Dillinger

Jarvis came back a moment later and sat down. ‘My God, would you believe it. That place was supposed to be escape-proof. Not only did he walk right out, he’s used the sheriff’s car for his getaway.’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Jesus, will Lillian be mad.’

But Martha Ryan simply sat there, the coldness growing within her, aware only of Dillinger’s final words to her. That he knew the road he was taking. That he knew what lay at the end of it.

It was still raining and they were over the border into Illinois when Blunk, on Dillinger’s orders, pulled up at the side of the dirt road they had been following.

‘OK,’ Dillinger said. ‘This is where you two get off.’

They got out of the car reluctantly, uncertain as to his intentions, but Dillinger just drove away, the wheels of the big Ford churning mud, and Dillinger hoping some of it would land on Blunk’s suit.

Youngblood started to sing loudly in the rear seat. A few miles further on, Dillinger stopped the car to light a cigarette, then he took a few crumpled bills from his pocket and counted them.

‘Fourteen dollars isn’t going to get us very far.’

‘And that’s a fact,’ Youngblood said. ‘I guess there’s only one thing to do. You’ll just have to rob a bank, Mr Dillinger.’

He started to laugh and Dillinger, loving the feel of being behind the wheel of a fast-moving car, feeling as exhilarated as a kid, tossed him the cigarette pack and drove away through the rain, wondering what the newspaper headlines would be saying in the morning.

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