Стивен Хантер - G-Man

“Yes sir,” said Charles, and proceeded to narrate the events of the evening.

“When I left,” he concluded, “I was assured both troopers McAllister and Cross would make it and be back on duty fairly quickly.”

“Charles,” said Purvis, “after a gunfight, many men need a day off, to get rid of the shakes, to refuel emotionally those feelings which were spent in the rush under fire, to consider, to gather, to relax. Do you need that?”

“I’ve been shot at before,” said Charles, “and it ain’t fun, but I’m okay. No shakes, no nightmares, no cold sweats.”

“Agent Swagger,” said Clegg, “no one here is questioning your heroism, but it has occurred to me that certain of your judgments leading to that heroism might need further explanation.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Charles.

“I know you were an expedient— expeditious —hire and didn’t attend the academy, or even the one-month special crash training program that some of our recent agents have been through, and your grasp of our regulations could well be shaky. But that can’t be an excuse. So we have to look at your decisions and our regulations anyhow. Those regulations specifically preclude you acquiring sources but refusing to disclose them.”

“He did inform me of a source, let the record show,” said Purvis somewhat testily. “There was no formal ‘refusal to disclose.’ I never asked.”

“It seems rather sketchy to me,” said Clegg. “And I’m sure Washington will conclude the same.”

“I had no reason to place any faith in this source,” said Charles. “I had no idea if he was square or not. It could have been an ambush too. Or some kind of double cross. Or some prank or stunt the Chicago cops decided to play on us. So, yes, my decision, no one else’s, and against the advice of Mr. Purvis, I decided to go out alone, that’s all. If someone was going to get shot, I preferred it to be me and not anyone else.”

“Yes, but if you’d run it by all of us instead of just mentioning it on the fly late in the afternoon, we might have insisted on a full effort and you’d have been out there with ten men and ten Thompsons. Then you wouldn’t have just ‘driven them away’ but killed or arrested them.”

“I understand that. While you’re at it, I made another bad decision. Inspector Purvis tried to get me to take a Thompson. With one Thompson, I believe I could have closed them down, never mind ten. That was bad judgment on my part. I couldn’t do much but make noise with a handgun.”

“State Police investigators found a straw Panama in the gully whose brim had been shredded by a .45,” said Purvis. “That had to be your shot. With a handgun. From one hundred and fifty measured yards.”

“That was the hold. Another shot without a breeze and I’d have nailed that little peckerwood between the eyes.”

“But your superb marksmanship shouldn’t deflect from questionable judgment,” said Clegg, not looking at Purvis.

“Mr. Clegg, more men don’t necessarily mean better outcome. Little Bohemia, for example. But also the war, where I led many a raid and saw them go wrong all the time and boys killed out of stupidity. Operating with a team at night takes a lot of experience, a lot of planning, a lot of communication. I didn’t have time for none of those things, so I made a judgment it was better handled by one man. I didn’t want these kids, many of whom have never shot for blood or been under fire, running around in the dark with Thompsons and Browning rifles. Night battle ain’t twice as hard as day battle, it’s ten times as hard. We ain’t ready for it. Nobody is ever ready for it, but these young fellows, no matter how brave and enthusiastic, really ain’t ready for it.”

“Well said, and duly noted,” said Purvis.

“Well, let’s go to the issue of the Thompson, then. Or the Browning rifle. If you would have had them — hell, if you’d had the Model 94 my dad hunted deer with in the Mississippi woods, with your formidable marksmanship skills, you might have tagged Nelson and two or three of his pals.”

“It could have happened that way. But you can’t make that presumption. I rolled out of my car into a shooting position with the Colt in about one second flat, and it was that first shot that stopped the gunman from closing on and finishing the two troopers. If I’m running back to the trunk, pulling a big gun, inserting the drum, running the bolt, then heading to the crest, maybe those cops are dead. Then maybe I bring ’em down with the Browning or the Thompson or maybe I don’t. I get one, say, and by that time they’ve got three or four Thompsons on me. Sir, believe me, it’s tough to stand against three Thompsons. Two cops and an agent dead, maybe Nelson is only wounded, and all of the outlaws make it out. That’s another risk that has to be considered. It would sort of fit in with the Little Bohemia thing.”

Sam spoke for the first time.

“You’re positive it was Nelson?”

“Now I am. But the source just said ‘big boys,’ whatever that means, another reason Chicago Gang Intelligence wasn’t interested in it. But I could tell he was shooting that machine-pistol thing, short-barreled, with no shoulder stock to brace it, and a whole lot of muzzle flash, more flash than a Thompson. That’s why I’m alive. If he’d have had a Thompson himself — and I’ll bet there were several in them cars — he’d have planted it on his shoulder, aimed carefully over long sights, and I’d be goose crap now. So the fact I ain’t dead is proof that it was Nelson, because according to our findings, he’s the only one with that custom machine pistol. Agent Baum learned that the hard way at Little Bohemia.”

“I wonder if we haven’t gotten enough out of Agent Swagger,” said Purvis. “I think he’s made good account of all decisions, and while it could have had a better outcome, it also could have had a worse outcome. Much worse. We ought to consider this event closed, report to Washington, move on.”

“One last question,” said Clegg. “Your source: I think it’s time for you to formally identify him so that we can vet and approve. I don’t like being led by the nose by someone we don’t know a thing about.”

“It’s not even really a source. It’s a cop who I knew in Hot Springs and did a favor for. He got his big-city job here, and he’s worked his way up to the new headquarters, where he hears things. Anyhow, he heard that Chicago Gang Intelligence was sitting on this rumor of something someone overheard in some chatter in a known Italian joint and he went to me with it. It’s not a thing we can count on. Now, maybe this cop is just telling us a story and he does have a source and we will get more out of it. But I can’t say. But if I roust him, if we ruffle Chicago for his records, if I haul him up here or set up a meet with you fellows, it could all go off the tracks. It’s the sort of thing where patience is better than action. It happens that way sometimes.”

Like most police officers, Charles lied easily and without tremor, swallow, gulp, or shifty eyes, and he had no reason to believe anyone was on to him.

“I think that’ll have to do it for you, Hugh,” said Purvis. “We’ll let it rest. Maybe if we’re in a jam, we’ll press Charles to press Officer X, but right now let’s just enjoy a minor triumph, his good judgment in keeping his own name and the Division out of the papers, and, as I said, let’s share this provisional success with our friends in Washington.”

So that was it. But Purvis indicated with a nod that he wanted Charles to stay.

“Don’t worry about Clegg, Charles. He’s just a bitter blowhard. By rights, he shouldn’t even have been there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Purvis.”