Jack Higgins: Dillinger

Martha Ryan blushed and Jarvis said, ‘It’s the little lady’s first big assignment, Lillian.’

‘Next thing, you’ll be telling me her ageing mother’s in the hospital and she needs the money.’

Jarvis grinned and turned to Martha. ‘Hey, you didn’t tell me.’

Martha Ryan smiled. ‘I won’t lie to you, Mrs Holley. Any kind of story from here would get me a byline and could make my career.’

Lillian Holley looked her over calmly. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to see a woman ambitious for a change, instead of all these hustling men.’

Martha Ryan said, ‘Just five minutes with him? Please Mrs Holley, it could be my break.’

Jarvis patted Martha Ryan’s hand. ‘Too much to expect, angel. I mean all these guys here have been hanging around for days trying to see John Dillinger. They’d go crazy. No, it can’t be done.’

Lillian Holley noticed how Martha Ryan gently moved her hand away from Jarvis’s condescending pat. ‘You men,’ she said to Jarvis, taking his bait, ‘think you know everything. Who the hell do you think is in charge around here? If I say this girl sees Dillinger, she sees him and there’s nothing those creeps can do about it.’

‘Sorry, Lillian, no offence meant,’ Jarvis said hastily.

Lillian Holley leaned across the table to Martha Ryan. ‘I’ll give you five minutes, that’s all, you understand?’

The girl stared at her in amazement. ‘You mean it? You really mean it? Five minutes with Dillinger.’

‘Hey, you got a great title for your feature there,’ Jarvis told her.

Lillian Holley said, ‘I’m leaving now. Give me a couple of minutes, then report to the back entrance of the jail. You’ll be expected. And keep it to yourself for now.’

‘Oh, I will, Mrs Holley,’ Martha Ryan said.

Lillian Holley stood up and turned to Jarvis. ‘And that goes for you, too. Keep your mouth shut on this one, Mike, or don’t come back.’

She nodded to the two deputies and followed them to the door.

Martha Ryan said, ‘I can’t believe it.’ She turned to Jarvis as he sat down again. ‘Have you any idea what this could mean to me, Mr Jarvis?’

‘Sure I do,’ he said. ‘New York, next stop.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘And what I said about sharing the story. Forget it. This one’s yours. Who knows, maybe you could get a Pulitzer.’

She was almost in tears. ‘But why are you doing this for me? I don’t understand?’

‘Simple,’ he said. ‘I work out of AP’s New York office myself. Maybe if you get there, you’ll let me buy you a cup of coffee some time.’ He smiled, reached across to pat her hand.

Instead, Martha Ryan took his hand and pumped it. Thank you, Mr Jarvis,’ she said.

‘Call me Mike.’

‘Thank you, Mike.’

Jarvis smiled. ‘Now get the hell out of here and get your story.’

Youngblood, leaning against the door, watching, now made a quick gesture. ‘Someone’s coming.’

Dillinger quickly lay on the bed. As he lit a cigarette the key rattled in the lock, the sliding bars opened and a guard stood to one side as Lillian Holley entered followed by the young woman.

‘On your feet, Johnny,’ Mrs Holley said. ‘I’d like you to meet a lady. This is Miss Martha Ryan of the Denver Press and I’ve told her she can have five minutes with you.’

‘Hell, Mrs Holley,’ Youngblood said, ‘I could do with five minutes there myself.

As Youngblood spoke, there was the most extraordinary change in Dillinger. He was on his feet in an instant, his face pale, his eyes very dark so that Youngblood recoiled as from a blow in the face.

‘Sorry, Mr Dillinger,’ he whispered.

Dillinger turned to Martha Ryan, his charming half smile on view again. ‘Miss Ryan, what can I do for you?’

She was, for a moment, almost overcome. He was not what she thought he’d be. Though he was shorter than she’d expected, his shoulders were those of a bigger man. His restless, intelligent face and pleasant, courteous voice carried a curious authority.

Her throat was dry, but she managed to speak. ‘Well, I know your background, Mr Dillinger, everyone does. Your family, that kind of stuff. I just wanted to ask you some other kinds of questions.’

He pulled a chair forward. ‘Fire away.’

She took a pad and pencil from her purse. ‘They say you intend to escape from here. Is that true?’

The question was so naive that Lillian Holley laughed harshly and answered it for him. ‘This section of the jail, honey, the new section, is escape-proof. That’s the way the architect designed it. Even if he got through that door he’d have to pass through God knows how many gates and armed guards.’

Dillinger turned to the girl. ‘Satisfied?’

‘But they say your friends are coming to get you out.’

‘What friends? If I had friends, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to crash Mrs Holley’s Indiana Alcatraz, would they?’

The half smile was still firmly in place, as if he was laughing at the world and everyone in it. ‘However, if an attractive honey like you’d come along for the ride, I might decide to try for the outside.’ He winked at Mrs Holley. ‘Course, Mrs Holley could come along as chaperone.’

Martha Ryan wasn’t sure whether he was making a pass or a joke or both at the same time. She tried again. ‘Have you any interest in politics, Mr Dillinger?’

‘Not until Mr Roosevelt came along. You can say I’m for him all the way, and for the NRA – particularly for banking, only he’ll have to hurry.’

She looked genuinely bewildered. ‘I don’t understand, you’re a ...’ She hesitated.

‘A thief?’ He said helpfully. ‘True. I rob the banks, if that’s what you mean, but who do they rob, Miss Ryan? Indiana, Kansas, Iowa, Texas – take your choice. People thrown off their farms wholesale while the banks foreclose, then sell out at a huge profit to the big wheat combines.’

‘Business, Johnny,’ Lillian Holley said dryly. ‘Just business.’

‘Oh, sure, the kind that makes me feel clean,’ Dillinger said. ‘Six millions unemployed out there, Miss Ryan. You ask them what kind of a thief John Dillinger is.’

She sat there staring up at him. He didn’t sound that much different from some of the editorial writers she’d met. Lillian Holley said, ‘OK, angel, that’s it,’ and pulled her up, a hand under her elbow.

Martha Ryan held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Dillinger and good ...’ She swallowed the words, blushing.

Dillinger laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put that in your article if I were you. They mightn’t understand.’ And then he smiled gently. ‘Don’t worry about me, Miss Ryan. I know the road I’m taking, I know what’s at the end of it. My choice! No one else’s.’

Martha recoiled instinctively. Dillinger’s courtly smile had changed into a stone mask. She went out, wanting to glance back, Lillian Holley followed. The door closed behind them. Dillinger stood there for a moment, then felt inside the mattress and took out the pistol.

‘Are you with me?’ he asked Youngblood.

‘You crashing out, Mr Dillinger?’

‘That’s it.’

‘The guy I killed was trying to stick a knife in me, but I could still get the chair, Mr Dillinger, him being white. That don’t leave me much choice, so I’m with you.’

‘Good, when the time comes just do as I say and I’ll get you out of here,’ Dillinger told him.

He took his jacket out of the cupboard, put it on and slipped the pistol into his right-hand pocket, then he lay on the bed and closed his eyes, thinking of his father. Boy that old son-of-a-bitch would be surprised if his bad boy walked in the door.

As one of the deputies unlocked the door at the rear of the prison, Lillian Holley said, ‘Well, what did you make of him?’