Shot in the Back

by William W. Johnstone

  “I tell you the truth, Jesse, until I got that letter from you a couple of months ago, I thought maybe you two were dead or something,” Cummins said after he invited them in.

  “The name is Frank,” Jesse said.

  “Heck yeah, I know that. But I figured since it’s just us, that it wouldn’t matter that much.”

  “If you get into a habit of calling me Jesse, you might slip sometime. It would be better if you called me Frank all the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Tell me, Jim, do you have money left from our last job?” Jesse asked.

  “Hell, I damn near had it all spent the first year,” Cummins said. “I’ve just been livin’ sort of hand to mouth since then, tryin’ to scratch enough money out of the farm to keep body and soul together. That’s why when you asked in your letter if I would be interested in another adventure, I said yes.”

  “I was glad to hear that. To be honest, Jim, I wasn’t sure you were even still alive, or that you would answer the letter if you were,” Jesse said. “I just took a chance on it.”

  “What is this adventure you’re talking about? You didn’t say nothin’ about it in the letter. Have you got somethin’ in mind?”

  “I do have something in mind, but it’s going to take more than the three of us. Are you still in contact with Jesse Evans, or John Tucker, or whatever he’s calling himself these days?”

  “Yeah, I still hear from him from time to time. He’s up in Joplin now.”

  “Do you think he would be interested in another job?” Jesse asked.

  “I don’t know. He told me once that he was goin’ to go straight. But he’s been workin’ at a warehouse, loadin’ and unloadin’ trucks, so I expect he’s gettin’ damn tired of that by now. I’m pretty sure that if the money is good he’ll be all in with us. What you got in mind? Another bank? That last one was a sweet job, all right.”

  “Not a bank,” Jesse said. “What I’ve got in mind is a money transfer car.”

  “Really? Why would you do that? There would be more money in a bank, wouldn’t there? I mean, how much money could we get out of one transfer car?”

  “I’d say half a million dollars,” Jesse said.

  “Half a million dollars?” Cummins replied with a gasp. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m not going to say that it will be half a million, but it could be. I’m sure it will be more than we got the last time.”

  “All right then, I’m in for sure,” Cummins said. “And I think I can speak for Evans. Once he hears how much money we can make, he’ll join us in a heartbeat, there’s not a doubt in my mind.”

  “I think for a job this big that we’ll be wanting at least one more man besides Evans,” Jesse said. “The problem is, I’ve been out of the business for a long time now, and all the people I know, or I once worked with, are either dead or in prison somewhere.”

  “I don’t know of anyone personally, but I’d be willing to bet that Evans does. He gets around a lot more than I do.”

  “What you say we drive out to Joplin and look up Mr. Evans?” Jesse suggested.

  Joplin, Missouri—December 6, 1916

  “How much money did you say?” Evans asked.

  “I told Jim it could be as much as half a million dollars,” Jesse said. “I can’t guarantee that, but I’m sure it will not be less than one hundred thousand.”

  “What makes you think there will be that much money in the truck?”

  “I read this article in the Police Gazette,” Jesse said, showing it to Evans.

  With the perfection and reliability of the automobile, there has been developed, in this twentieth century, a new and more secure way of transporting money from bank to bank. This new method of currency exchange is the armored car. The armored car is a closed vehicle with steel siding, so constructed as to provide protection for the driver and messenger against any attempt at robbery by outlaws. The steel plating will turn away bullets of any caliber, thus insuring the safe and efficient transfer of money. Because of this security, banks are entrusting larger and larger amounts of currency in such transfers, many times up to half a million dollars or more in one transfer. Rarely is less than one hundred thousand dollars transferred by such a mode.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Evans said.

  “It’s enough to get you away from the loading docks for a while,” Jesse said.

  “Yes, sir, I would say that it sure is.”

  “Do you want to be part of it?”

  “I sure do. When do we go?” Evans asked excitedly.

