“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Have you considered the crowd you’re going to be dealing with at that theater? With this heat wave, everybody and his duck is going to the movies to cool off! If you have to shoot it out, you’re not going to get just Dillinger—you’ll probably bag a grandmother and a ten-year-old or two.”
“Heller, I’m going to be there, and I’ll control the situation myself. You have my word on that.”
“I’m not your goddamn conscience, Cowley. Do what you want.”
“Mr. Heller. If you’ll excuse me…I have to attend a briefing.”
“What, is Little Mel going to explain how he plans to fuck up even worse than Little Bohemia?”
“I don’t appreciate your language, Mr. Heller. It so happens I’m a good Mormon—”
“I don’t care if you’re a bad one. Melvin Purvis is a fuck-up in any religion.”
Cowley cleared his throat. “Sergeant Zarkovich is about to give us a detailed description of Dillinger, now that his appearance has been altered by plastic surgery.”
“Maybe Zarkovich can have his
Short pause. “I don’t believe that to be true.”
“Sure you do.”
“I’ve got to go, Heller. Are you, uh, feeling any better?”
“A little, thanks.”
“Get some rest, why don’t you? Leave the police work to us.”
“Speaking of police work, how the hell did you get Captain Stege to go along with this cockeyed plan?”
Silence again.
“Cowley?”
“We see no reason to involve the Chicago police.”
“No reason to involve the Chicago police? In the capture of John Dillinger, in Chicago? Novel approach, Cowley. How’d you arrive at this?”
“Too many crooked cops,” he said, and didn’t sound too convinced himself. “Don’t want somebody on the inside to tip Dillinger off.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Cowley.”
“Why not?”
“If he heard about your plan, he wouldn’t believe it.”
Silence; then a grunt.
I grunted back and hung up.
I felt Sally’s cool hand on my shoulder and I glanced back at her.
“It’s going to happen tonight?” she said.
“I think so.”
“And it’s really Dillinger?”
“It’s really Dillinger.”
“Come to bed.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep anymore.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
Well, I was definitely feeling better; but the effort was enough to tire me out, and I fell asleep again. By the time I woke it was getting dark out.
“What time is it?”
Sally, rousing herself beside me, looked over at her clock. “A little after six.”
“I’m sleeping my life away.”
“You’re just recuperating. Nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Who’s feeling guilty? Say, don’t you have a show tonight?”
“Yeah—gotta leave in an hour or so.”
I threw the covers off. “Let’s go in the other room and listen to the radio till then.”
We sat in the living room and listened to WGN, which was broadcast out of this very hotel; Wayne King the Waltz King bored us till the news came on. The hot spell, and the deaths by heat prostration, was the big story.
“When did you change your mind?” Sally said.
“About what?”
“This guy not being Dillinger. Didn’t you think it
