit, Russ said.

I don’t see him, Charley said.

My God, Mary said, he just…
sailed
out. She flung a hand to show how Jenkins left the car.

I eased off the gas but Charley said it wouldn’t be smart to turn back. Those cops were shooters and we had Mary with us and for all we knew Jenkins had broken his neck.

He’s right, Pete, Russell said.

I stepped on it again.

We ditched the Ford in an alley in Shelbyville and swiped a pair of sedans, Russell grabbing a Hudson and me a Studebaker. In Greensburg we swapped plates with a couple of cars in a diner parking lot.

We had a tough time finding the hideout house in the dark but eventually did. Knuckles greeted us at the door with a drink in his hand. It was obvious he’d been hitting the sauce hard.

Jesus, he said, I thought they had you guys.

Shouse and Red were playing rummy and drinking beer at the table. Red said What kept you?

T
he house was clean and roomy enough for all of us, affording everyone his own bedroom except for me and Mary, who shared one. The place had a nice view of the river and was as secluded as Knuckles had said. You couldn’t see the house from the passing highway, and we made sure to keep out of sight of the road whenever we went outside to stretch our legs. To play it safe, we didn’t even buy our groceries in Hamilton, which was only a little way up the road, but sent Knuckles to Cincinnati for them. He brought back some newspapers too and we read all about Okie Jack’s capture and the continuing manhunt for the Michigan City fugitives. They were calling Sheriff Neal a hero.