  “Not so fast. We need at least one more man. Jim said he thought you might know of someone.”

  “Yeah,” Evans said. “Yeah, I know just the man. His name is Trainor. Nick Trainor. He lives in Kansas City.”

  “We’ll pick him up on the way,” Jesse said.

  “On the way where?”

  “On the way to where we are going to pull the job,” Jesse said without further explanation.

  Kansas City—December 10, 1916

  “Hey, you two!” someone yelled at Jesse and Evans when they walked back into the kitchen of Seabaugh’s Café. “Get out of here! You can’t be back here!”

  “Are you Mr. Seabaugh?” Evans asked.

  “I am.”

  “Well, Mr. Seabaugh, I need to talk to my friend,” Evans said. “He’s back there washin’ dishes.”

  “If you want to talk to him, you wait until his shift is over. Do you understand me, mister? Now get out of here!”

  “Nick,” Evans called out to a man who was standing at a steel sink in the scullery, his arms elbow-deep in soapy and greasy water. Nick looked around and smiled.

  “Jesse, what are you doing here?”

  For just a second Jesse gasped, then he remembered that Evans first name was also Jesse, and this man was talking to him.

  “I’ve come to offer you a job,” Evans said. “If you want to walk away from here I’ve got something I believe you’ll be interested in.”

  “What are you talking about?” Seabaugh asked. “This man already has a job! You can’t just come in here and hire him away like that.”

  “What’s the job?” Trainor asked.

  “It’s the kind of job you and I have spoken about a few times. It’s a big score, Nick, and I mean a really big score.”

  Trainor pulled his arms out of the water, then began drying off.

  “All right, I’m in.”

  “What? You can’t quit now! Not right in the middle of your shift!” Seabaugh said angrily.

  “You don’t think I can quit, do you? Well I tell you what, Seabaugh. You just watch me walk out,” Trainor said.

  “You won’t get any of the money that’s comin’ to you,” Seabaugh shouted, his face getting red from anger. “Do you understand me, Trainor? If you walk out now, you won’t get one red cent!”

  “The hell I won’t. You owe me damn near a full week’s pay,” Trainor challenged.

  “Nick, don’t worry about that week’s pay. Believe me, you don’t need it,” Evans said.

  “Are you tellin’ me the truth, Evans?”

  “He’s telling you the truth, Mr. Trainor,” Jesse said.

  “Who’s this?” Trainor asked, nodding his head toward Jesse.

  “This is Frank Alexander. I’ve worked with him before. He’s the one who found the job for us, and it’s big time, my friend. It’s very big time.”

  “All right, let’s go,” Nick said.

  “Trainor! Trainor! You come back here, you hear me? You come back here!” Seabaugh shouted. “How am I going to get these dishes washed?”

  “Do ’em yourself,” Trainor shouted, and without turning around he flipped the ‘the bird’ to Seabaugh.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Cow Palace Hotel, Kansas City

  “You met Frank Alexander a few minutes ago,” Evans said to Trainor after Jesse invited them up to his hotel room. “This is his boy, Billy, and this is an old friend, Jim
Cummins. I told you that Frank and I had worked together before. Frank had it planned out really well, and we got forty-five thousand dollars for it. Billy and Jim were in on it as well.”

  “When was that?” Nick asked.

  “It was about ten years ago.”

  Trainor looked at Jesse. “You ain’t done nothin’ in ten years?”

  “I haven’t done anything with any of these men,” Jesse replied without adding any more information.

  “How much did you say you got for that job?”

  “We got forty-five thousand dollars,” Evans repeated.

  “That’s good money,” Trainor said. “I ain’t never got more’n two thousand dollars for any job I ever done.” He looked directly at Jesse. “You think we can get that much from this job?”

  “No,” Jesse said. Then he smiled. “I think we will get more. A lot more.”

  “What kind of job is it?” Trainor asked.

  Jesse explained again how armored cars were now carrying so much money and how he planned to rob one.

