The Hunt

tear into the far side of the car. He smashed against the steering wheel, his breath rushing from his lungs.

Nelson settled back in the seat with a grin. “Cooked that little bastard’s goose for him,” he said.

“Christ, we killed another cop, maybe two,” Dillinger said, shaking his head.

Conklin staggered Out of the car, clutching his sprained ribs and fell back against the ruined police car. Rain poured down his face. He stared with frustration and disappointment as the most famous bank gang in history disappeared down the rain-swept highway. Dillinger, Pierpont, Clark, Nelson and Van Meter. He had no way of knowing that within six months all of them would be dead, tracked down by the man they feared most, the C-man Melvin Purvis. Dillinger would be the first to die, exactly two months later. On the twenty-second day of July.

What rotten luck, what bloody, stupid rotten luck.

What was it Vierhaus had said to him once, it’s usually the unexpected that gets you. He was on the spot because it had never occurred to him that he might be trapped in this town, certainly not by the FBI. But that was exactly what was happening.

Dempsey sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the raindrops making thin tracks down the window. He had been sitting without moving for ten minutes. He looked at the clock: three twenty.

When Ben Scoby contacted the Chicago FBI office, Purvis himself got on the line. He was coming dawn personally with a team of FBI agents and had ordered Scoby to lock up the bank and send everyone home until they arrived. Scoby had called a meeting at seven P.M. in front of the bank.

Dempsey had to leave before the FBI got to Drew City. He could not risk an interview with the G-men. Nor could he risk taking the bus or hitchhiking; everybody in town knew him. There was only one way out: he had to hop a freight. And even that was risky. If his failure to show up at the bank started a search, they might check the train when it arrived in Lafayette. But it was a risk he had to take.

He made his decision. First, he thought, shave off the mustache and wash the dark dye out of his hair. Dress warmly, it was still quite cold at night. Wool socks and the heavy-soled walking shoes Louise had given him for his birthday. Money was not a problem. I’m not unprepared, he thought, just caught short.

He got a pair of heavy corduroy trousers and a thick plaid jacket from the closet, dug out socks and shoes. He was on his way to the attic when the doorbell rang. Dempsey fell back against the wall. It couldn’t be the government men. It had to be Louise. He stood motionless for a full minute while the bell rang a second, then a third time. As he stood there, a plan began to form in his mind. He thought about it as he slowly descended the stairs.

It was perfect, he thought. Even if they saw through it later it would give him time. Once he was in Chicago, he didn’t care what they thought, he would no longer be Fred Dempsey.

He opened the door and Louise rushed into his arms. “Oh God, my heart stopped when I heard,” she said, hugging him to her. “Thank God you’re all right. I was afraid they shot you.”

“It was Tyler Oglesby.”

“I know, I just left Dad. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course. All I did was sit on the floor for five minutes and listen to John Dillinger brag about what a good guy he is.”

“I can’t believe it! All the times we’ve joked about the bank being held up. And Roger and his cards

“Easy,” he said. “It’s over. It’s even over for poor old Tyler. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“We’ve got three hours before the FBI gets here.”

“Fred!”

He leaned over and kissed her throat.

“But.

“All the excitement, it. . . it excited me.” He kissed the back of her neck and she twisted her head and shivered.

“Gives me goose pimples.”

“You always give me goose pimples.”

He drew her slowly up the stairs, kissing her and caressing her cheek as they mounted the stairs. He led her into the bedroom, eased her onto the bed. She lay down beside the pants and flannel jacket.

“What’s that?” She asked.

He was leaning over her on stiff arms, staring down at her.

“It’s going to be chilly and wet tonight. I thought I’d change before I went back to the bank. You can take my clothes off for me, Louise. You can undress me.”

“Oh, Demps,” she whispered. “I love you so.”

It was the first time either of them had mentioned the word. He lowered himself slowly down on top of her.

“And I love you,” he said softly in her ear.

She rolled him over and unbuttoned his vest, took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt as he removed her blouse. She toyed with the hair on his chest then kissed his nipples, her tongue circling first one, then moving to the other. He unbuttoned her skirt at the back and when it was loose, slid his hand down the front of it, feeling her cotton