Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [224]
Cowley had decided against watching Ana Sage’s apartment or otherwise monitoring her; presumably he didn’t want to risk the chance of Dillinger recognizing a surveillance and fleeing. For the moment this was Sage’s show, and the FBI did nothing to interfere. All they could do was wait. The night before, after meeting Sage, Cowley had taken an agent and visited the Marbro Theatre, scribbling notes on entries and exits. Afterward Cowley had telephoned Hoover, who said he wanted Dillinger taken alive if possible.
Around two o’clock, Cowley and Purvis began calling the men and ordering them to come into the office by three. The agents came in ones and twos, sweat stains in their jackets. No speeches were made, no orders were given. But soon word spread among the men fanning themselves with newspapers out in the bullpen. They had a new informant, and this one might be real. Wilting in the heat, the men checked their guns, and waited.
Dillinger was a careful dresser, especially around Polly Hamilton. That morning he pulled on a fresh pair of white Hanes briefs, size 34, then slid into a pair of lightweight gray slacks, black socks, red Paris garters, and white buckskin Nunn Bush shoes. He buttoned on a white kenilworth broadcloth shirt and twisted on a red-print tie, then put the keys to Sage’s apartment in his front-right pocket along with a La Corona-Belvedere cigar and a money clip.
Dillinger probably spent the day with Hamilton, who wasn’t feeling well, playing pinochle at Sage’s apartment. That was what he was doing around five o’clock, when Sage began preparing dinner. They were having one of Dillinger’s favorites, fried chicken. As she began work in the kitchen, Sage announced she didn’t have any butter. She said she would run down to the store to get some. She slid out the apartment door, walked downstairs, and made her way to a pay phone.
Purvis took the call. Everything was going as planned, Sage said; she pointedly failed to mention that Dillinger was at her apartment as they spoke. After dinner they planned to see a movie. They would probably leave around eight. “I’ll call when I know something definite,” Sage said. She hung up the phone and hurried back to her apartment.
At the Bankers Building, Purvis and Cowley paced. By 6:00 Sage had not called. By 6:30, they had still heard nothing. By 7:00 Purvis was growing nervous. This was cutting things close. Then, a few minutes after seven, his phone rang. It was Sage.
“He’s here,” she said. “We’ll be leaving in a short while. I still don’t know if we’re going to the Biograph or Marbro.” She hung up before he could ask any questions.
Purvis was startled. No one had said anything about the Biograph. It was on North Lincoln Avenue, a narrow street just around the corner from Sage’s apartment. Immediately, Cowley sent two agents to reconnoiter the theater. This was not good. Cowley and Purvis discussed what to do. In the end, they had no choice. Both theaters would need to be covered, and quickly.
At 7:15 Cowley summoned the men into Purvis’s office; about two dozen crammed into the room.12 Cowley introduced Zarkovich, who did the talking. He said Dillinger would be attending a movie at either the Marbro or Biograph theater that night. Due to cosmetic surgery, Zarkovich said, Dillinger’s appearance was somewhat different than the photos printed on FBI Wanted posters. His face was rounder. He had removed the identifying moles. The telltale cleft in his chin was gone. He had dyed his hair jet black,