  “But if they are all covered with steel like it says in this article, how are we going to do it?” Trainor asked.

  “Simple. We’ll catch them when they are in front of the bank with their doors open, actually transferring the money. We’ll hit them hard, and we’ll have a fast car. We’ll have the money and be down the road before anyone can react.”

  “Wait until you see the car,” Evans said. “It’s a Packard. There won’t be anything on the road that can catch it.”

  Jesse shook his head. “We won’t be in the Packard when we pull the job. That car stands out too much. We’ll be in a different car.”

  “You’ve got another car?” Evans asked.

  “We will get another car before we do the job.”

  “If we buy another car and one of the guards at the armored car describes it, don’t you think the man who sells us the car might recognize it and describe us?” Cummins asked.

  “Who said we were going to buy the car?” Jesse replied with a broad smile.

  Two nights later, at about two o’clock in the morning, Jesse, Billy, and the other three men were driving slowly through a quiet and dark residential area in the west part of Joplin. Jesse was driving, and Billy and Nick Trainor were both riding in the front seat with him.

  “There, Pa, that Dodge Touring Car,” Billy said. “It will be perfect. Let me ’n Nick out here, then you drive around the block and park. We’ll walk back and get the car, then join you in a minute.”

  “How are you going to get the car started without a key?” Cummins asked.

  “Simple,” Trainor replied. “All we have to do is cross the ignition wires.”

  Billy and Trainor stepped out of the Packard, then walked back to the Dodge.

  “Set the brake, and make certain the transmission is in neutral,” Trainor said. “When I tell you, cross these two wires right here.” Trainor shined a flashlight on the wires. “I’ll crank.”

  Billy set the brake and put the gear in neutral, then retarded the spark, opened the throttle, adjusted the mixture, and pulled out the choke.

  “Now,” Trainor said from the front of the car, “cross those wires I showed you.”

  Billy crossed the wires, which turned the ignition on. That was when Trainor jerked the crank handle up. The engine started, and Billy advanced the spark about halfway up the quadrant, then adjusted the throttle as Trainor, carrying the hand crank, hurried back to jump into the car.

  “Let’s go!” Trainor said.

  “There they are,” Evans said from the Packard as the Dodge Touring Car approached.

  Billy pulled up alongside the Packard. “Pa, since we don’t know much about this car, maybe you’d better follow us just in case we have trouble.”

  “All right. You know where we’re going.”

  “I just know it’s in Denver,” Billy said. “I’m not sure where in Denver.”

  “It doesn’t matter. After we get to Denver, we’ll all be in the same car, anyway.”

  U.S. Mint, Denver, Colorado—10:30 a.m., December 18, 1916

  The marking on the side of the gray, steel-plated truck read U.S. FEDERAL RESERVE.

  Jesse was driving the Dodge down West Colfax Avenue, and as they approached the armored car, they saw only two men behind the truck. One was in the back of the truck, and another was standing beside a cart on the street behind the truck. The one on the street was passing canvas bags up to the one in the back of the truck.

  Jesse came to a stop right behind the truck, and Billy, Trainor, Cummins, and Evans jumped out of the car. Trainor and Evans both had shotguns.

  “Step away from the truck!” Trainor called.

  Both messengers were armed, but their weapons were pistols and they were in holsters strapped to their sides. Trainor and Evans were pointing their shotguns at the two men, who had no choice but to react to the order.

  Billy jumped up into the back of the truck, then started tossing down the money bags that had already been loaded into the truck. They had transferred four of them into the car, when all of sudden several armed guards came rushing out of the mint.

  “Billy! Get in the car!” Jesse shouted. “All you, get into the car!”

  Gunshots rang out as the Mint police began firing. Jesse saw one of the Mint policemen raise his shotgun and take dead aim at Billy. Jesse’s pistol was lying on the seat beside him, and he picked it up and fired, quickly, before the policeman was able to fire. The policeman went down.

