Martha recoiled instinctively. Dillingers 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?
Thats 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 dont leave me much choice, so Im with you.
Good, when the time comes just do as I say and Ill 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?
Martha Ryan was bewildered and showed it. I expected a monster, not a ... ladies man.
I know. Its very confusing. You know there are people who argue that hes never even killed anybody.
I cant believe that.
Ill tell you one thing. Hes an Indiana farm boy, born and bred, and wherever he travels in the back country, people know, but they dont turn him in, not for any reward. Can you explain that to me?
No.
Well, when you can, youll have your real story.
She shook hands and Martha Ryan passed outside and the door closed behind her.
When Cahoon unlocked the door of Dillingers cell he was carrying a bucket full of soapy water which he put down by the wall.
OK, Herbert, he said to Youngblood. Cleaning time. He straightened and found himself staring into the muzzle of a Colt automatic, steady in Dillingers hand. Jesus Christ, he said softly.
Dillinger got off the bed. Just do as I say, Sam, and well get along. Understand?
Anything you say, Mr Dillinger, Cahoon told him eagerly.
Whos out there?
The cleaning detail, all trusties. They wont give you no trouble.
Any guards?
No.
What about down in the old jail?
I saw Deputy Sheriff Blunk down there a few moments ago.
Fine, well get to him in a second.
Dillinger moved out into the long corridor, cells opening off it. There were about twelve men out there, all trusted prisoners as Cahoon had said, the cleaning detail starting the days work, talking cheerfully amongst themselves.
Dillinger moved closer and paused. The man nearest to him saw him almost at once and stopped in the act of squeezing out his mop in the bucket, an expression of astonishment on his face. His stillness passed through the others like a wave. There was silence.
Everyone inside.
Dillinger motioned with the pistol and stood back as they filed past him into the cell. There was no trouble, but with men like these, he didnt expect any.
He said to Youngblood. You stay here. Ill be back. He nodded to Cahoon. Lets go.
When Deputy Sheriff Ernest Blunk on duty on the first floor heard Cahoon call to him, he went up the stairs without hesitation to find Dillinger waiting for him, gun in hand.
Oh, my God, Blunk said, more frightened than he had ever been in his life before.
Dillinger relieved him of the pistol he carried on his right hip and slipped the gun into his pocket, Is anyone else down there on your landing?
Blunk, a prudent man, saw no reason to argue. Nobody, Mr Dillinger.
And the warden?
Mr Bakers in his office on the ground floor.
OK, then we go down and get him. He pushed Cahoon along the corridor towards Youngblood who was standing outside the locked door of their cell, holding the key. Put him in with the others and wait here.
As Blunk had said, the corridor below was deserted and they moved along it and paused at the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor.
Dillinger said, Go on, you know what to do.
Blunk sighed and called, Hey, Lou, youre wanted up here.
What the hell for? a voice called back and Warden Lou Baker appeared at the bottom of the stairs and started up briskly. He was almost at the top when he looked up and saw Dillinger standing there, gun in hand.
He stopped dead in his tracks and in the circumstances stayed surprisingly cool.
Johnny, what in the hell do you think youre playing at? You aint going anywhere. You got at least ten National Guardsmen at the front entrance armed with machine guns.
Well, that should make things interesting, Dillinger said calmly. Now upstairs, both of you.
A few moments later and Youngblood was putting the Warden and Blunk in the cell with the others. He locked the door. OK, what happens now?
Stay here, Dillinger told him. Ill be back.
Youngblood said, You wouldnt leave me, Mr Dillinger?
The most important thing you should know about me, Dillinger said. I never ran out on anyone in my whole life, and he turned and moved away along the corridor.
The man on duty that morning at the barred gate which gave access to the jail offices at the front of the building was a trustie, who was sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper. The headline said: Public Enemy Number One Finally Caged. There was a photo of Dillinger to go with it. A slight tapping sound caused the trustie to look up and he saw the man himself peering through the bars just above him, a gun in his hand.
Dillinger said softly, Open up!
The trustie almost dropped his keys in his eagerness to comply, but, a moment later, had the gate open. The office door stood partly ajar and someone was whistling in there.
Who is it? Dillinger inquired softly.
National Guardsman.
Just the one? The man nodded and Dillinger said, Call him out.
The trustie did as he was told and a second later the door opened and a young National Guardsman in uniform appeared. There was instant horror in his eyes and he got his hands up fast.
