Ed Ashley met his stare for a moment, then turned to John and raised his eyebrows. John was grinning at the Kid and the Kid looked at him sharply and John Ashley said, “Well boy, that aint exactly right.”
They hadn’t been at all sure what Old Joe would think of the idea. While John Ashley explained it to him a few evenings later, all of them sitting around the firepit back of the Twin Oaks house, Old Joe gave no sign of his inclination as he listened without expression, puffing his pipe and sipping his whiskey and occasionally spitting into the fire. And when John had explained everything in detail and sat back to hear what his father thought of it, he who might dismiss the whole thing with a shake of his head, Old Joe did not answer right away but refired his pipe and refilled his cup and sat smoking and drinking and staring into the fire.
Nobody spoke for five minutes. And then, his eyes still on the flames, Joe Ashley said: “I don’t understand it. All this trouble because of some worthless Injun. That goddamn George Baker’s been a real mullethead recent and thats a fact. I hear tell he’s drinkin moren usual. He looks it. Startin to get that yellow look around the eyes. But whatever’s botherin him aint no good excuse for takin hisself so damn serious as he’s been. I heard tell he said if he ran you down he’d take you in any way he had to. Heard tell those were his exact words: any way he had to. When I saw him up to Blue’s store last month I went over and asked was it true he said that. He said it was. I said the day he did serious harm to any of you boys was the day I’d lay him in his grave. He knew I meant it. Bobby was there and started to run his mouth at me but George told him shut up.” He looked skyward and regarded the stars. “You know Freddie Baker, Bobby’s cousin? He’s a deputy too.”
John Ashley nodded. “More like brothers than cousins, some say. Spose to be a good old boy and a rough one, but he aint never looked all that rough to me.”
“I heard tell,” Old Joe said, “Freddie was in the Doghouse Bar the other night saying his Uncle George is gonna run the Ashleys out of Palm Beach County or know the reason why. Saying it like it’s somethin good as done.”
“I heard that talk,” John Ashley said. “We all have. We waitin to see them try.”
“Them damn Bakers are kindly startin to irritate me,” Old Joe said. He spat hard into the fire.
They all sat silent and the minutes passed. Then Old Joe said: “You sure they keep they money in that bank?”
“Yessir.”
Joe Ashley sighed and stared into the fire. “Cant imagine why
John Ashley laughed. “Me either. Somebody’s like to steal it.”
Old Joe nodded in the manner of one being told something he already knew. “Bill says the fedral govment’s sooner or later gonna pass the law against alcohol,” he said. “Probly not for a coupla three four years yet, he dont think, but he says a smart man would start getting ready right now. Says the demand’s gonna be way more than we can ever fill with just our own operation. Says if we get us a good fast boat and rig it proper we can bring in ever kind of labeled hooch when the time comes. Bring it from the Bahamas. Course now, a good boat costs plenty, and riggin it up for our purpose gonna cost more.” He paused and spat. Then said: “I guess what I wanna know is, is it a
John Ashley shrugged. “Dont know, Daddy.” He smiled. “But if it aint, there’s plenty more banks.”
Old Joe returned his smile for a moment, then his aspect went serious. “They already got so many warrants on you I guess it dont matter much if they add any more, even for a damn bank. But I dont want you takin no chances you aint got to. You see any police around before you go in, you forget the job. Wait and do it another time. You hear?”
“I hear you, Daddy.” His heart jumped with excitement.
Old Joe turned to Frank and Ed and Bob. “But
Bob Ashley cut his eyes to John whose look told him to keep quiet. Frank and Ed dug at the dirt with sticks, ready as always to do without objection whatever their daddy said.
“Damn Bakers,” Old Joe said and spat hard into the fire. “They kindly irritatin hell outa me.”
NINE
February 23, 1915
THEY GOT OUT OF THE CAR AT THE BEND IN THE HIGHWAY AND then Frank and Ed Ashley drove off to wait for them at the junction of the Lake Okeechobee Road. The four then walked the last quarter-mile into town on this midmorning of a brightly blue-skyed and cloudless Tuesday. The pinewoods fell away at the edge of town and they walked down the main street and nodded to storekeepers at their doors and tipped their hats to women on the sidewalk and paused to scratch the ears of friendly dogs. They waved casually to acquaintances driving past. All the while looking about for police cars or cops afoot and seeing neither.
There were three customers in the bank lobby and two tellers at work behind the cage and the manager sat at his desk behind a waist-high partition at the far end of the room. A pair of overhead fans hung motionless in the near-cool of this winter’s day. None looked up nor noticed the four men until Bob Ashley shut the door hard enough to rattle the glass. Kid Lowe went to the windows and drew the curtains. Bob turned the little cardboard sign hanging on the glass front door so that the “Closed” side faced outward and then he pulled down the rollered shade and stood with his back to it. His grin was titanic.
John Ashley withdrew a .44 caliber revolver from under his loose shirt and grinned at the uncomprehending faces turned his way and announced, “Gentlemen, this is a robbery. Do like we say and nobody gets hurt. Why hell, you all gonna have an adventure to tell all your friends.” His heart was at a gallop and he felt like laughing and thought maybe he was going crazy but so what. Claude Calder went to stand by the far wall with a pistol in his hand and his grin mirrored John Ashley’s.
“All right now. folk,” John Ashley said, gesturing at the customers, “sit on the floor. Sit on your hands.”
There was no guard. The Stuart bank had been in business for years and never before been robbed. In this region, all notion of bank holdups was yet the stuff of Wild West stories, of Jesse James and his ilk, not any part of real life.
Kid Lowe moved to the other end of the room and vaulted the low partition and put his pistol to the bank manager’s ear and told him to put his hands under his ass. The manager’s name was Ellers. He appeared mildly dazed and his mouth moved as though speech were but an untried concept. Kid Lowe smiled and said, “Just stay hushed, mister. We’ll tell you when to talk.” He picked up the telephone on the desk. “This the only one?” The manager nodded. Kid Lowe yanked the line out of its connection and lobbed the instrument clattering into the corner.
The two tellers were Wallace and Taylor and both of them knew the Ashley boys and Claude Calder. Wallace said, “John…you boys…why are you all doing this?”
John Ashley laughed. “Well, shit, A.R., why you
Wallace hastened to unlock the wire gate to the teller cage and John Ashley entered and handed him a croker sack and said, “Hold this open wide for Mister Taylor. Mister Taylor sir, you just empty all them little money drawers in the bag, hear? Do it now, sir, and do it quickly.”
“Sorry, mam,” Bob Ashley said loudly through the glass of the closed front door, holding aside slightly the roller shade and speaking to a woman insistently rapping on the doorglass with the handle of her parasol. “We’re closed up a few minutes. Doin a inventory. Be open again shortly.” The woman scowled and again rapped on the glass. Bob Ashley smoothed the roller shade back in place and turned his back on the door and shrugged at Claude Calder.
As Wallace and Taylor emptied the cash drawers John Ashley went into the bank’s small vault and searched it and discovered but a half-dozen packets of twenty-dollars bills. He came out and dropped the packets in the
