“The Bureau,” Charley said. “Agent Melvin Purvis led the hunt.”
“Hell, a whore betrayed him,” Richetti said, scanning the story.
“You might know,” he added, glaring at the Baird sisters.
“Say, who’re you lookin’ at, buster?” Beulah asked, incensed. “We ain’t betrayed nobody.”
“They gunned him down like a varmint, sounds like,” Richetti said. “First Bonnie and Clyde, and now Johnny Dillinger.”
With effort, Charley forced himself to look at the check. Then he put a bill and the ticket under an ashtray.
“Finish eating. I wanna be moving,” he said, grim.
“Moving?” Beulah asked. “You just got here this morning.”
“Moving where?” Richetti asked. “What’s wrong with Cincinnati?”
“I don’t care for the food,” Charley said. “I don’t care for no more conversation, either. Get some toothpicks, Eddie. We need to get on up the road.”
15
Ruby’s voice gave out on her just as she began to sing “Red River Valley.” She opened her mouth to sing, and nothing came out but a whisper. Dempsey was doing fine, though. He loved the singing part of the show, and put all he had into the rendition of “Red River Valley.” Dempsey could have been heard even in the back rows of the high school auditorium, if there had been anyone in the back rows to hear him. But there were only a dozen customers, mostly older people, and they were huddled down near the front.
Ruby had to fight back tears of discouragement. She tried to keep a smile on her face, though about all she could do was mouth the words to the song.
“All you mothers remember, now,” she said, when the song was finally finished. “Take your boys to Sunday school and try your best to keep them out of trouble.”
There were only three women in the crowd, but all three clapped politely. A few of the men clapped, too.
Louie Raczkowski was waiting to lower the curtain, his cigarette dangling straight down out of the corner of his mouth, as usual. He barely got it down before Ruby began to cry. It was the third time in two weeks that her voice had gone out on her.
Dempsey, fully satisfied with his own performance, couldn’t understand why his mother was upset.
“Mama, they clapped,”he said. “I think they liked us.”
Ruby was too upset to answer. She went back to the cold, bare dressing room and took off her squaw outfit. Her ma had made the outfit for her. Mr. Raczkowski had brought several Indian maiden outfits for her to try on, but they were all too big—Ruby was still skinny, even after her pregnancy with Dempsey. The white moccasins and the little headband fit, though. Her ma had worked hard on the squaw outfit, but it still didn’t make Ruby feel like an Indian.
Dempsey wore a white suit and a bow tie, and was equipped with a cap pistol, which he whipped out and popped at the audience from time to time.
“I swear, I thought we’d do better in Tishomingo,” Louie said, when Ruby finally composed herself enough to come out of the dressing room.
“Charley robbed two or three banks right around here—I thought it would bring the folks out,” he added.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t trust my voice,” Ruby said. “I don’t know what happened … I guess I’m not a singer.”
“Well, you give her a good try. So did the boy,” Louie said. “I should’ve took out a bigger ad.”
“But they liked us,” Dempsey insisted. “They jumped when I shot my pistol.”
“I know, honey. You’re a little trouper,” Ruby said to her son.
“Mrs. Floyd, I believe it’s time we give it up,” Louie said, finally. “I thought this would work, but I’ve been wrong before.
“Show biz ain’t predictable,” he added.
“I guess that means we’re fired,” Ruby said. In a way she was glad, but in a way she wasn’t. She felt she had let Mr. Raczkowski down. He was a kind man, and had paid her faithfully; he even bought Dempsey hot dogs on some of the long drives between shows.
“It just means it ain’t workin’ anymore, ma’am,”Louie said. “We only had a dozen payin’ customers tonight—that won’t even cover the light bill.”
“Maybe we oughta try some more of the bigger towns,” Ruby said. “We done real good in Tulsa, didn’t we?”
“Oh, we did good in Tulsa, and in Oklahoma City, too—but the rent’s higher in the bigger places,” Louie informed her. “I expect our big mistake was in not getting an actor to play your husband—after all, he’s kinda the star of this show. If we’d had an actor act out some of the big robberies, we might’ve done a whole lot better.”
