Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [148]
“Are you ready for your hands?” he asked after a bit.
“Yeah,” Karpis mumbled.
Afterward Moran and his assistant tucked Karpis into a bed in another room. He awoke the next morning in incredible pain. The assistant showed him how to prop up his hands so that the blood would run out of his fingers and ease the throbbing.
“How’s Freddie?” Karpis asked.
“Oh, he woke up in the middle of the night,” the assistant said. “He was hurting like hell. I gave him a real stiff shot of morphine. Hell, he’ll be out another few hours.”
For three days Barker and Karpis drifted in and out of consciousness. In waking hours Karpis read the newspapers. On Thursday, March 15, he saw an article that stunned him: the Barker gang had been named the FBI’s primary suspects in the Bremer kidnapping. Karpis read how the Bureau had identified Dock Barker through fingerprints found on the gas cans in Wisconsin. He cursed. “We’d better plan on getting the hell out of Chicago,” he told Fred.
Barker was falling asleep. “I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled. “When I wake up, I’ll talk. I want to sleep now.”
Karpis sat up in a chair and watched Barker sleep until he, too, finally dozed off. Sometime before dawn Barker woke him.
“Where do you think we ought to go?” Barker asked.
“Well, what do you mean by ‘we’ now? Just who is we?”
“Well,” said Barker, “Ma and me and you.”
“No, not Ma,” Karpis said. “She ain’t going with us, Freddie. I’ve told you this before. She’s gonna get you killed. Mark my words.”
Barker made a face. “Well maybe you’re right. Maybe we’d better make her stay here. You think she’ll stay?”
“She’ll have no choice.”
“How are we gonna do this?”
“You want me to talk to her?” Karpis asked.
“You think you can do it?”
“You’re damn right I can do it.”
They moved into a Winthrop Avenue boardinghouse to recuperate; both men remained swathed in bandages and didn’t want to be seen at their apartments. It gave Karpis an excuse to put off confronting Ma. He dreaded it. He procrastinated several days until they received a second dose of startling news: Shotgun George Ziegler was dead. It happened in Cicero. Ziegler was walking out of a bar when a car drove by and someone fired a shotgun, nearly blowing his head off. For the first time in months, Karpis was frightened. It was clearly a Syndicate hit. Did Frank Nitti want them dead?bv
Dock Barker came by the next morning. Ziegler’s death, they agreed, meant Chicago was no longer safe; if they had somehow roused the Syndicate’s ire, every minute counted. Dock suggested they move to Toledo. A friend knew people there. Karpis and Fred agreed; it sounded as good as anywhere else. The next day Dock drove to Ohio and rented an apartment. When he returned Karpis faced the moment he had been dreading for days: telling Ma.
He made Dock go with him. Freddie was too scared.
“Jesus Christ!” Ma exclaimed the moment they entered her apartment. “Were you with George Ziegler?”
“No, why?” Karpis asked. His face was still bandaged.
“Well, look at your face. What the hell happened to you?”
“Oh, I had a, a car wreck.”
“Where’s Freddie?” Ma demanded. “What’s wrong with Freddie? Why ain’t he here?” She insisted that Freddie be brought to her.
“Well, he was in the wreck too,” Karpis said. “And he got hurt a little worse than I did, and they’ve got him where he’s real safe.” Ma got angry. “He couldn’t be no safer than he would be here!”
Karpis tried to give it to her easy. He didn’t mention that they were moving, not at first. He said they wouldn’t be visiting her any longer, not much anyway. Ma grew hysterical. For an hour she railed. She and Freddie were going to Florida, she insisted. And if they didn’t, well, she was going back to Oklahoma. Karpis let her vent. Dock looked on the whole time, never saying a word. “Now, are you finished?” Karpis finally asked. “We’re