  “Hurry!” Jesse shouted. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Some of the guards were using pistols, but many were using shotguns, and a load of buckshot slammed into the back door of the car, but none of the shot carried all the way through the door.

  “Where the hell did they all come from?” Trainor shouted.

  For just a moment, it wasn’t December 18, 1916, it was September 7, 1876, and Jesse wasn’t in Denver, he was in Northfield, Minnesota.

  “Where the hell did they all come from?” Frank shouted as they ran from the front of the bank.

  “No!” Jessie shouted aloud. “No, not again!”

  The gunfire was as intense here on the streets of Denver as it had been that day in Northfield, or as it had been in any Civil War battle in which Jesse had ever participated. It might have been even more intense.

  By now, everyone was in the car but Trainor, and just as he was about to get in, Jesse saw a spray of blood erupt from the side of his face.

  “Grab hold of him!” Jesse called, and almost kinesthetically he could feel himself on a horse, and he leaned forward as if urging the mount into a gallop. But he wasn’t on a horse, he was in a car, and he pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

  The car leaped ahead, but Trainor wasn’t yet inside. Billy was holding on to him by his arms, and Trainor’s legs were being dragged along the pavement of West Colfax.

  “Let ’im go!” Evans was shouting excitedly. “Let him go! He’s slowin’ us down.”

  “No, he isn’t slowing us any,” Billy said. “Help me pull him into the car.”

  Cummins reached over, and, with him grabbing one arm and Billy jerking on the other, they managed to finally get Trainor pulled the rest of the way into the car. Evans closed the door.

  Jesse checked the mirror, but nobody was in pursuit. All of the Mint guards had been on foot, though he was sure that, by now, many of them had gone to their cars. He was equally sure that the Denver Police had been alerted as well.

  “How is Trainor doing?” Jesse called.

  Billy saw that there was a large wound in the side of his head, and that about half of Trainor’s brains were pouring out. Trainor’s eyes were open, but they were opaque.

  “He’s dead, Pa.”

  “Damn!”

  Trainor was the first man to be killed in one of Jesse’s operations since the failed Northfield Raid, when Clell Miller and Bill Chadwell were killed.

  They had gotten twenty-six dollars
from the Northfield Raid. Was this experience an equal failure?

  Earlier, they had left the Packard in the garage of an empty house on Gilpin Street. The house was chosen not only because it was empty, but also because the driveway curved around the house, to the garage in back. Jesse checked the mirror as they turned onto Gilpin and saw no other traffic. The entire street was empty, as were the sidewalks on either side of the street. He pulled around back, then waited as Billy backed the Packard out.

  “What are we going to do with Nick?” Evans asked.

  “We’ll leave him in the car,” Jesse said.

  “We can’t do that. I mean, just leave him like that.”

  “You know him. Does he have any relatives that you know about?” Jesse asked.

  “No, none that I know about.”

  “Then we’ll leave him in the car. He’ll be found, and he’ll be buried.”

  The others agreed, and five minutes later, as the Packard drove back through Denver, they saw that West Colfax was blocked off, and a policeman was standing there, directing traffic.

  “What happened here, officer?” Jesse asked.

  “There was a robbery at the Mint,” the policeman said.

  “You don’t say. Can we drive by and take a look?”

  “There’s nothing for you to see there,” the officer said. He pointed toward the crossroad. “Be gone with you now, and let us be about our work.”

  “Yes, sir. I do hope you catch them,” Jesse said.11

  They stopped for the night in Bennett, Colorado. There they got two hotel rooms and, gathering in Jesse’s room, dumped the contents of the canvas bags onto the bed.

  “Woowee, look at all that money!” Cummins said. “I swear, I ain’t never seen that much money in my entire life!”

  “How much is it?” Evans asked.

  Jesse began counting it, dividing it into four equal piles.

  “We should be dividing it into three piles,” Evans suggested.