“You don’t even wanna try Kansas City?” Ruby asked. “Charley’s well known up there.”
“I believe it’d be too big a gamble, Mrs. Floyd,” Louie confessed. “A place like K.C., they want them swing bands, or big-time singers. We’d be wise just to throw in the towel right here and now.”
Ruby was discouraged—any way she looked at it, it was another failure. Dempsey, though, didn’t see it that way at all. The important thing in his view was that, all told, he had missed a whole month of school, and got to shoot his cap pistol every time they did a show.
Louie Raczkowski not only took them to the bus station, he waited until the midnight bus showed up. He bought them both a ticket, and pressed a twenty-dollar bill into Ruby’s hand as she got ready to board the bus.
“Aw, you don’t owe me this,” Ruby said. “All I done is croak out on you.”
“No, you earned the money,” Louie said. “You’re a fine woman, Mrs. Floyd. You and your little boy take care.”
“I ain’t little—I’m nine,” Dempsey said, as they boarded the bus.
16
Richetti looked out the window. It was snowing hard, as it had been for a week solid. All it did in Buffalo was snow. The summer had been mild, but winter had hit hard, and early. Besides that, he held a poor hand. Charley was looking at his cards with a grin on his face. He didn’t waste time being poker-faced when he held a good hand.
“Why can’t we go hole up in Florida?” Richetti asked. “At least it’s warm there. I never seen so much goddamn snow in my life.”
“Shut up and bet,” Charley said.
“I ain’t gone insane, I’m not gonna bet on this hand,” Richetti said, folding his cards. “I still wanna know why we can’t hole up in Florida.”
“We could, but Buffalo’s safer,” Charley said, shuffling the cards and handing them to Richetti. “Your deal.”
“You’re Public Enemy Number One, not me,” Richetti reminded him. “I can go where I please—and I’m thinking of going someplace where I don’t need snowshoes to go out and buy smokes.”
“Deal the cards,” Charley said again, ignoring him. “The girls will be back soon.”
“They will if they don’t get buried in a snowdrift,” Richetti said. “They better not forget the booze, or I’ll have to send them right back out.”
A few minutes later, Beulah and Rose walked in. Fluffy snowflakes melted on their coats and hats, and in their hair. They had the booze, and Beulah had a wicked little gleam in her eye as well. She pitched a copy of True Crime magazine in Charley’s lap.
“Hello, Charley boy,” she said. “Have I got a surprise for you—look what your old lady’s been up to, while I been up here keepin’ you in smokes and hootch!”
The first story in the magazine had a half-page photograph of Ruby and Dempsey, taken in Tulsa. The story was about the “Crime Doesn’t Pay” show, but Charley wasn’t interested in the story—he couldn’t take his eyes off the picture. Ruby had on a squaw dress, and Dempsey had on a white suit with a nice bow tie.
“Say, don’t Dempsey look swell!” Charley exclaimed.
Then he got tears in his eyes—just seeing a picture of his wife and son made him realize how badly he missed them.
“Aw, I told you not to bring it home. Now Charley’s upset,” Rose said to her sister.
Richetti peeked at the
magazine for a minute.
“Ruby’s wrong, anyway,” he said. “Crime does pay, for you two—our crime. All you do is shop.”
“Can it, Eddie, who turned on your faucet?” Beulah asked. She saw the tears in Charley’s eyes, and she knew what they meant. It made her so jealous she wanted to break something, preferably over his head.
“So what if he’s upset?” she asked. “Ruby oughtn’t to be going ’round the countryside stirring up folks against Charley.”
“That’s enough, Beulah—I told her to take the job,” Charley said, glaring at her. “It’s the Depression, ain’t you heard? Ruby’s gotta do what she can to make a living—she’s got our child, remember?”
“Strange way to make a living, rattlin’ on about what a crook your husband is,” Beulah said, her temper rising. “You’re nothin’ but a sucker, Charley. You’d take up for Ruby no matter what she did.”
Charley just shrugged, and looked at his cards. He knew Beulah wanted a fight; she’d been primed to start one for a week. He didn’t want to fight, but he was tired of Beulah and her guff. She picked the wrong thing to jump on him about, too.
“I may do more than take up for her,” he told Beulah. “I may just go home and see her—they might be on the street by now, for all I know.”
“Oh, yeah?!” Beulah retorted. “You leave me sitting in Cincinnati for three months, biting my nails, but all it takes is a silly picture in a magazine to send you home to Ruby.”
“Are you crazy, bud?” Richetti asked, shocked. “You can’t go to Oklahoma—every hick sheriff in this country is just itchin’ to plug Public Enemy Number One!”
“You were the one complainin’ about the snow, Eddie,” Charley said. “If I can make it to the Cookson Hills, I’ll be all right. Folks know me in the hills—I got lots of friends there—they’ll hide me out.”
“You’re nuts!” Beulah said. Charley was still staring at the picture in the magazine. She realized she’d been a fool to show it to him. She thought it would make him mad at Ruby, but instead, it had made him miss her even more. It seemed to Beulah that no matter what she did, Ruby was always there.
Beulah grabbed the ashtray off the table and threw it at the wall, ashes and all. Then she burst into tears and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door so hard it shook the whole rooming house.
“I bet that startles the neighbors,” Charley said. “They’ll think it’s an avalanche.”
“Did you really tell Ruby to do that show?” Richetti asked.
“Sure,” Charley said. “I ain’t been able to get a dime to her since last spring. Ruby’s gotta eat, and she’s got to provide for Dempsey.
“Anyway—it’s just a show,” he added.
“Beulah’s mad as hops!” Rose informed him.
“Rose, that’s like tellin’ me it’s snowing,” Charley said, impatient. “I can see that it’s snowing, and believe it or not, this ain’t the first time since I’ve known her that Beulah’s been mad as hops.
“I doubt it’ll be the last, either,” he added. “Beulah’s got one of them hair-trigger tempers. You breathe wrong, and it’s bam-bambam.”
Richetti cracked the seal on one of the whiskey bottles, and promptly glugged down three or four swallows.
“I can’t concentrate on cards with all this arguin’,” he said, disgusted.
“You couldn’t concentrate on blowin’ your nose if you was drownin’ in snot, Eddie,” Charley said, laying his cards on the table. “I guess I better go try to make up with Beulah before she kicks the house down.”
He let himself into the bedroom, expecting to have to duck another ashtray. But Beulah lay flat on her back on the bed, tears streaking down both cheeks. She didn’t look mad anymore; she just looked sad.
Charley eased down cautiously on the bed beside her.
“Are you gonna stay mad at me, just because I miss Ruby and Dempsey?” he asked.
“Looks like after all this time, you could tell the difference between when I’m mad and when I’m sad,” Beulah said. “If you can’t, then we ain’t gettin’ nowhere.”
“You looked mad when you threw the ashtray,” Charley ventured.
“That was a while ago,” Beulah said. “Now, I’m sad.”
“You got as many moods as a cat has lives, honey,” Charley said. “Sometimes I can’t switch shirts fast enough.”
“I wish we’d had a baby, Charley,” Beulah said. “I been thinking about babies, more and more. Maybe if we had a baby, you’d love me as much as you love Ruby.”
“I love you pretty much, honey,” Charley said. He took off his shoes, and swung his legs up on the bed.
“Not as much as you love Ruby, though,” Beulah said.
Charley looked as if he was about to speak.
“Don’t tell me it ain’t true, because it is—and don’t try to explain, neither,” she said, putting her finger against his lips.
“I’m too tired to explain, even if I knew what there was to explain,” Charley said. He took out his handkerchief, and wiped her cheeks dry.
“Too tired … and too worried, about too many things,” he added.
Beulah took his hand, slipped it under her blouse and placed it on her breast. She held it there, but she didn’t look at him.
“I love you to pieces, Charley,” Beulah said. “I’ve always loved you. But Ruby found you first, and there’s nothing I can do to get around that.”
She pressed his hand more tightly to her breast, and managed a wry smile.
