with.
He ate a bite, and went on. “This thing that’s about to go down, I’m on top of it—it’s happening with my approval, even my guidance. But I’m an executive, kid. I don’t handle the detail shit, you know?”
“I can understand that, Frank.”
“I didn’t know they were going to pull you into this. And if I’d known, I’d have stopped ’em.”
“Who, Frank?”
“Don’t ask questions, kid. Just listen.” He paused to see if I was going to pay heed, and I was.
“I want you to get out of this,” he said. “And stay out. Just let things take their course.”
He ate his boiled beef.
“Is that all, Frank?” I said.
“Sure. You wanna go, go ahead. It was good to see you again.”
He’d been very careful in choosing his words—everything vague, all references couched in euphemism.
“Frank, we are talking about setting John Dillinger up, aren’t we?”
He shrugged, chewed, watched me with eyes that warned me not to go too far.
I went ahead anyway. Just a step at a time.
“It makes sense that you and your associates might like to be rid of a guy like this,” I said. Carefully. “Having the likes of Dillinger in town—and he seems always, eventually, to come back to Chicago to hide out—stirs up all kinds of heat. Local
Nitti nodded, chewing.
I shook my head sympathetically. “Cops and feds can’t put out the dragnet for Dillinger and his ilk without disrupting your Outfit’s activities, of various kinds, in the process. Public outcry over gangsters like Dillinger leads to mass arrests—which your people get caught up in. Dillinger’s bringing down too damn much heat on the Outfit.”
Nitti narrowed his eyes and said, “Last December three of my best people were killed. It was a raid on a flat on Farwell Avenue by Stege’s Dillinger Squad; those trigger-happy sons of bitches mistook my guys for Dillinger and two of his pals. Shot ’em dead. Didn’t know they had the wrong men till they took their fingerprints, hours later.” Disgusted, Nitti sipped his milk. “It’s gotta end.”
“Is that what’s happening?” I asked. “You’re putting an end to Dillinger?”
“Be careful what questions you ask me, kid—I might answer ’em.”
“That fed Cowley came to see me today.”
Nitti said nothing; pushed his plate away from him. There was still some food left, but he’d had all of it he could stomach.
I said, “I got the feeling he’d cut a deal with Zarkovich, agreeing to shoot Dillinger down. Rather than take him in.”
Nitti patted his mouth with a napkin.
“So it’s not enough for Dillinger to be captured,” I said. “He’s got to buy it. He’s got to die.”
Nitti cleared his throat. “Let me tell you something, kid. For a long time these fuckin’ outlaws could get away with what they’re doing. They were like stagecoach and train robbers in the Old West; fact is, most of ’em are dumb Okies who think they’re Jesse James. And they got away with it, for a while. ’Cause all they needed was fast flivvers and lots of back roads and plenty of hideouts. And they weaved all across the country, and the law couldn’t even cross state lines to chase ’em. They had a sweet little thing going. Long-term, however, it stunk. Which is why only suckers—farmers, dumb Okies like that—got in that business. But they had their time, I’ll give ’em that. Only their time is over.”
He sipped some milk. He seemed to be through with his speech, but I nudged him on. Carefully.
“You mean their time’s over, because of the feds,” I said. “Because now the feds
Nitti nodded, shrugged. “That’s it, that’s a big part of it. The rewards on their heads’ll smoke ’em all out eventually, too. But times are changing. You can only get away with that shoot-’em-up bullshit for so long.”
“You mean you can’t get away with too many Saint Valentine’s Day Massacres.”
“No. And you can’t shoot too many Jake Lingles. The public likes to make a hero out of somebody like Al or Dillinger, for a while. But when things get too bloody, when the headlines get too nasty, the public turns on you.”
“Frank, these outlaws—your Outfit’s had dealings with ’em over the years….”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I hear things. I’m awake.”
“That’s a nice way to be, awake. You ought to hold onto that thought.”
I said nothing.
Then for some reason he continued. “Yeah, Al had a soft spot for that kind, particularly the bank robbers. Don’t ask me why. The suburbs, Cicero, Maywood, Melrose Park, they were always welcome there, where Al was concerned. There were always thieves hiding out there.”
“For a fee?”
