Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [255]
“To hell with the signal,” Nelson snapped. “You put on that bulletproof vest and go up to the front door.”
They drove back into Reno and Nelson parked down the street from Cochran’s house. Approaching the house was a risk Nelson was fully prepared for Negri to take. “Go ring that front door bell and ask Frank where Johnny is,” he repeated.
Negri was afraid. “Jimmy, it’s slaughter for me to go across this street and ring that bell,” Negri said. “The G-men are there, and they’d just riddle me. I can’t do [it].”
“Go ahead,” Nelson urged. “I’ll stay here, and if I see anybody, I’ll let ’em have it. I’ll have good aim from here.”
Negri was sweating now. “I know, Jimmy, but that’s murder for me,” he said. “They’ve probably got us spotted now. Have a heart, Jimmy. I wouldn’t do [this] to you.”
Nelson wouldn’t be deterred. “Go ahead, Fatso; it’s all right,” he said. “I can plug ’em first.”
“Well, let’s both go,” Negri said.
Nelson lost his temper. “No! Go ahead!” he said. “I’ll protect you.”
Negri got out of the car, trotted to Cochran’s front porch and rang the bell. Cochran opened the door, but only a few inches. “Get away from here,” he hissed. “Didn’t I tell you what that car meant? Get away from this door.”
“Where is Johnny Chase?” Negri asked.
“He’s walking down the highway,” Cochran said before closing the door. “Get away from here!”12
Negri hustled back to the car without incident; the FBI, which had no idea Cochran was secretly helping Nelson, wasn’t watching the house. Nelson drove out toward the town of Sparks, looking for Chase. After a while a red sedan passed them; inside was Cochran, along with Chase. Nelson yelled, “Follow us,” and led Cochran into the desert.
They parked in the sagebrush. Jackrabbits scampered about in the cool evening air. Cochran told Nelson about the FBI trap at his garage. “To hell with them G-men!” Nelson snapped. “I’m going back to the garage and fill them with lead. I’ll get Johnny’s car for him!”
Cochran pleaded with Nelson not to do anything rash. “I know how to handle one of these tommies,” Nelson said. “I won’t splatter up your garage too much!” Chase interceded, saying they had nothing to gain from killing FBI men. Nelson calmed down when Cochran promised to furnish him the license plate numbers of FBI cars. If he couldn’t shoot the agents in Cochran’s garage, he would get them someplace else.
On the drive back to Wally Hot Springs, Chase told Nelson all about his trip to New York. “The heat’s everywhere,” he said. “It’s in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Reno, and all spots in between. In New York I contacted some of the boys in various rackets, and they all gave me the cold shoulder, in a polite way, but firmly.”
“Aw, those yellow racketeers back East,” Nelson snapped. “The G-men can’t bluff us. All we need right now is a little time for one or two more good jobs, like the Milwaukee train. And then we can beat it over to Europe and take it easy.” Negri recognized the familiar refrain: One more job, always one more job, and then retirement.
All that night Nelson, Chase, and Negri kept watch in shifts, anticipating an FBI raid that never came. As they stood out in the desert night, cradling their submachine guns, Sam Cowley arrived at the Reno airport, having just handed the $5,000 Dillinger reward to Ana Sage in Los Angeles the day before. All that next day, Friday, October 12, Cowley joined agents staking out Frank Cochran’s garage. Cowley was discouraged by Cochran’s failure to identify the photographs of either Chase or Nelson. In a phone call to Washington that afternoon, he reported “the situation does not look any too hopeful.”13
That night Cochran met Nelson in the desert outside Reno. He handed