“It’s like she’s stuck in your heart, and you’re stuck in mine,” she said. “You know how something will get stuck in your teeth, and you gotta use a toothpick to get it out?”
“I think I know what a toothpick’s for, honey,” Charley said.
“Well, there ain’t a toothpick sharp enough to get Ruby out of your heart,” Beulah said. “I try to be hopeful, and I try to be perky, and I try to be sexy, and do things the way you like ’em. But Ruby’s still stuck right there in your heart.” She poked him in the chest with her finger.
“Like right now,” Beulah said, looking at him. “I’m here in bed with you, and she ain’t, but that look on your face makes me feel like she’s here, and I ain’t.”
Charley tried to kiss her, but Beulah turned her head.
“You are here with me, though,” Charley said. “It ain’t some accident that we’re together, and that we’ve been together all this time. We’re together because I want you with me.”
He started to remove his hand from her breast, but Beulah caught his wrist and held it where it was.
“You mean that? You want me here with you?” Beulah asked.
“You know I do, Beulah,” Charley said. “We’ve been through hell and back together—like when Billy Miller was killed, and when you was shot in the head.
“I’m sorry you’re blue, honey,” he added.
“I ain’t quite as blue as I was,” Beulah said, smiling at him.
“It’s never been a secret that I love Ruby,” Charley said. “But I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. You stuck by me, Beulah. And if I live, I’ll always stick by you—not every single day, maybe … but I’ll stick by you as best I can.”
“What do you mean, if you live, Charley?” Beulah asked, sitting up.
“I just mean, if I live,” Charley said.
Beulah threw herself on him, and began to smother him with kisses.
“Don’t you be talkin’ that way, Charley Floyd!” she said, between kisses. “You have to live. I wouldn’t have a thing to hope for, if you died. I wouldn’t be worth the powder on my nose without you.”
“Aw, Beulah, sure you would,” Charley said. “You’d still be your wild self, whether I was around or not.”
“You got that wrong,” Beulah said. “When I’m with you, I feel like it’ll be forever. I get my hopes up that we’ll have a baby someday, and live like normal folks do.”
“Aw, applesauce,” Charley said, slipping his hand under
her skirt. “We’re normal folks, honey—we just ain’t as bored.”
“I ain’t bored at all, Charley,” Beulah said, moving closer to him. “I ain’t never been bored when you’re bein’ sweet to me.”
“You mean sweet—like this?” Charley asked, as Beulah scooted closer to him.
“That’s one name for it,” she answered, as she kissed him.
17
The phone seemed to ring louder when it was the Director calling. It rang so loud, Melvin Purvis jumped in his chair.
“Yes, sir,” he said, into the phone.
“Floyd’s in Ohio, get up here!” Hoover said.
“Yes, sir,” Purvis said, grabbing his hat.
Before he could get out of his office, the phone rang again, just as loud.
“Yes, sir!” Purvis said, running back to grab it.
“Sir who?” his wife asked.
“Oh … I thought you were the Director calling back,” Agent Purvis said.
“Nothing that grand,” his wife said. “Could you pick up a chicken on the way home? The butcher’s holding it for you.”
“I will, if I get to come home. There’s an emergency in Ohio,” Purvis said.
“What kind of emergency?”
“A Pretty Boy Floyd emergency,” Purvis said. “I got to run, honey, the Director’s waiting.”
“Bye—if you’re not back by Christmas, send us a card,” his wife said, as she hung up.
“Where were you, you move like glue,” Hoover said, when Purvis dashed into his office.
Agent Purvis decided not to mention that his wife had called. Wives were one of the many elements of life the Director didn’t approve of.
“I got slowed down in the hall,” he said.
“I don’t see why, we have excellent halls in this building,” Hoover informed him. “Floyd and Richetti robbed a bank in eastern Ohio. My guess is he’s headed home.”
“I doubt he’s that crazy,” Purvis commented.
“I didn’t ask your opinion,” Hoover said. “I want you on a plane to Ohio in half an hour. Take three agents with you. When you get there, organize the locals. I want sharpshooters.”
Pretty Boy Floyd Page 40
