“Just fine,” Dillinger said amiably.
The woman went out. Dillinger put the Colt in his right-hand pocket, stood up, and walked around the desk behind Harvey. “You got a briefcase handy?”
“Yes,” Harvey said hoarsely.
“When he comes, put the money in that. Then we leave.”
The door opened a moment later, and the chief cashier, Sam Powell, entered, carrying a cash tray on which the money was stacked. “You did say twelve thousand, Mr. Harvey?”
“That’s right, Sam, just leave it on the desk. I’ll clear it tomorrow. He improvised fast. “I’m into a situation that requires instant cash.”
“Too good an opportunity to miss,” Dillinger put in.
Powell withdrew, and Harvey took his briefcase from under the desk, emptied it, and started to stack the cash inside. He looked up. “Now what?”
“Get your coat,” Dillinger said patiently. “It’s raining outside or hadn’t you noticed? We walk right out the front door and cross the street to the Ford coupe.”
“You’re going to shoot me?” Harvey said urgently.
“Okay if you make me. If you behave yourself, I’ll drop you outside of town. You can have a nice long walk back in the rain to think about it all.”
Harvey got his coat from the washroom and put it on. Then he picked up the briefcase and moved to the door. “Now smile,” Dillinger said. “Look happy. Here, I’ll tell you something funny. You know what guys in your position always say to guys like me in the movies? They say, “You’ll never get away with it.”
And Harvey, nerves stretched as tight as they would go, started to laugh helplessly, was still laughing when they went out to Marion’s office and picked up Dillinger’s oilskin slicker and felt hat.
Sitting at the table, the screen door propped open, Doc Floyd heard the car drive up outside. He straightened, glass in one hand, the other on Dillinger’s case and waited fearfully. Dillinger appeared in the doorway, the briefcase in one hand. The dog whined and moved to his side, and he reached down to scratch its ears.
He tossed the briefcase on to the table. “Three thousand in there plus a little interest. Twelve thousand in all. That seem fair to you. Doc?”
The old man placed a hand on the briefcase and whispered, “You kill anyone, Johnny?”
“No. I found your friend Harvey a real cooperative fellow. Left him ten miles out of town on a dirt road to walk back in the rain.” He unfolded the paper from around a stick of chewing gum. “You can pay what you owe on this dump now, Doc, or take the money and run all the way down to the Florida Keys and that daughter of yours.” Dillinger popped the gum into his mouth. “Want some?”
“What about you, Johnny? That fellow Leach…”
“To hell with him.”
Doc wrung his hands. Just then they both heard a car in the distance.
“That coming this way?” Dillinger asked.
“Any car you can hear ain’t on the main road. Get in the back room, Johnny, quick. Take the briefcase. Take the guns. Anything else around here yours?”
Doc turned clear around, spied the coffee cups, put them in the sink. The only thing he saw in the room that frightened him was the look that came into Dillinger’s eyes.
“Please go into the back room. If you shoot it out with someone here, win or lose, I’ll never get to see my grandchild in Florida, Johnny. Please?”
Dillinger went into the back room, taking the briefcase and guns. As soon as he slammed the door, Doc rushed out of the house. Thank heaven the rain had stopped, he thought. He wanted to meet the car as far from the house as he could.
He could see it was a Model A, black as they all were, spewing a cloud of dust behind it. The man driving didn’t look familiar. Then Doc saw that a woman was sitting beside him.
The man turned the engine off and got out. “Evening,” he said.
Doc nodded. He’d seen traps before, man and woman in the front, three men hiding behind the seat.
The man said, “Me and the Mrs. kind of got lost.”