Authors: Jack Higgins
Dillinger (v5) (19 page)
Rose accepted custody of Juanita as if she were her own. As Rivera's closest adult relative, she used her authority to see that Dillinger got the $20,000 in gold that Rivera had promised him. And when Dillinger suggested that Fallon's $5000 go to Chavasse so he could stop being a hotel manager and barkeeper in a strange land, Rose accepted that also. What she could not accept as easily was that, with the passing of weeks, Dillinger had decided to return home.
Nachita accompanied them to the border because he knew a place that was absolutely safe from detection. Rose rode along with Nachita, but for the last few miles she let Nachita lead her horse and she sat with Dillinger in the convertible, both of them aching with their feelings for each other.
'If only I'd met you in Indiana,' Dillinger said.
'If you'd met me in Indiana, you'd have taken no notice of me,' Rose replied.
'I'd have noticed you anywhere,' he said.
When they reached the border, a desolate place with cactus and bramble, Dillinger pulled over, took Rose by her shoulders and said, 'Please come with me.'
'I love you, Johnny,' she said. 'But I cannot go with a man who doesn't know where he is going.'
And so he offered her his white Chevrolet as a gift. 'This way,' he said, 'you'll know I'll come back.'
'Because you love the car.'
'Because I love you both. Put Mexican plates on it, have it painted black or red, and nobody'll ever bother you.'
'You forget,' Rose said. 'I can't drive.'
Dillinger looked at Nachita on his horse. He didn't drive either.
And so he said his goodbyes to both of them. 'You know what you need here in Mexico? More banks.'
Without looking back, Dillinger drove across the invisible line that separated Mexico from home. As quickly as he could, he got onto a good road, and then came to a place in New Mexico called Las Cruces, by which time he had decided that he couldn't go on driving a car that the FBI and God knows how many policemen were on the lookout for.
On a side street he spotted a black Ford roadster that looked like a thousand other black Ford roadsters. He parked the white convertible right behind it, and within minutes had wired the Ford to start without a key. Nobody was looking, so he transferred the suitcases containing his gold and the Thompson and some extra clothes and the picture of Rose she had given him that was too big to put in his wallet.
As he drove the Ford away, he looked once in the rear view mirror. That white convertible was one helluva car.
He parked in the business district, and asked a policeman if there was a nearby ice-cream parlour.
'Yes, sir,' the cop said, 'right around the corner.'
Dillinger saluted the cop in thanks.
There were four teenagers at the counter, drinking ice-cream sodas. When the soda jerk came over, Dillinger said, 'I'll have a black and white.'
The chocolate soda with vanilla ice-cream tasted like all of his childhood memories together.
'Ten cents,' said the soda jerk.
'That,' said Dillinger, 'was the best ice-cream soda I've had in a long, long time.'
The soda jerk beamed. 'Those kids,' he said, pointing to the teenagers, 'never say nothing nice about my sodas.'
Dillinger put two bits on the counter. 'Keep the change.'
'Gee, thanks,' the soda jerk said, hoping the stranger would become a steady customer.
But the stranger hit the road like there was no tomorrow, driving through Roswell, Portales, Clovis, and then into Texas, through Amarillo and Phillips and Perryton into Oklahoma, past Hooker and into Kansas, where he pulled up at a gas station in Meade, and used the public phone booth to make the one call he had to make.
The secretary said, 'Mr Hoover, there's a collect call from John Dillinger. Shall I accept?'
J. Edgar Hoover nodded, because you didn't need to put a tracer on a collect call. The operator could tell you where the call was made from. He got on the line and motioned the secretary to pick up the extension so she could write down what was said.
'Mr Hoover,' Dillinger said, 'you can find that white Chevvy convertible, you're looking for in a town called Las Cruces in New Mexico. I don't want you to say I've never been helpful to you.'
Hoover thought Dillinger was very helpful because a line could be drawn from Las Cruces to wherever he was calling from now and they'd know which direction he was headed in.
'Thank you,' Mr Hoover said.
'Don't hang up,' Dillinger said. 'I'm not finished.'
'Goodbye,' Hoover said, thinking you
are
finished.
'Don't hang up, you son-of-a-bitch,' Dillinger yelled. 'I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.'
But the line was dead.
Three months later, on Sunday 22 July, 1934, John Dillinger was shot dead outside the Biograph Movie Theater in Chicago by agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He was betrayed by a woman.
Jack Higgins is the pseudonym of Harry Patterson (b. 1929), the
New York Times
bestselling author of more than seventy thrillers, including
The Eagle Has Landed
and
The Wolf at the Door
. His books have sold more than 250 million copies worldwide.
Born in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, Patterson grew up in Belfast, Northern Ireland. As a child, Patterson was a voracious reader and later credited his passion for reading with fueling his creative drive to be an author. His upbringing in Belfast also exposed him to the political and religious violence that characterized the city at the time. At seven years old, Patterson was caught in gunfire while riding a tram, and later was in a Belfast movie theater when it was bombed. Though he escaped from both attacks unharmed, the turmoil in Northern Ireland would later become a significant influence in his books, many of which prominently feature the Irish Republican Army. After attending grammar school and college in Leeds, England, Patterson joined the British Army and served two years in the Household Cavalry, from 1947 to 1949, stationed along the East German border. He was considered an expert sharpshooter.
Following his military service, Patterson earned a degree in sociology from the London School of Economics, which led to teaching jobs at two English colleges. In 1959, while teaching at James Graham College, Patterson began writing novels, including some under the alias James Graham. As his popularity grew, