“Melvin?”
“Yes?”
“I stopped by the Banker’s Building.”
He nodded. “Cowley mentioned it when we called in, a while back.”
“Did he say I might stop by?”
He nodded again. “Advised we keep an eye out for you.”
“Did he tell you anything else?”
“No.”
“While you’re watching the folks pass by, mind if I tell you a little story?”
“I suppose not.”
And I told him how Frank Nitti had, in collaboration with Louis Piquett and Anna Sage and Sgt. Martin Zarkovich, put a man they
Purvis was remarkably calm as I told him this.
“Much of what you say seems reasonable,” he said. “And, in truth, Sam Cowley did run some of this by me the other day. He admitted to me that his reaction to your…suppositions…was that we didn’t care
I didn’t know what to say to that; so I didn’t.
Purvis continued, all the while watching people stroll up to the Biograph box office to buy tickets. “What I don’t understand is your implication that the man we’re stalking tonight may not actually be Dillinger.”
“I’m not saying that’s the case,” I said. “Just a possibility. Frank Nitti’s pulled scams like this before.”
“It would be outrageous for Nitti and Piquett and company to
“You can protect yourself, in any event.”
He looked away from the people on the street, momentarily, and his eyes met mine. “How?”
“Don’t shoot Jimmy Lawrence tonight; and don’t let anyone else do it, either.”
His mouth made a tiny twitch and his eyes flickered and he looked back at the street, where people continued to approach the box office.
“Melvin,” I said. “What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”
Brown wasn’t back yet from phoning in to Cowley. Purvis glanced toward the tavern to make sure he wasn’t on his way back yet; and then, with an exaggerated air of confidentiality, he said, “I will admit something to you… Sergeant Zarkovich and Captain O’Neill—neither sterling examples of law enforcement, I’ll grant you—took me to one side this afternoon.” He paused; puffed his latest cigarette.
“And?”
He exhaled. “He—Zarkovich, that is—told me that he wanted to go up to Dillinger, after the movie was over, and…blow his brains out, from behind.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I was. I told them I’d put up with no such thing—but they were of the opinion that, having brought Anna Sage to us, the least we could do for them is allow them to ‘finish him off.’ Naturally I refused.”
“Naturally.”
“So I want you to know I’m not taking what you’ve said lightly, Heller. There will be no gunplay, unless initiated by the suspect. But if Dillinger offers any resistance, each man will be for himself. It will be up to each individual to do whatever he thinks necessary to protect himself in taking this man.”
“But that’s only if Lawrence, or Dillinger or whoever he is, pulls a gun.”
Purvis nodded curtly. “There will be no executions under my aegis.”
Well, that sounded good and it sounded fancy, but I wasn’t convinced. Oh, Purvis was not a bad man; he was a little pompous, and he was certainly in over his head. But he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t a coward—his being nervous like this didn’t make him a coward, just human. Still, I remembered the dead civilians at Little Bohemia, which took place under his “aegis,” too. And I had the feeling he—and even good Mormon Cowley—had not really vetoed the Zarkovich plan to blow Dillinger’s brains out. Nor did I think Zarkovich’s plan had been first proposed this afternoon; clearly it had been a part of the package since before a troubled Cowley first turned up at my office, Friday.
I was afraid that Melvin felt he could contain both Lawrence/Dillinger,
And I just didn’t think Melvin was up to the job.
Brown came back.
He said, “Inspector Cowley says call every fifteen minutes instead of five, from now on.”
“I take it,” Purvis said, “there’s no sign of our man at the Marbro?”
“None,” Brown said.
