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That frosty morning, after years of living in his father’s shadow, Edward Bremer was about to become famous. A minute after dropping his daughter at her school, he pulled up to a stop sign at the corner of Goodrich and Lexington Parkway. As he did, Shotgun George Ziegler pulled his car into the intersection, blocking Bremer’s way. Karpis stopped a second car behind Bremer’s, boxing him in.

Dock Barker and Volney Davis jumped out. Dock opened Bremer’s door and pointed his pistol at the young heir. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.”

Bremer panicked. He tried to throw the car into gear but Dock cracked him across the forehead with the pistol. Bremer attempted to escape out the passenger door, but Davis opened it first and joined Dock in hammering Bremer with his pistol. Bremer kicked open the door but Davis slammed it shut on his knee. The struggle took only a moment, but by the time Bremer surrendered, blood was streaming from a gash in his scalp. Karpis watched the tussle and fretted. “If a squad car pulls up,” he mumbled, “we’re going to have a hell of a lot of trouble here.”

Finally Dock managed to shove Bremer down onto the front floorboard. Davis attempted to start the car, but nothing happened.

“No monkey business, start the car,” Dock ordered Bremer.

Wiping the blood from his eyes, Bremer leaned up and pushed a button to start the car. As the car eased forward, Dock pushed a pair of goggles over Bremer’s head, its eyes taped so Bremer couldn’t see. No one had noticed the kidnapping; there was no pursuit. The little procession drove several miles into the countryside and pulled over to the side of the road. As he had done with Hamm, George Ziegler thrust two ransom notes forward for Bremer to sign. The young heir complained he was in great pain from the gash on his head and a wrenched knee. Karpis told him it was his own fault for struggling. “Well,” Bremer said, “I got excited.”

While Karpis took Bremer and drove south toward Chicago, Ziegler and Fred Barker took the ransom notes into St. Paul. Two hours after the kidnapping, Walter W. Magee, a contractor and a close friend of the Bremer family, took a phone call from a man who called himself “McKee.” “Hello,” McKee said. “We’ve snatched your friend Ed Bremer. We want two hundred grand.”

“McKee” said Bremer’s car would be found beneath a water tower on Edgecumbe Road. He said Magee would find a note with instructions beneath a staircase outside his office, then hung up. Magee walked outside and found the note. It read:

You are hereby declared in on a very desperate undertaking. Don’t try to cross us. Your future and B’s are the important issue. Follow these instructions to the letter. Police have never helped in such a spot and wont this time either. You better take care of the payoff first and let them do the detecting later. Because the police usually butt in your friend isn’t none too comfortable now so don’t delay the payment.

We demand $200,000.

Payment must be made in 5 and 10 dolar bills—no new money—no consegutive numbers—large variety of issues.

Place the money in two large suit box catons big enough to hold the full amount and tie with heavy cord.

No contact will be made until you notify us that you are ready to pay as we direct.

You place an ad in the Minneapolis Tribune as soon as you have the money ready. Under personal colum (We are ready Alice)

You will then receive your final instructions. Be prepared to leave at a minutes notice to make the payoff.

Dont attempt to stall or outsmart us. Dont try to bargain. Don’t plead poverty we know how much they have in their banks. Don’t try to communecate with us we’ll do the directing.

Threats arent necessary—you just do your part—we guarantee to do ours.

Magee phoned Bremer’s office, thinking it might be a prank. He wasn’t there. Magee then called the brewery and left a message for Adolph Bremer to meet him at the Ryan Hotel. The St. Paul police chief was notified, and at 11:05 he phoned Werner Hanni, the St. Paul SAC. Hanni walked