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good of you to see me, Mr Harvey.’

      Harvey took in the excellent suit, the con-servative tie, the soft-collared shirt in the very latest style, and got to his feet.

      ‘That’s what we’re here for, Mr Jackson. Take a seat and tell me what I can do for you. You’re in the property business?’

      ‘That’s right. Chicago District Land Company. We’re in the market for farm properties in this area – suitable farm properties. Our clients, the people we represent in this instance, intend to farm in a much more modern way. To make that pay, they need lots of acreage. Know what I mean?’

      ‘Exactly,’ Harvey said, opened a box on his desk and offered him a cigar. ‘I think you’ll find you’ve come to the right place, Mr Jackson.’

      ‘Good.’ Dillinger took the cigar and leaned forward for a light. Harvey frowned. ‘You know, I could swear I’ve met you some place before.’

      ‘That could be,’ Dillinger said. ‘I get around. But let’s get down to business. I need a bank down here.’

      ‘No problem.’

      ‘Good, then I’d like to make a withdrawal now.’

      ‘A withdrawal?’ Harvey looked bewildered. ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘Yes,’ Dillinger said. ‘Twelve thousand dollars should do it, what with my expenses and all.’

      ‘But, Mr Jackson, you can’t make a withdrawal when you haven’t put anything in yet,’ Harvey explained patiently.

      ‘Oh, yes I can.’ Dillinger took a Colt .45 automatic from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

      Harvey’s whole face sagged. ‘Oh, God,’ he whispered. He looked at the man’s face and it came to him. ‘You’re John Dillinger.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Dillinger said. ‘Now we’ve got that over with, you get twelve grand in here fast and then you and me will take a little ride together.’

      Dillinger walked over very close to Harvey so that the banker could feel Dillinger’s breath on him.

      Harvey was not a religious man. He went to church on Sundays because his customers went to church. But he found himself hoping that his Maker was looking down right now to protect him.

      ‘Are you going to kill me?’ Harvey asked.

      ‘You’re going to kill yourself, Mr Harvey, if you keep shaking that way.’

      They both heard the door open. Quickly, Dillinger pulled his gun arm in and turned so that it wouldn’t be seen from the door. It was Harvey’s secretary, saying, ‘Your next appointment is here, Mr Harvey.’

      There was a slight pause. Dillinger waited and Harvey took a deep breath. ‘Cancel it. They’ll have to come in tomorrow, and tell Mr Powell I want twelve thousand dollars in here.’ He glanced at Dillinger. ‘Will fifties be OK?’

      ‘Just fine,’ Dillinger said amiably.

      The woman went out. Dillinger put the Colt in his right-hand pocket, stood up and walked round 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 coupé.’

      ‘You’re going to shoot me?’ Harvey said urgently.

      ‘Only if you make me. If you behave yourself, I’ll drop you outside 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 open, Doc Floyd heard the car drive up outside. He straightened, glass in 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 the car in the distance.

      ‘That coming this way?’ Dillinger asked.

      ‘Any car you 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 mud 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.’

      ‘Where you headed?’

      ‘Moline.’

      ‘You got a long ways to go.’

      ‘Know that. We figured to stop in a hotel some place tonight. Or thought maybe we could pay someone to stay over.’

      ‘You don’t want to stay here,’ Doc said. ‘My woman has black fever.’

      The man didn’t know what black fever was any more than Doc did, but he took a step backward.

      ‘I

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