Charlie shook his head, trying to get his thoughts straight. A hundred bucks for some exciting driving was quite an offer. Hard to ignore. But a bank robbery …
‘Don’t worry about it, Charlie,’ whispered Wendell. ‘These robberies are a dime a dollar since the Depression started. It’s true. Hell, bank-robbing gangs are being celebrated as folk heroes by huge swathes of the American people. Think of it this way: it’s just the poor folk taking back what the stockbrokers stole from us.’
‘So … so it’s almost like helping the people who’ve suffered,’ said Charlie uncertainly.
‘Exactly.’ Wendell counted out a couple of dollars to pay for the malts, as if to show Charlie just what the poor could achieve when they put their minds to it. ‘And there’s no danger, remember? You just think about it, while we take the Packard for a spin.’
Charlie agonized over the offer as he nosed the car out through town. His first inclination was to turn it down, for rational and obvious reasons. However, he could use the $100. That would help out around the farm so much. He could try some of the new innovations that the County Farm Advisor was suggesting. It was easy money, and it could do some good in any number of ways.
And he very much wanted to experience the thrill of driving that fast, powerful Packard at full throttle. For two hours, Charlie drove Wendell around the countryside in the big car, taking every opportunity to accelerate, speed, and maneuver it around all manner of obstacles. Once again, he was amazed - elated, even - with how well the car performed.
‘Okay,’ he said, as they pulled up near the Essex so he could drive himself home. ‘I’ll do it.’
Wendell smiled, staring out through the windshield at the road ahead of them.
‘See?’ he said softly. ‘I knew you were a smart boy. That’s why I recommended you for the job. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Charlie assured him. ‘I mean, I won’t. I’ve given you my word, and you can rely on me, Wendell.’
Even at fifteen years old, Charlie knew that to be true. Charlie was an achiever. He got things done.
And he’d never let anyone down in his life.
Chapter 2
* * *
The Folk Hero
* * *
“After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and newspaper men … Most of the reports were a nightmare – grotesque,
circumstantial, eager, and untrue.”
The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
The 4-H agricultural program had come in handy already, just a few short weeks into his studies. Charlie had arranged with his teachers and his parents to miss school on the Friday of the planned robbery, telling them he needed the time to do field work on his 4-H project.
‘What about your chores, son?’ asked his father. ‘I know your program’s important, but the farm has to come first.’
Charlie smiled, hoping he looked more calm than he felt. ‘I’ve done some of them early. As for the rest … well, I’ll be home in plenty of time.’
And now he had time to kill. Maybe a minute - or more? It was impossible to tell.
He’d been both nervous and excited when he left home early on the Friday morning of the caper, driving away into the unknown. As arranged, he’d met Wendell early and driven to a planned location at the edge of the city to pick up the six gang members. They’d then driven, four to a Packard, to the targeted bank.
‘Stay in the car,’ snapped Hepworth to Charlie as he nodded to the three men in the back of the car. ‘Don’t move for anything or anyone until we’re back. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Charlie, his legs turning to liquid so fast that he doubted he could move anyway, even if he wanted to.
He’d heard about bank robberies, of course – it was impossible not to. As Wendell had said, they were becoming almost commonplace since the Wall Street Crash. But in Chicago. Not here. Somehow he’d never imagined he might be involved in one.
It had suddenly become very real when he saw the gun protruding from the pocket of one of the men in the back seat, and had watched Hepworth slip back the safety catch on a pistol as he climbed out of the car.
He wished he could talk to Wendell. He could ask if Wendell was armed, what they should do if anything went wrong. Charlie wasn’t armed himself, and never would have been. He would have refused to even be a driver if he’d had even an inkling of what was to come. Wouldn’t he? It was hard to think straight as adrenaline surged around his body.