Infamous

“Why don’t you and that other feller just hang it up and go fishing, or try some porch sitting for a spell. Just what do you have to prove?”

Jones reached for his Stetson that hung from a hook by the door.

“Those boys told me they got a whole school in Washington where they’re doin’ nothing but educatin’ young fellas in all matters of science,” Luther said. “You didn’t even know electricity when you was their age.”

Jones pulled on the hat. He smiled. “I’ve been to that school. Still learning.”

“You just keep on pluggin’ away? Is that it, old man?”

“Dinosaurs stood still, and now they’re greasin’ our cars.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

KATHRYN AND LANG HAD GOTTEN PROPERLY PLASTERED BEFORE Lang led the way to Tich’s place south of the city on Speedway, a working-class neighborhood with simple houses and old cars. He parked in the drive and woke up Tich, a small cripple with a bum leg who hobbled down the steps but was strong enough to help Lang carry in George from the backseat. Just as soon as his boys drove off to dinner with their momma, George must’ve drank three pitchers of the lemonade, talking with Lang about what a good man Mr. Ramsey had been to him and how if he’d lived things in George’s life would’ve been real different.

Kathryn had had enough of that talk and waited outside with Geraline until he passed out.

She and the little girl followed Lang and Tich, who carried George inside like a fat sultan and plopped him on an old sofa.

“Can’t we find a hotel?” Geraline asked.

“No,” Kathryn said. “Go get yourself washed up and go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“It’s dark,” she said. “When it’s dark, children sleep.”

“I’m no child.”

“You want to go back to trampin’?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good.”

Kathryn walked with Lang out to his car. He was glassy-eyed but coming out of the drunk and gave her a big hug before saying, “You two can stay here until it’s safe to leave. I’ll help George with anything in this world. I love him like a brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ten thousand lawmen hunt for ‘Machine Gun’ Kelly.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since he pulled the Urschel job, and I saw his picture in the paper.”

“But you didn’t tell him.”

“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Kathryn wobbled and sat down on the curb. She looked up at Lang and shook her head. She felt grimy, sweaty, tired, and parched from all that gin. “You mean it? You want to help George?”

“I don’t know much criminal law, but-”

“We have a lawyer,” Kathryn said. She turned back to the house on Rayner Street and saw Gerry’s pug nose pressed against the glass in the lighted room. When she spotted Kathryn, the kid let the curtain fall.

“She’s gonna kick and scream, but that little girl is going home.”

“That’s not your daughter?”

“My daughter is with family,” Kathryn said. “Do I look like the kind of mother who would let her child be mixed up in something like this?”

Lang smiled.

“Lang?” Kathryn asked. “You think you could run a little errand for us?”

“Anything,” Lang said. “Where?”

“Coleman, Texas,” Kathryn said, clicking on her lighter and firing up a Lucky.

HARVEY BAILEY ARRIVED IN MEMPHIS AT SIX-TWENTY THE NEXT morning. The light on the train platform was weak and gray, and as he headed down the marble steps and into the terminal he realized he hadn’t eaten or bathed in two days. He’d left Joe Bergl’s soon after Nitti had snatched Verne, and he’d found a flophouse where he’d dyed his hair black and changed into a sorry suit and raggedy hat, a corn farmer gone to town. Some round, gold- framed glasses gave him a quiet, studied look, the kind of fella who could quote passages from the Bible and the Farmer’s Almanac equally and had a stout little wife back home elbow-deep in canning. Harvey crossed Main, over to a corner diner called the Arcade, where he found a back booth and studied the menu, snatching up a copy of the Press-Scimitar someone had left beside a half-eaten plate of bacon and eggs. He and every lawman in the country looking for George Kelly, George being blamed for just about every crime from snatching the Lindbergh baby to killing Lincoln.

Harvey looked around and ate the toast and bacon.

A Greek in an apron came over and took away the plate. When he returned, Harvey ordered black coffee and counted out the coin from his pocket.

Harvey had known George Kelly since 1930, when they robbed that bank in Ottumwa, Iowa. There had been a lot of others-Nebraska, Texas-and when you spend that kind of time mapping gits, lying around hotels planning a heist, and driving thousands of miles, you get to know a fella pretty good. George loved talking about Memphis. Memphis, Memphis, Memphis. He talked about his ex-wife and his boys, and his brother- in-law-Something Ramsey-like the middle initial George had taken for his own. Harvey knew he was studying to be an attorney, and if that’s where George had headed, he’d be easy to find.

Harvey finished his coffee and rode the streetcar toward the downtown, past all the warehouses, machine shops, and garages, wishing to God he’d never met the Kellys. The streetcar rambled on into the shopping district, Harvey now knowing he didn’t care if he had to kill poor ole George to get his money back. Hell, it would probably put the sorry bastard out of his misery from being married to Kathryn. He stepped off the streetcar right in front of the Orpheum Theatre. GABLE. HARLOW. HOLD YOUR MAN.

Hold your man. Harvey wondered how long till those suckers in Hollywood made a picture about those two. He could imagine the movie poster, George in a fine tuxedo with the machine gun, Kathryn dressed in a glittering gown, her husband’s nuts squeezed tight in her hand.

Harvey followed Main down to Union and strutted right into the lobby of the Peabody Hotel, past a sign advertising a colored orchestra at the Sky Lounge, and found a bank of phone booths. With his last few nickels, he arranged for a car and a little stake of cash. He snatched out a page in the telephone book for a Langford Ramsey on Mignon Avenue and decided to walk while he waited for the car. He walked up and over the Memphis bluffs and down to the Mississippi River, where he sat on a park bench for a long time and watched the long, sluggish brown water.

38

The trick with dodging a hangover was just to stay drunk for as long as you could, parceling out the sips slow and easy without getting sloppy. Kathryn drank straight gin over cracked ice for most of the night until she heard Lang knock on the back door, rousting Geraline from the couch, the girl none too happy about the plan. “I’m not going,” she said.

“The hell you aren’t,” Kathryn said.

“My parents don’t care.”