Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [66]
Nelson thought a moment. “We’ll be gone by midnight.” He suggested they relay messages through Louis Cernocky in Fox River Grove. Karpis said it wouldn’t be safe, since Frank Nash’s wife, who knew Cernocky’s place, was in FBI custody. Karpis then left, cleaned out the lake house, and drove to a new apartment he had rented, at the South Shore Country Club building in Chicago.
A few days later Ziegler dropped by with a disquieting message: Frank Nitti himself wanted to see him, right away. Karpis swallowed hard. The meeting was set at a downtown bar. Karpis arrived early. The bar was empty except for a bartender, who eyed him nervously. When Nitti, along with Three-Fingered Willie White, walked in, his greeting was chilly. They took seats in a back room. There was a long silence.
“I’m gonna tell you something, Ray,” White began, using Karpis’s alias. “I vouched for you with the outfit. Now we got some questions we want to ask you.”
“Well, go ahead,” Karpis said. “What are they?”
“Well,” White said, “the first one is, did you say anything to those fellas living in them two houses over there? And the second is, can you tell us why they were gone right after we talked to you?”
Karpis had already decided what to say. “I’m gonna tell you the truth,” he began. “I talked to them, and Nelson assured me that there was no rackets guys around there with them, especially none from the Touhy outfit, and that they were strictly bank robbers, and I decided I’d tell them and get the hell out of there because there was going to be trouble out there. I’m the guy. I’m the reason they’re not out there no more.”
Another silence. Nitti stared. “Well, didn’t you tell us you wouldn’t?” White asked.
“I did,” Karpis said, “but I changed my mind on the thing.”
Nitti spoke. “I suppose you have a gun on you,” he said.
“Forty-five,” Karpis said.
Nitti told Karpis to wait outside. Karpis took a seat at the bar. A minute went by, then two. Karpis stared at the clock. Five minutes later, the door to the back room opened. “Come on in, Ray,” White said. Karpis took a seat. He looked in Nitti’s eyes. “We’re gonna give you a pass on this ’cause we know you’re not a racket guy,” he said. “We know Freddie, none of the guys like Frank Nash, Harvey Bailey, or any of you guys, are. There’s only one guy among you that was mixed up in the rackets, and you know as well as I know who that is, that son of a bitch Verne Miller.”
“I didn’t know you guys were hot at him,” Karpis said.
“Everybody’s hot at that bastard,” Nitti replied.
With a final warning never to get mixed up in syndicate business again, Karpis was allowed to leave. He drove home in silence. Delaney was there. She had returned from St. Paul, where she had endured a tonsillectomy and an abortion, then spent five days in a Chicago hospital when the tonsillectomy incisions ruptured. In bed Karpis reached for her. She made a face. “You know, we’re not going to be able to do anything tonight,” Delores said.
“What’s the matter?”
“The doctor says no, not for thirty days after that operation.”
“Jesus Christ,” Karpis said.
They lay in the darkness in each other’s arms, until Delores fell asleep. Karpis wasn’t much for cuddling, but as he watched her there in the dim light, he felt a sense of contentment. Dawn came quickly.
The next day, Karpis drove by to thank George Ziegler, who asked him to take a drive.
“What are you guys going to do now?” Ziegler asked.
“What do you mean?”
“To make money. You guys haven’t been doing anything, have you?”
Karpis didn’t mention the St. Paul robbery, from which they had excluded Ziegler. “Why?” Karpis asked. “What have you got in mind? You don’t need any money right now, do you?”
“Hell yes,” Ziegler said. “I’ve blown what I had on the wheat market. The damn thing took a turn for the bad and here I am, I’m gonna have to make some money.”
“What do you want to do, another kidnapping?”
“No,” said Ziegler. “I got a hell of a good thing.