Pretty Boy Floyd Read online

  “You cold, sir?” Charley inquired.

  “Just thinkin’ about my wife,” Wayne admitted.

  “You married, son?” he added.

  Charley thought it best not to answer the old man.

  He soon had Wayne secured. Billy Miller kept cocking and uncocking the pistol, another nervous habit of Billy’s which soon got on Charley’s nerves.

  “Hop in there and grab the money,” he instructed, reaching out his hand for the gun.

  At that point, Cecil made a mad dash into the fog. Billy had just uncocked the gun, and Cecil was out of sight before he could recock it, much less fire it.

  Before Charley could even grab the pistol, he heard a heavy thud. A second later, Cecil reappeared, blood pouring down his face. He staggered right into Billy Miller, knocking Billy back against the radiator of the flivver.

  “Kill him, he’s ruint my suit,” Billy said, noticing to his horror that the front of his suit was covered with Cecil’s blood—he had just got the suit out of the cleaners that morning.

  Cecil collapsed on the pavement, and rolled around, groaning. Charley held the pistol, but he had no intention of killing the young man, who was semiconscious at best.

  “Who slugged him?” Charley asked, peering into the fog. What if somebody was lurking on the sidewalk, waiting to rob them once they finished pilfering the truck?

  “He forgot about that lamppost,” Wayne said. “I done the same thing once, and it wasn’t even foggy.”

  “How’d you happen to run into a lamppost if it wasn’t foggy?” Charley asked.

  “By being drunk,” Wayne admitted.

  Billy Miller tried to wipe off his coat, but only succeeded in getting blood on the front of his shirt.

  “I thought you were going to get the money,” Charley said to Billy. “I better tie up Cecil.”

  He knelt and tied Cecil’s legs, though Cecil had stopped being semiconscious. Now he was out cold, his forehead split wide open.

  Billy jumped up in the armored car. The first money bag he grabbed was so heavy he had to use both hands to lift it.

  “What’s in this sucker, horseshoes?” he asked.

  “Just get the paper money,” Charley said. “That was the plan—that sack is probably filled with pennies.”

  “Nope, two-bit pieces,” Wayne corrected. “There’s plenty of paper money, though. It’s in them sacks to the front, on the right side.”

  Charley rolled Cecil over. Looking at the boy’s bloody forehead was making him kind of sick to his stomach. He tied Cecil’s hands behind his back as Billy Miller was crawling around inside the armored car, looking for a not-so-heavy sack with paper money in it.

  Charley had become suspicious of Wayne, the old guard who was planning to retire in six months. The basis of his suspicion was that Wayne was being too helpful. Cecil had at least tried to hightail it into the fog; he’d just had the bad luck to run smack into a lamppost. But Wayne had been as pleasant as could be, which didn’t make sense. After all, his job was to protect the money. Charley decided to tie his feet as well as his hands, in case he had some trick up his sleeve.

  “Sir, would you mind sittin’ down—I need to tie your feet,” Charley said.

  “I don’t mind myself, but my rheumatism won’t be too happy about it,” Wayne said, easing himself down on the pavement.

  “Ask him if there’s any gold in this truck, I’d like to steal some gold,” Billy said. He pitched three sacks full of paper money down by Charley, who was busy looping twine around Wayne’s ankles.

  “What’d you boys do before you took up robbery?” Wayne asked.

  “Not much,” Charley said. “Farmed a little.”

  “You should of stuck with it, son,” Wayne informed him. “Farming’s hard, but the outlaw life’s harder.”

  “You must’ve been plowin’ softer ground than I plowed, if you think that,” Charley said. “All I’ve had to do today is tie you up. I just tied Cecil up for practice, he was knocked out anyway.”

  “Oh, the robbing part ain’t so hard,” Wayne said. “It’s what happens once you get caught that’s hard.”

  “Who says we’re gonna get caught?” Billy Miller said, jumping out of the armored car.

  “Why, the law will be on you boys like flies on a turd,” Wayne said.

  “Is that why you didn’t put up no fight?” Charley asked him.

  “I forgot my gun,” Wayne said. “That’s why I didn’t put up no fight. I ain’t fool enough to think I could whip a stout boy like you. Besides, that fella with the hogleg acts like he’s trigger-happy. I ain’t in the mood to get shot over somebody else’s money.”

  They heard footsteps on the sidewalk, somewhere back in the fog. Charley made a sign for Wayne to shush. Billy held out his hand for the pistol, but Charley wouldn’t let him have it.

  “I think it’s a woman,” Billy whispered in Charley’s ear.

  Charley didn’t answer. Whoever was making the footsteps came up even with them, and kept going. They heard a door open and shut. Somebody, maybe a secretary, had just gone into the Kroger Bakery.

  “Put the money sacks in the car, we’re leavin’,” Charley said. “And don’t get lost doing it.”

  “I never been lost in my life,” Billy replied.

  “I guess that was why you was behind the car when we started this,” Charley said.

  “Shut up about that,” Billy told him. “I just turned the wrong way when I opened the door, that’s all.”

  “Son, would you mind setting me on the sidewalk before you leave?” Wayne asked. “The cracker truck might come along and run me over, if I’m flopped out here in the street.”

  Charley lifted the old man, and carried him a step or two onto the sidewalk.

  “Much obliged,” Wayne said. “I hope you’ll drag Cecil a little closer to the curb, while you’re at it. He’s poor company, but I’d still hate to see him get squashed by the cracker truck.”

  Charley didn’t make any promises. He decided Wayne was probably trying to keep him talking until the law showed up. But when he got back to the street, he dragged Cecil part-way up on the sidewalk. Cecil had become semiconscious again, and was moaning and groaning.

  It was so murky that Charley ran over the curb when he turned onto Grand Boulevard.

  “You’ll be the next one hittin’ a lamppost,” Billy Miller said, hanging onto the door handle.

  “Applesauce,” Charley replied, driving hell-bent-for-leather into the fog.

  4

  “I bet this bracelet cost thirty dollars if it cost a cent,” Beulah Baird said, holding up her wrist.

  Charley kept mum—though, in fact, the bracelet had set him back nearly forty bucks.

  “My sister Rose would give her eyeteeth for a bracelet this pretty,” Beulah said, turning her wrist a little so the bracelet would catch the light.

  “I guess you were born lucky,” Charley said. “It didn’t cost you no eyeteeth, or any other kind of teeth, neither.” They were both naked, laying across the double bed in Beulah’s room. Charley had his leg thrown over her, and was propped up on his elbow, watching her face.

  “You can get off me anytime you feel like it,” Beulah said, trying to twist out from under his leg.

  “What if I don’t feel like it yet?” Charley said, tightening his grip on her.

  “Good Lord, it’s five o’clock, and I’m weak in the knees as it is,” Beulah said, glancing over at the clock on her dresser. “You boys from Oklahoma got a little too much starch in your systems.”

  “Ain’t no such thing as too much starch,” Charley said, grinning.

  Beulah grinned back. She had to like the big hick; she hadn’t been surprised when he knocked on her door, either; but she was surprised by the bracelet. And besides, he was so cute.

  “That’s easy for you to say, you ain’t got to trot over to Ma Ash’s and serve supper,” Beulah told him. “My knees need to be working till at least after supper, if you don’t mind—and aft
er supper, there’ll be Wally to deal with.”

  “I figure it’s about time you shoved that donkey off the porch,” Charley said.

  Beulah giggled. She was even cuter when she giggled, Charley thought.

  “I hope you realize that’s my fiancé you’re calling a donkey,” she said.

  “He won’t be your fiancé long,” Charley informed her, rolling off. Beulah immediately hopped out of bed, naked as a jaybird, sat down in front of her dresser, and started fixing her face.

  “Why, I guess he will—why wouldn’t he?” she asked, a powder puff in one hand.

  “Because Billy Miller’s gonna kill him for cheatin’ at cards,” Charley said.

  “That won’t work, because Wally won his pistol,” Beulah said. “He gave it to me to carry in my purse.”

  “Why would you need a gun in your purse?” Charley asked.

  “Some hick from Oklahoma could come along and get fresh,” Beulah said, turning to grin at him a moment. “What did you say your nickname was?”

  “Choc,” Charley replied.

  “Choc? What kinda nickname is that?” she asked, screwing up her face.

  “Choc, like in Choctaw beer,” Charley admitted. “I drank so much back in Akins that I ended up with Choc for a nickname.”

  “It sounds too hicky to me—I think I’ll just call you Charley,” she told him. She got up and walked over to her closet. “Don’t peek, I’m about to get dressed.”

  “Why can’t I peek, I’ve done seen you undressed,” Charley asked, sitting up in bed.

  “That’s different,” Beulah said. “I don’t allow nobody to watch me dress.”

  “Not even me?” Charley asked.

  “Nobody means nobody, buster,” Beulah said, slipping behind the closet door.

  Leaves were blowing off the tall elm trees in the yard of Beulah’s boarding house. Charley sat on the edge of the bed and watched the leaves blow, while Beulah stayed behind the door getting dressed. Now that the fun was over, he felt low. He had meant to head home to Ruby and Dempsey the minute he and Billy Miller split the payroll money, but there was so much more money in the sacks than he had ever expected to see—more than eleven thousand dollars, half of which was his—that he lost his momentum for a few days. He spent a whole day trying to get used to the fact that he had more than five thousand dollars cash money, right in his room at Ma Ash’s boarding house.

  In the twenty-one years of his life, Charley had never had as much as fifteen dollars cash money in his pocket at one time. Dempsey, their little boy, was nine months old, but Ruby still didn’t have a wedding ring—he hadn’t even been able to afford one of the cheap ones they sold at the Woolworth’s over in Sallisaw.

  Having all that cash money was so peculiar for Charley that it paralyzed him for most of a day. He was afraid to take the money with him out into the streets; somebody might rob him, or else he might lose it. But he was also afraid to leave it in his room. He spent a whole morning dividing it into stacks and then hiding the stacks, only to decide fifteen minutes later that the stacks weren’t hidden well enough. Pretty soon, he had them back on the bed. He recounted them and then hid them again, in new hiding places that weren’t any harder to find than the old hiding places.

  Charley didn’t trust Billy Miller, and the feeling was mutual. The two of them counted the money six or seven times, but neither of them had ever counted that much money before, and neither of them could quite convince himself that the count was accurate. Charley was afraid to leave his room for long stretches because Billy’s room was just down the hall from his, and Billy was sneaky.

  Beulah came out from behind the closet door in her slip and stockings, and went back to the dresser to finish fixing her face.

  “What I’d like to know is how come a country boy who works in a bakery catching bread trays can afford thirty dollars to buy me a bracelet with garnets on it,” Beulah said.

  “The boss likes me,” Charley told her.

  “I like you, too, but I wouldn’t cough up no thirty dollars so you could buy your girlfriend a bracelet,” Beulah said, putting on her lipstick. Beulah was so cute, her face didn’t need much fixing, in Charley’s view.

  “If you spent thirty dollars on me, how much was you planning to spend on your wife?” Beulah asked, giving him a glance in the mirror.

  “Shut up about my wife, it don’t concern you,” Charley replied. He had bought Ruby an eighteen-karat gold wedding ring, a new chenille housecoat with big roses all over it, and some silk stockings. He bought Dempsey a jack-in-the-box and a teddy bear. He had bought himself a fine gabardine suit, just like the one “Legs” Diamond was wearing in the latest issue of Police Gazette. It was being altered so the cuffs would hang just right. He was thinking seriously about spending twelve hundred dollars on a new Studebaker car to drive home to Sallisaw. He hadn’t really meant to buy Beulah Baird anything, or even to pay her a visit, but then he remembered how cute she looked when she was waving her tail in front of his face, and after a certain amount of remembering, he changed his mind and bought her the forty-dollar bracelet with the garnets on it.

  “Well—if you say so,” Beulah replied, miffed.

  “I say so,” Charley retorted. Being reminded of the fact that he had a wife, and a beautiful wife at that, not to mention a nine-month-old son, made him feel unhappy. He should have headed home already, and he felt sure he would have headed home if Beulah Baird hadn’t been so determined to flirt with him. But she had flirted with him, and he had taken a strong dislike to her rat-faced boyfriend, and the next thing he knew, he was back at the jewelry store.

  “I think you and Billy pulled a job, that’s what I think,” Beulah said, petulant, coming over to sit on the bed for a minute. She was still in her slip.

  “I got a job, I don’t need to be pullin’ one,” Charley said. It amused him that she was so brash. Ruby Floyd had a temper, all right, but most of the time she wasn’t brash like Beulah, who would come right out with whatever she was thinking—she didn’t care who was listening, either.

  “If you’re so fond of your job, why ain’t you over at the bakery catching bread trays?” she asked. “How come you can loll around all afternoon making me weak in the knees?”

  “I’m on vacation,” Charley said. “The boss likes me so much, he lets me take off whenever I feel like chasing women.”

  “You’re a liar, you and Billy pulled a job. How much did you get?” Beulah asked, bold as brass.

  “I thought you was due over at Ma Ash’s,” Charley reminded her. “Why are you sittin’ here bein’ nosey?”

  “Wally’s a pill, and he can’t dance,” Beulah said, thinking out loud. “Besides that, he’s tight. He wouldn’t buy me a thirty-dollar bracelet if he robbed the mint.”

  “I don’t doubt a word of it,” Charley said. “He looks like a cheap little skunk, if you ask me.”

  “I wouldn’t mind breaking up with him if I knew a nice fella who was tall, and could dance, and who liked me and wasn’t tight,” Beulah said, teasing him. Wally Ash had gotten to be a real pain in the neck lately. He was so jealous that Beulah couldn’t even go to the five-and-dime by herself without Wally dealing her a fit.

  “I know a fella just like that,” Charley said, grinning. “The only thing he likes better than girls is Choctaw beer.”

  “I guess I better go to work,” Beulah said, jumping up. “Ma Ash don’t tolerate no lagging.”

  “When was you thinkin’ about breakin’ up with that cheap skunk you’re engaged to?” Charley asked her.

  “I ain’t set a date,” Beulah replied. “When was you thinking of going home to your wife?”

  “Not for another day or two,” Charley said.

  5

  Charley was careful to give the impression at Ma Ash’s that he was still working his shift at the bakery. He put on his work clothes before he left to take Beulah her bracelet, and he was wearing them when he went back to the rooming house for supper. He hadn’t picked up R
uby’s chenille housecoat yet, or his gabardine suit—Dempsey’s toys were hidden in his sock drawer in the bottom of the bureau, and the wedding ring he kept in his pocket.

  Ma Ash, though, had an experienced eye. She was a tall, skinny woman, and the veins in her arms stood out as big as ropes. The minute Charley parked himself at the dinner table and reached for the sweet potatoes, she took in the fact that he didn’t look the way he usually looked when he got off his shift at the bakery: floury was how he usually looked.

  “Did they fire you, or did you quit?” she asked him, straight out. Ma Ash had done a little bit of everything in her forty-two years, so she didn’t object to a certain amount of sinning in her boarding house. Her given name was Louise, and she had come to St. Louis from Aurora, Missouri, a one-horse town just southwest of Springfield. Louise Ash was quite a looker when she was a young country girl, and George Barker, the husband of the one and only Kate “Ma” Barker, had taken a shine to her about the time his fourth son was born. George was crazy about Louise; the only problem was his wife: she was just plain crazy. When Kate Barker found out her husband was warming the sheets with the youngest and prettiest of the Ash girls, Louise took the first train out of Aurora, ended up in St. Louis, and had been there ever since. Now every few months, the papers were filled with murders and robberies committed by Ma Barker and her sons—Louise Ash was glad she’d left for St. Louis twenty-five years ago.

  Sinning of various kinds was to be expected in a big city, but Ma Ash did like to know what sins were being committed in her house. A little gambling or a little whoring didn’t upset her—she’d done as much herself—what upset her was the thought that the police might know more about what was going on in her boarding house than she did. When she fixed Charley with her experienced eye, he squirmed and tried to pretend he had his mouth full, when in fact, he had yet to take a bite.

  “No, ma’am, they didn’t fire me, and I didn’t quit,” he said. “The boss likes me for some reason.”