“That’s your job, Chase,” Karpis told Nelson’s lapdog John Paul.
Chase nodded.
“Just sap him or something,” Nelson said, offhandedly. “Don’t kill him or nothin’.”
Karpis underscored that. “No killing — if you can help it. We’re going to be hot enough. If they don’t believe they’ll get him back alive, they won’t pay the freight. We leave a trail of bodies, they’ll figure us to kill him for sure. Got that?”
Heads nodded.
“Now, we got a problem in possibly being recognized,” Karpis said. “I don’t think it’s much of one, ’cause Hoover and his people aren’t going to be looking for the likes of us to be picking him up for supper. But it’s a problem. So me and Chock and Chock’s pal Sullivan will do the pickup in the Hudson.”
Doc said, “Chock’s picture’s been plastered to hell and gone.”
“I know — but he’ll be in a police uniform, driving; he’s a big guy — he’ll look like your typical well-fed Chicago cop — won’t you, Chock?”
“Damn tootin’,” Floyd laughed.
Karpis pointed to himself with a thumb. “My face-lift and glasses and such makes me a good candidate for not being made. And Chock’s friend Sullivan doesn’t have a famous puss like some of the rest of us; he’ll be the other cop, the one in back. I’ll be in a nice suit and look like a state attorney’s assistant. And then the three of us’ll give J. Edgar a ride.”
Nelson pointed toward the map and said, “I want the backup car, parked on Adams there.”
Karpis nodded. “My thoughts exactly. You and Freddie.”
Freddie grinned, goldly, and nodded. “I’ll be wheel man.”
“Doc,” Karpis said, “you got the dock. The loading dock. All you got to do is baby-sit the switch car.”
Doc didn’t seem thrilled about it, but he nodded.
Karpis said, “Chock and Sullivan and me’ll baby-sit Mr. Hoover, incidentally. We got a place waitin’. Nobody else in this room needs know where that place is. Just rest assured it’s safe. Once the ransom’s delivered, I’ll find everybody and distribute the wealth.”
As an outsider to the ways of the outlaw, I was surprised to find that no one objected to this arrangement; the thought of a double cross never arose. They trusted each other. Or at least they trusted Karpis.
Then Doc nodded toward me. “What about Lawrence?”
“He baby-sits the girls.”
There was some laughter.
“Nice work if you can get it!” Floyd hooted, still out of view.
Even Doc smiled. “Where do I sign up to get my harem?” he said.
Nelson didn’t find it funny. “You got a job to do, Lawrence — do it! And no funny business.”
Fred grinned and said, “Don’t you worry about your better half, George — Lawrence’s already got his hands full with Lulu.”
That wasn’t a particularly witty remark, but there was more laughter, nonetheless, some of it from Nelson this time. Nobody seemed to mind that I’d taken over for Candy Walker with “Lulu” so quickly; it was just part of their world.
Floyd’s voice said, “Seriously, fellers — I think we oughta talk money. Jim mentioned he’d been promised five grand — and that sounds kinda low to me, even if his job is on the soft side.”
Doc said, “I’m for that. Lawrence’ll fall just as far as the rest of us, if it all comes down around us. Kidnapping’s kidnapping.”
Nelson jumped up. “He don’t get a full share. No way he gets a full share.”
Fred said, “Some of his share’s got to go to Candy.”
“Candy’s got no kin,” Doc said. “So it goes to Lulu.”
Nelson laughed, sat back down. “So it goes to Lawrence after all.”
There was some more general good-natured laughter, and Karpis pushed the smoky air with his palms, the teacher quieting his class. “We come to money, then. Fine. You might as well know an extra cut comes off the top.”
“Fuck!” Nelson said. “What for?”
Karpis said, “There’s a silent partner.”
“Who?” Nelson demanded.
Karpis shook his head no. “No name. That’s why they call it ‘silent,’ B.G.”
There were some smiles at the use of the initials; Nelson didn’t pick up on it, but Karpis was gently deriding him.
Karpis went on. “Our silent partner is bankrolling the job, out of his share. If it queers, he takes the loss. Also, he provided the inside dope on Hoover’s activities.” He nodded toward the map. “And he helped me put together this whole shootin’ match.”
Floyd’s voice: “It’s fair, George. It’s only fair.”
Doc Barker was nodding, and Fred said, “It is fair.”
Nelson, disgruntled, said, “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”
Karpis smiled benignly. “We got a big pie to cut up, George. We are talking about five hundred thousand dollars.”
Five hundred thousand dollars!
Suddenly I heard myself talking.
“You really think the government is going to meet that?” I asked.
Karpis said, “Yeah, I think so. I can’t guarantee it. But I think they’ll meet the ransom demand, yeah.”
I didn’t, but held back further comment.
Nelson was putting his two cents in. “Uncle Sam can just print us up some money,” he said, “and if he don’t — then we will kill Hoover, and won’t that be sweet.”
Doc, not liking the sound of that particularly, said, “Then what?”
Nelson grinned; he was shifting into high-gear Cagney. “Then we grab Cummings or the president or somebody, and let’s see ’em fuck with us then.”
Nobody countered that. Just no arguing with logic, I guess.
Karpis said, “Here’s the way the money shakes down. We’re going to pay Lawrence twenty grand off the top, and give Lulu five, out of respect to Candy. Any argument?”
No argument.
“That gives each of us fifty grand and pocket change.”
The room was quiet as church, while everybody contemplated the new start that could mean. That could indeed get Chock Floyd “across the river,” in style.
“Get some rest, boys,” Karpis said. “Drink and be merry if you like — if you ain’t alone, show her a good time. And sleep till noon. But at one, meet back in this room, for a final run-through. Because tomorrow’s opening night, already.”
People stood up, started moving out.
That was when I got my first good look at Chock Floyd’s friend Sullivan, and he got his first good look at me.
We both recognized each other, and why not?
He was the man who’d called himself John Howard, when he came to my office last month — the traveling salesman who hired me to follow his “wife,” Polly Hamilton.
38
It was the longest few moments of my life, standing there in Karpis’ room near the door, about to go out, heart in my throat as I looked in the face of a man who knew I wasn’t Jimmy Lawrence.
Slowly he removed the dark glasses and there my name was, in his eyes: “Heller,” they said, narrowing. Hell, he was as shocked as I was.
And there we stood, blocking the way.
“Move along, gents,” Nelson said. “We baked in this oven long enough.”
I swallowed; said, “Sure.”
My onetime client swallowed, nodded, put the dark glasses back on, moved out the door and I followed him out into the breezily warm summer evening, my hand drifting toward the automatic under my jacket as I walked.