Макс Коллинз - True Crime

“Okay, Nate. I won’t press. Maybe it’s none of my business.”

I touched her hand. “It’s your business. You’re my friend. That gives you the right to stick your nose in, at least till I ask you not to.”

Impish smile. “Friend, huh? You sleep with all your friends?”

I managed to do an exaggerated shrug and not pass out. “Just you and Barney,” I said.

“You’re looking for another beating, Heller.”

“I promise I’m not. This omelet is good. Are you sure there was nothing about Dillinger in the papers or on the radio?”

“Of course I’m sure. If John Dillinger had been captured, it’d be all over the place. Wouldn’t it?”

I nodded. Not much pain. “It should’ve took place last night. They were meeting with Anna Sage — she would’ve given them the address or otherwise led the feds to him...”

“Dillinger, you mean.”

“Yes. I don’t understand why it didn’t happen.”

“Maybe something went wrong.”

“Maybe,” I said, and stood. “Mind if I use your phone?”

Not liking it, she said, “Not at all.”

In the living room, I sat in an overstuffed round-looking chair by the window and dialed the phone, a white candlestick type she kept on a low coffee table. The curtains were back and I glanced out as I waited for the call to go through. Down where Lake Shore Drive curved around the front of the Drake, people on Oak Street Beach and the surrounding park formed a blanket of flesh, staring out at the ironic blue lake, where sailboats and yachts taunted them. The boats were keeping away from the shoreline, though; just beyond the bobbing heads of more casual bathers a pathway was being maintained for those single-minded souls competing in the Herald and Examiner fifteen-mile marathon swim.

From the phone a young male voice said, “Division of Investigation, Hart speaking.”

I could hear something of a hubbub in the background.

“I’d like to speak to Inspector Cowley.”

“Inspector Cowley’s tied up. Can I help you?”

“Tell Cowley Nathan Heller’s on the line.”

“Sir, we’re busy here, could you—”

“Tell Cowley Nathan Heller’s on the line.”

There was a pause while he thought it over, then a sigh, and another pause while he fetched Cowley.

“Mr. Heller,” Cowley said, “let’s keep this short. Now what can I do for you?”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got a rather full house for a Sunday afternoon.”

“Twenty or thirty people, and it’s rather frantic; now what do you want?”

“What happened last night?”

“I didn’t think you were planning to be involved in this matter any further, at this stage of the game.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened last night, Cowley?”

“If it’s the reward you’re after, I may be able to arrange a partial—”

“Fuck the reward, and fuck you, Cowley!”

There was a long silence.

Then Cowley said, “We met with Anna Sage last night. She promised to deliver Dillinger to us today. That’s all.”

“That’s all? Why didn’t she give him to you last night?”

“She didn’t expect to see him again till today. She and Polly Hamilton and Dillinger have a date of sorts to go to the movies together. At the Marbro. The features change today, you know.”

“This is stupid — Anna Sage knows where Dillinger’s been staying... it’s a swanky place on Pine Grove.”

“ You know where he’s been staying?”

“Yes.” I gave him the address. I could hear his pencil scribbling it frantically down.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Heller?”

“It’s like I been telling you — I didn’t want to finger the guy because I wasn’t sure he really was Dillinger. I was afraid you guys might blast some poor civilian into Kingdom Come because he had two arms and legs and eyes, just like Johnny.”

“Well, this is Dillinger all right.”

“You won’t get any argument from me on that score. Otherwise I don’t know why Frank Nitti would want him dead.”

Cowley didn’t like being reminded of Nitti’s role in this; I could tell from the silence over the wire.

Then he said, “We’re waiting for a call from Mrs. Sage, any minute now, at which point we’ll go to the Marbro. There are continuous showings all day, and since this plan is in motion already, and we haven’t the manpower to spare for a spur-of-the-moment effort, we won’t be following up on this address, not at this time.”

“Use your own judgment.”

“Our plan of action for the Marbro is well under way. We sent agents over yesterday evening and we’ve made maps covering exits and entrances, alleys and fire escapes, and surrounding streets. We’re ready to put the plan into play when Mrs. Sage calls.”

“Why don’t you just go over to Pine Grove and see if Johnny’s home? Or why not just move into Anna Sage’s apartment till he shows up?”

Silence for a moment; embarrassed silence, I thought.

“Heller, uh... this is Chief Purvis’ plan and, uh, Mr. Hoover has approved it. I’ll make them both aware of the Pine Grove situation, and perhaps they’ll act on it. But I believe we’ll be following through with the Purvis plan...”

“ What plan?”

“We’ll have agents on the fire exits and on either side of the front entrance. Chief Purvis will be on one side, Zarkovich on the other.”

That sounded like a cross fire to me.

“Why them?” I said. “I thought you told me you were going to see to it that Dillinger was captured, not shot.”

“Heller, last night when we met with Mrs. Sage, it was under what you might call cloak-and-dagger conditions. We picked her up on the North Side, drove a ways to a secluded spot along the lake, and I was with Captain O’Neill in one car, while Chief Purvis and Sergeant Zarkovich — and Mrs. Sage — were in the other.”

“What does that have to do with my question?”

“Simply that only Chief Purvis and Sergeant Zarkovich know Mrs. Sage well enough to recognize her... I wasn’t in the car with her.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Have you considered the crowd you’re going to be dealing with at that theater? With this heat wave, everybody and his duck is going to the movies to cool off! If you have to shoot it out, you’re not going to get just Dillinger — you’ll probably bag a grandmother and a ten-year-old or two.”

“Heller, I’m going to be there, and I’ll control the situation myself. You have my word on that.”

“I’m not your goddamn conscience, Cowley. Do what you want.”

“Mr. Heller. If you’ll excuse me... I have to attend a briefing.”

“What, is Little Mel going to explain how he plans to fuck up even worse than Little Bohemia?”

“I don’t appreciate your language, Mr. Heller. It so happens I’m a good Mormon—”

“I don’t care if you’re a bad one. Melvin Purvis is a fuck-up in any religion.”

Cowley cleared his throat. “Sergeant Zarkovich is about to give us a detailed description of Dillinger, now that his appearance has been altered by plastic surgery.”

“Maybe Zarkovich can have his own plastic surgeons explain that: those ‘doctors’ from East Chicago who operated on me with a rubber hose.”

Short pause. “I don’t believe that to be true.”

“Sure you do.”

“I’ve got to go, Heller. Are you, uh, feeling any better?”

“A little, thanks.”

“Get some rest, why don’t you? Leave the police work to us.”

“Speaking of police work, how the hell did you get Captain Stege to go along with this cockeyed plan?”

Silence again.

“Cowley?”

“We see no reason to involve the Chicago police.”