Стивен Хантер - G-Man

“Okay, I’ll get her.”

He watched the man return to his vehicle, knock on the rear window until it was rolled down. After a conference, the door opened and a leggy broad in a bucket cap and chemise stepped out, elegant in both dress and comportment, but a little shaky in the legs, as if one of her heels was loose. Even from afar, Charles could see the way her large eyes were spotlighted by the artful cosmetics around them. She looked like a silent-screen star.

Holding her arm, Zarkovich escorted her to the car. Charles tipped his hat, said, “Ma’am,” and opened the door. She slid in gracefully.

On instruction, Charles went behind the driver’s seat. Sam wanted a witness.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Sage,” said Sam confidently. “This is a conversation, not an interrogation. Smoke, if you care to.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, for us to help you, you have to tell us how you can help us. You understand that?”

“Of course.”

“So please proceed.”

She told the story in her vaguely foreign-shaded language, th ’s becoming v ’s, vowels elongating, the strange rhythms of Eastern Europe like a gravy over her words. She ran a rooming house, and had done some things in her past that made it clear that she wasn’t the sort to cry to the cops. Various folks in town found that useful, and she became used to extremely virile types overpaying for two nights and disappearing without a trace. It was known as a place where you could go to earth. A few weeks ago, a big slugger had come to rent. Handsome, well-dressed, wonderful personality, catnip to women, lots of cash. She too was attracted, even if he’d quickly taken up with one of her roomers, Polly Hamilton (“Ze noize from ze room. Mattress springs— bonk, bonk, bonk —all night long!”). Finally, she figured out who he had to be, and he read it in her eyes, and they had a friendly chat. He didn’t seem too concerned. He thought he was invulnerable. In fact, they frequently went places as a threesome, the stud and two very attractive gals. Nobody ever really noticed, it was so amazing! It was because he was so relaxed all the time, so happy and outgoing, and people were drawn to him. They’d even gone to the police station a few times!

Sam nodded, taking this in without comment.

But the situation had changed radically last Wednesday: an earlier conviction had finally caught up to her, and a letter from Immigration ordered her deported as an undesirable alien, even proclaiming a date by which she must be gone from the United States, under penalty of arrest and imprisonment. She began to weep.

“I cannot go back. There is nothing there for me, and war will come, mark my words. I have nobody in the world, and what I’ve built here is more than I’ve ever had. I cannot lose.”

“All right,” said Sam evenly, reaching out to put a calming hand on her shoulder, “let’s see what can be done. I can offer no guarantees. But if you figure significantly in the apprehension of John Dillinger, I will write a strong letter on your behalf to the Director of Immigration. Moreover, our Division has considerable influence in Washington and that influence will be deployed to the maximum. I can have a lawyer draw this up as a formal agreement or I can ask you to trust me. I’d prefer the latter, because it’s faster and less complicated, and more confidential.”

“I understand. You seem trustworthy.”

“Excellent.”

“So first I offer you this. He has had surgery to change his face. A man cut him or scraped him, he says he almost died. Polly and I nursed him. He was in bandages for a week and now he’s taken them off, obviously. I have to say, it didn’t do much good. It’s the same Johnny, only now he’s what one would call droopy or melted. But the same face, the same bright eyes, the same crooked smile and hearty laugh. To me, it was a lot of pain and anguish he suffered for nothing.”

“Good to know,” said Sam. “I’ll alert my men.”

There was a pause, as if neither could think of a ploy, Sam not wanting to seem too greedy and forceful, Anna Sage not wanting to give up Johnny without at least some Theater of Regret.

“Mrs. Sage,” Sam finally said, “I think you know where we are. This doesn’t work unless you can put Johnny in our hands.”

“You won’t hurt him?”

“We never shoot first. But… these situations can be tricky, tough to handle, even with the most experienced of men. When the guns come out, what happens next is sometimes hard to control. So I will say that it is not our intention to shoot him. I have specific instructions, to that end, from Washington and my Director.”

“I just fear some trigger-happy child with a gun.”

“Mrs. Sage, the agent in the front seat will be the arresting officer. He has much experience in these matters and is noted for his calm disposition. Why don’t you ask him?”

She turned and fixed Charles in her strangely huge and mesmerizing eyes. It was like being seduced by Gloria Swanson.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I will make no promises neither. But I can say that I have no desire, no need, no hunger to kill nobody. I’m too old and salty to give a damn about reputation or fame. I don’t need the ruckus, the attention, the paperwork. I just want to get those cuffs locked, put him in the paddy, and then go out and fall off the wagon for the first time in five years.”

She actually smiled.

“All right,” she said.

The Marbro Theatre. On Halsted. For the air-conditioning and the beauty of the movie palace itself, not the movie, which only the girls wanted to see, Little Miss Marker , with that annoying little tot Charles could not abide. Tomorrow night, probably the 7:30 show. She’d call if it changed.

GLENVIEW, ILLINOIS

July 21, 1934

The joint was old; it was two farmhouses joined together on a nice piece of land just east of Curtiss Field — the roar of the engines arrived with regularity — and it had been a roadhouse for what seemed like centuries, one of those quiet places that nobody notices and yet is somehow always there, a reliable second choice for hooch or food. It had green-shuttered windows, gables, a riot of vegetation curling up its walls, and stood in a grove of trees. In the night, it sent shafts of light into the trees, which pitched shadows of leaves and branches everywhere in a kind of curlicue of light-dark, very pleasant to the eye.

Les got there first, with Fatso and Jack, and chose a dark booth at the back of the bar and settled in. A waitress came by; he ordered a Coca-Cola and the others took Hamm’s on draft. Then Jimmy Murray showed, a legend in the business, who, out of deference, was always called Mr. Murray. He’d put together the biggest train job in history, in Rondout, Illinois, back in ’24 for the Newton Gang. Nobody died, a lot of dough changed hands, and it entered outlaw history as the near-perfect job, if later Jimmy was nabbed for it and did a few years.

They talked shop for a bit, spending time, until Johnny and Homer arrived, Mr. Murray more or less running the show, making sure everything had been arranged according to the specifications of his plan. He also reported on his latest intelligence on the train, due in on Friday, August 10, from Des Moines, the train among all the August trains that would probably carry the most swag, as he had found that, quite often, the smaller federal depositories moved cash only once a month, usually on the second Friday. The damned safe would be busting with cash, and he hoped they had a good guy with the soup, as that stuff was tricky, you didn’t want to get too fancy with it since you could blow up the goods along with the steel, as well as blow your arms off.