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In Miami they checked into the El Commodoro; as luck would have it, agents watching the hotel had returned to Chicago the previous week. Delaney was in the eighth month of her pregnancy, and she asked Karpis if she could give birth in Miami. Karpis said sure. The hotel’s manager, Joe Adams, hardly recognized Karpis his tan was so deep. Karpis asked about a house to rent, and Adams said he knew a place, an old bootlegger’s bungalow on 85th Street. Karpis told him to hold off. He needed to get a sense of how hot he was in Miami before he decided to stay.

The next morning, Karpis went downstairs and found Adams in his office. He needed a car, so Adams dispatched Duke Randall to buy him a Buick sedan. Adams also sent a telegram to Fred at Lake Weir, asking him to come to Miami. The next morning Fred arrived at the hotel. He and Karpis hadn’t seen each other in almost three months. Barker told Karpis all about the excellent fishing and deer hunting in central Florida. He said Ma was dying to have Delaney come visit. “Well wait a minute,” Karpis said. “Is that Yona Burdette up there?”

Barker laughed. “Yeah, Campbell’s got her there.”

“How the hell did she get away from the FBI?” he asked. “And how come your mother is letting her stay there with you and her?”

Again Barker laughed. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said. “You know when you left Chicago and went to Cuba, why, Campbell came down to Florida when my mother and I did and he was living with us. And he finally decided that he wanted to get Yona again. He decided he’d drive all the way to Oklahoma to get her.”

They talked for hours. Barker asked if he might be interested in returning to Cleveland to rob an armored car. Karpis begged off. “By the way,” Karpis said. “Where’s Dock?”

“He’s living in Chicago now,” Barker said. “He’s living with some guys around there, Rusty Gibson and some guys.”

It went without saying that neither man wanted much to do with Dock Barker. He was an unreliable drunk. Karpis suggested they look at banks in Georgia and Alabama. The only reason nobody hit Southern banks, Karpis knew, was the notoriety of Southern prisons. There were plenty to rob. When Barker returned north, he took with him Karpis’s promise that he would visit as soon as he got settled.

The next day, Karpis took Delaney to look at the house Joe Adams recommended on 85th Street. They liked it, and Karpis handed over $1,000 to rent it for the winter. Adams arranged a nurse who would double as a maid. They moved in a few days later and settled into their quiet routine, listening to the radio, turning in early. Delores’s little bulldog took to doing battle with the coconuts that dropped like bombs onto their lawn. Karpis hated the falling coconuts. The dents they made in the perfect green grass offended his sense of order.

The following week Freddie and Ma appeared at the El Commodoro, and Karpis accepted their invitation to go deep-sea fishing. On the drive back, Freddie again suggested they make a run to Cleveland. This time Karpis agreed. Delores pouted at the news, reminding him that the baby could come any day, but the following Monday, Karpis followed the Barkers to central Florida anyway. He found Freddie and Ma’s lake house outside the hamlet of Oklawaha, thirty miles south of Ocala. To his surprise, it lay just a stone’s throw off the main road. It was a far more accessible site than he would have chosen; when they walked in the yard, Karpis noticed, they could be seen by anyone driving by.

The next morning they headed north. In Cleveland they received a hearty welcome from Karpis’s old boss, Shimmy Patton, who briefed them on the FBI’s investigations in the city. Cleveland, Karpis decided, was still far too hot for their return. He returned to Miami, relieved.

New Year’s came and went quietly. Then, in the first week of January, Freddie drove up to Karpis’s house. With him were Dock Barker and Russell Gibson. Irritated, Karpis took Freddie aside.

“What the hell are they