Chapter 22
'Guns?' asked Owney. 'Yes sir,' said Pap. 'Not just the six-shootin' guns we carry during the day. Guns.' 'Traceable? I wouldn't?'
'No sir. 'Bout fifteen or sixteen years ago, when it was a time of road bandits and generalized desperado work, it was Grumleys what rim houses of safety in the mountains. We had boys from all over. I'se a younger man then, and we Grumleys, we took 'em in, and fed 'em and mended 'em. The laws knew to stay far from where the Grumleys had their places in the mountains. So I seen them all, sir, that I did. Why, sir, was as close to him then as I am to you now. Johnny, such a handsome boy. Reminded me of a feller from the movies. Lord Jesus, he was a handsome boy. Beaming, you might say. Filled the room. A laugher, a fine jester. And just as polite and respectful to our Grumley womenfolk as a fine Mississippi gendeman, he was, he was indeed. Oh, it was a sad day when that boy went down.'
'Johnny?'
'Johnny Dillinger. The most famous man in America. And that other smiler, the one from the Cookson Hills acrost the line in the territory? He rusticated some time out with the Grumleys too. The newspapers called him Pretty Boy, but I never heard no one call him but Charlie, and even Charles most ofttimes. Charlie was a good 'un, too. Big-handed boy. Big strong farm hands, Charlie had. Charlie was one of the best natural shots I ever seen. He could shoot the Thompson sub gun one-handed, and I mean really smart and fine-like. Would take the stock off. Shoot it one-handed, like a pistol. And Ma. Ma and her boys comes through a time or two. Knew Clyde Barrow and that Bonnie Parker gal too. They was just li'l of kids. Scrawny as the day was long. Like kitty cats, them two, rolling on the floor. Never could figger on why the laws had to shoot them so many times. Seen the car they was driving. It was put on display up in Little Rock. Took the Grumleys to show 'em what the laws could do if they'd the chance. Them laws, they must have put a thousand bullets into that car, till it looked like a goddamned piece of cheese.'
'And you got guns? Enough for this job?'
'Enough for any job, sir. Your Thompson sub guns, five of 'em. Drums. And, sir, we have something else.'
'Ah,' said Owney, fascinated as always by the old reprobate's unlikely language, part Elizabethan border reiver's, part hillbilly's. They sat in the office of a warehouse near the tracks, where Owney's empire received its supplies and from which point it made its distributions; Owney had declared it to be his headquarters for this operation. Grumleys in overalls with the hangdog look of mean boys about to go off to do some killing work hung around.
'What might that be, Pap?'
'Why, sir, it be what they call a Maxim gun. The Devil's Paintbrush. It's from the First Great War. The Germans used it. It's got belt after belt of bullets, and we've never used it. My father, Fletcher, got it in a deal with a Mexican feller who come to Hot Springs in 1919 for to buy some women to take back to Tijuana. Wanted white gals. Thought he'd make a fortune for his generalissimo. Well, we got this gendeman's Maxim gun, but he never got any white gals. Wouldn't sell no white gal to a Mexican.'
A Maxim gun! Now that was some power.
'We'll set it up on the second floor,' Pap explained. 'When them boys come to call, we'll let them come in and up the stairs. Then my cousin Lem's boy Nathan will open up with the Maxim. Nathan is the hardest Grumley. He served fifteen years of a life sentence, and prison taught him savage ways. Nathan is the best Grumley killer. Onct, he shot a clown. Never figgered out why. I ast him once. He didn't say nothing. I guess he just don't like clowns. He's a Murfreesboro Grumley, and they grow Grumleys hard down there.'
'I thought it was the Yell County Grumleys that were so hard.'
'Yell County Grumleys are hard, naturally. But you take a naturally hard Grumley and you toughen him up ki a bad joint, and what you got is something to make your blood curdle. That Mr. Becker would beshat his drawers if he but knew what awaited.'
'It's a shame he won't be along. We hear he arrives afterward, always.'
'He won't arrive afterward this time. There won't be no afterward,' said Pap. 'They'll only be blood on the floor and silence.'
'That I believe,' said Owney, looking at the dance of black madness in the old man's glittering eyes.
'Mr. Maddox,' said Flem Grumley, arriving from some mission. 'We just heard. My cousin Newt has it from the phone tap at Hobson and Third. They're going to hit Mary Jane's tonight.'
'Mary Jane's?' said Owney, unfamiliar with the place.
'It's in Niggertown.'
'It's going to be hot in Niggertown tonight,' said Pap. 'Oooooooo-eeeee, it's going to be hot. We'll even boil us a cat for luck!'
It was a time of waiting. Earl thought it was like the night before when the big transports wallowed off an island, and you could hear the naval guns pounding all through the night, but in the hold, the boys were in their hammocks, all weapons checked, all blades oiled, all ammo stashed, all gear tight and ready, and they just lay there, smoking most of them, some of them writing letters. There'd always be a few boys shooting craps in the latrines, loudly, to drum away the fears, but for most of the boys it was just a time to wait quietly and pray that God would be watching over them and not assisting Mickey Rooney with his racetrack betting the next day.
In the pumping house, the slow grind of the valves almost sounded like the transport's engines, low and thrumming, and taking you ever onward to whatever lay ahead. It was late in the afternoon. These boys were dressed and ready. The guns were cleaned and loaded, the magazines all full, the surplus walkie-talkies checked out and okayed, the vests lined up and brushed clean. The men were showered and dressed and looked sharp in their suits. They sat on their cots, smoking, talking quietly. One or two read the newspaper or an odd novel.
Earl walked over to Frenchy, who stood by himself in front of a mirror, trying to get a tie tied just right. He could tell from the extravagant energy the kid was investing into the process that it was a way of concentrating on the meaningless, like oversharpening a bayonet or some such. Kids always found something to occupy their minds before, if they had to.
'Short? You okay?'
'Huh?' Short's eyes flew to him, slightly spooked.
'You okay?'
'Fine. I'm fine, Mr. Earl.'
'You upset?'
'Upset?'
'About dumping them two bohunks. First time you draw live blood it can spook a fellow. Happened to me in Nicaragua in '32. Took a while to get used to it.'
'Oh, that?' said Short. 'Those guys? No, see, here's what I was thinking. Wouldn't it be better if I was interviewed by Life magazine? I hear they're coming down here. Or maybe it was the Post. Or even Look. But anyway, me and Mr. Becker. He's the legal hero, I'm the cop hero. We're a team, him and me. I think that would be so much better. See, that way the public would have someone to respect and admire. Me.'
Earl gritted his teeth hard.
At 8:20 Earl stopped at a Greek's, got a hamburger and a cup of coffee and read the papers. More about Jayhawkers and who they'd kill next. When would indictments be delivered or did Becker's control over the grand jury give his raiders carte blanche to rob and kill whoever they wanted? Who were these Jayhawkers? How come they never met the press or issued statements? How come the good citizens of Hot Springs didn't know who they were or have any explanation of how they worked?
After eating, he got back in his vehicle and began a long slow turn out Malvern, past the Pythian Hotel and Mary Jane's, and then went onward for another several blocks, just in case.
At Mary Jane's he saw nothing, no commotion or anything. It was just another beer joint/whorehouse with some slots in the bar, like a hundred other Hot Springs places. There was no sense that tonight would be any different than any other night: a few girls sat lisdessly in the upstairs windows, but there wasn't enough street traffic yet for them to start their yelling. The downstairs of the place didn't seem very full of men, though later on, of course, it would be different. White boys wouldn't head on down to Niggertown for a piece of chocolate until they