Behind him on the table were two loaded Thompson sub-machine guns. Dillinger moved past him and stared down at them for a moment. Well, Ill be damned, he said. Thank you.
He slipped the pistol into his other pocket, picked up a machine gun in each hand and turned to the two men. OK, now were going to go upstairs, all the way up to the top landing in the new wing. You fellas see any problems in that?
No, Mr Dillinger, they assured him eagerly and the trustie turned and led the way.
A few minutes later, Youngblood, clutching one of the machine guns, was shepherding them into the cell on the top landing with the others. Dillinger said, Lets have Blunk out here again.
Youngblood pulled the deputy sheriff out and closed and locked the door. Now what? he demanded.
Were clear, all the way down to the jail office and the front entrance, only thats too public by far.
So what do we do?
Walk right out of the back door and this is the man whos going to show us the way, isnt that so, Mr Blunk?
Ernest Blunk sighed heavily yet again, If you say so, Mr Dillinger.
Oh, but I do, Dillinger said, In fact, I insist, and he pushed him along the corridor.
It was raining when they emerged from the door at the rear of the prison ten minutes later and moved along the alley. Dillinger and Youngblood wore raincoats taken from three local farmers they had found eating in the kitchen. The farmers were now locked in a washroom.
The garage? Dillinger said to Blunk. How far?
Right down there a hundred and fifty yards, the deputy told him.
OK, Dillinger said. You lead the way and just remember what Im holding under this raincoat if you feel like calling out.
He raised the machine gun slightly, the muzzle poking through, and Blunk said hastily, No trouble, Mr Dillinger, not from me. We got this far, havent we? All I want is to see you off my hands.
He led the way, following a route which took them past the Criminal Courts building and, a few moments later, entered the side door of a large garage. There was a single mechanic in oil-stained overalls working on his own.
He glanced up. Hello there, Mr Blunk.
It was apparent that he didnt recognize Dillinger and Blunk said, Ed Saager, the best mechanic in town, Mr Dillinger.
Saager looked shocked and Dillinger produced the machine gun from under his raincoat. Which car heres in the best shape?
Why, that would be the Ford here, Saager told him. Mrs Holleys car.
Engine tuned?
Like a watch.
Fan belt OK?
Replaced last month.
Pick-up?
Best in the lot.
Then thats what well take. You get in the rear with my friend and you, Mr Blunk, can take the wheel.
Saager opened his mouth as if to protest, thought better of it and got into the rear seat with Youngblood. Blunk took the wheel and started the motor as Dillinger got in beside him.
Nice and easy, Mr Blunk, he said as they turned into the main street. No need to hurry.
He leaned back and lit a cigarette calmly.
Mike Jarvis and Martha Ryan were sitting in a booth at the rear of the hotel lounge enjoying a late breakfast when there was a sudden excited murmur and a voice called, Dillingers escaped.
Jarvis jumped to his feet and moved out and Martha Ryan sat there, suddenly cold, aware of the excited hubbub of voices outside.
Jarvis came back a moment later and sat down. My God, would you believe it. That place was supposed to be escape-proof. Not only did he walk right out, hes used the sheriffs car for his getaway. He threw back his head and laughed. Jesus, will Lillian be mad.
But Martha Ryan simply sat there, the coldness growing within her, aware only of Dillingers final words to her. That he knew the road he was taking. That he knew what lay at the end of it.
It was still raining and they were over the border into Illinois when Blunk, on Dillingers orders, pulled up at the side of the dirt road they had been following.
OK, Dillinger said. This is where you two get off.
They got out of the car reluctantly, uncertain as to his intentions, but Dillinger just drove away, the wheels of the big Ford churning mud, and Dillinger hoping some of it would land on Blunks suit.
Youngblood started to sing loudly in the rear seat. A few miles further on, Dillinger stopped the car to light a cigarette, then he took a few crumpled bills from his pocket and counted them.
Fourteen dollars isnt going to get us very far.
And thats a fact, Youngblood said. I guess theres only one thing to do. Youll just have to rob a bank, Mr Dillinger.
He started to laugh and Dillinger, loving the feel of being behind the wheel of a fast-moving car, feeling as exhilarated as a kid, tossed him the cigarette pack and drove away through the rain, wondering what the newspaper headlines would be saying in the morning.