Ace Atkins - Infamous

Harvey Bailey eyed the golf ball, lined up the drive from the hogpen, and aimed for Boss Shannon’s old barn to the north. He still had a bad limp, the bullet out of him and wound stitched up crooked, but they’d lugged the set of clubs all the way from Kansas City and it would’ve been a shame not to play. This being the first time he’d a chance to use them, with all the shooting and bank robbing getting in the way of some solid sport. He took a breath and loosened his shoulders and smacked the ball right in the sweet spot, feeling it down to his toes as the ball went skyward and dropped damn near the mouth of the barn, sending some worried guineas up in a flurry of feathers. “Beat that, chump.”

Miller plopped down a ball. He was shirtless, wearing the tailored pants he’d had on for days and the handmade wingtips. His upper body was corded with muscle like a fighter’s, with skin as white as blanched paper, turning pink in the morning sunshine. He took a few practice swings and sent the ball up and away, and it disappeared somewhere over the weathered barn.

“I say the barn door is the hole,” Harvey said.

“Fine by me.”

“You want to get a posthole digger?” he said. “I could get a stick and a rag.”

“Sure.”

“The Shannons seem a bit jumpy, don’t they?” Harvey said, hoisting the bag up onto his shoulder and limping toward the barn. A bony coonhound loped after them like a spectator to the sport.

“Boss especially.”

“You think he wants us to leave?”

“Could be,” Verne said. “How’s the leg?”

“Walking helps,” Harvey said. “Wound’s healing clean, no thanks to that damn butcher who sewed it.”

He dropped the bag and chose a number two iron, spying a cat sitting atop a mule plow. The big tom paid the men no mind as it hiked its leg skyward and started to lick its balls.

“I knew a man in Lansing who could do that,” Harvey said. “Or claimed he could.”

“A man can learn lots of things in prison,” Miller said. “I’d rather hang than go back.”

“How’s Vi?”

“Scared.”

“She want you to come up there?”

“Sure,” he said. “ Brooklyn isn’t her kind of place.”

“You trust those people?”

“I did a job for them and, oh, well, they owe me.”

“And she understands?”

“Vi understands. Always has.”

“You love that woman, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“You gonna marry her?”

“When all this ends,” he said. “Get ahead a little.”

“When does this stuff ever end?” Harvey asked. “I got out before this country went in the toilet. That’s what happens. You try and go legit, get into some corny business like filling stations, and then the world shits on you. Take what you can get when you can get it.”

“One more score,” Verne said. “Something big for us both.”

“Verne?” Harvey said, setting the ball right for the big tom. “I don’t know how many different ways to say it. Next time I walk into a bank, it’ll be with a checkbook, not a gun.”

Verne met his gaze with those cold blue eyes and smiled.

Harvey tapped the ball with a flick and it sailed within a hair of the big cat, the animal toppling over on his back and scampering away.

“Don’t look back,” Harvey said. “Don’t get greedy. Know your price. When it’s met, walk away.”

Verne walked around the back of the barn, searching for his ball in some high grass and swatting away some goats set loose to clear it. He switched at the grass with his iron and looked for a good ten minutes before Harvey called time on the hunt.

Behind him, maybe a half mile away, Harvey’s eye caught old man Shannon’s Model T kicking up dust, heading out to the house where his boy lived. This was the fourth trip he’d made that morning. Twice with George and now twice alone.

“What’s going on at Armon’s place?”

“That kid needs a swift kick in the ass,” Miller said. “Son of a bitch. You saw that ball land here, didn’t you?”

“Did you see George’s face when we asked if he’d like to take on some work last week?”

“What of it?”

“When’s the last time ole George Kelly didn’t want to pick up some bucks behind the wheel? He wet himself coming around the Green Lantern, wanting to work a job, and far as I could tell he and Kit aren’t rolling in it. You think he got something else going?”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Kit’s got into something.”

“You trust that rancid bitch?”

Miller glanced at him and smiled. He stared out at the farm road and the Model T, growing close and then passing the men in a big old cloud of dust. He reached down and found the ball, tossing it out on some clear land, just a stroke away from a pile of goat shit.

“How ’bout we play up the road a bit?” Miller said. “Might find something that interests us.”

ALL THAT MONEY MADE THE BANKER NERVOUS, BUT MRS. Urschel had signed the forms, and there was nothing that the little bald fella could do about it. He watched at the far end of the Slick Company board-room, leaning into the desk with white knuckles that made Gus Jones smile, while his comptroller and staff worked overtime to log every serial number onto individual pieces of paper. The money was circulated-as requested in the letter that came to box number 807 that morning-all from the Federal Reserve in Kansas City. If Mr. Urschel came back safe, they’d pass these numbers to every lawman, post office, and bank in the country. The gang left little to chance with a letter that spelled out every dance step.

In view of the fact that you have the Ad inserted as per our instructions, we gather that you are prepared to meet our ultimatum.

You will pack TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS (($200,000) in USED GENUINE FEDERAL RESERVE NOTES OF TWENTY DOLLAR DENOMINATION in a suitable LIGHT COLORED LEATHER BAG and have someone purchase transportation for you, including berth, aboard train #28 (The Sooner) which departs at 10:10 p.m. via the M.K. &T Lines for Kansas City, Mo.

You will ride on the OBSERVATION PLATFORM where you may be observed by someone at some Station along the Line between Okla. City and K.C., Mo. If indications are alright, somewhere along the Right-of-Way you will observe a Fire on the Right Side of Track (Facing direction train is bound). That fi rst Fire will be your Cue to be prepared to throw BAG to Track immediately after passing SECOND FIRE.

Mr. Urschel will, upon instructions, attend to the fi res and secure the bag when you throw it off, he will open it and transfer the contents to a sack that he will be provided with, so, if you comply with our demand and do not attempt any subterfuge, as according to the News reports you have pledged, Mr. Urschel should be home in a very short while.

REMEMBER THIS-IF ANY TRICKERY IS ATTEMPTED YOU WILL FIND THE REMAINS OF URSCHEL AND INSTEAD OF JOY THERE WILL BE DOUBLE GRIEF-FOR SOME-ONE VERY NEAR AND DEAR TO THE URSCHEL FAMILY IS UNDER CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE AND WILL LIKE-WISE SUFFER FOR YOUR ERROR.

If there is the slightest HITCH in these PLANS for any reason what-so-ever, not your fault, you will proceed on into Kansas City, Mo. And register at the Muehlebach Hotel under the name of E. E. Kincaid of Little Rock, Arkansas, and await further instructions there, however, there should not be, IF YOU COMPLY WITH THESE SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS.

THE MAIN THING IS DO NOT DIVULGE THE CONTENTS OF THIS LETTER TO ANY LAW AUTHORITIES FOR WE HAVE NO INTENTION OF FUTHER COMMUNICATION.

YOU ARE TO MAKE THIS TRIP SATURDAY, JULY 29th 1933. BE SURE YOU RIDE THE PLATFORM OF THE REAR CAR AND HAVE THE BAG WITH MONEY IN IT FROM THE TIME YOU LEAVE OKLAHOMA CITY.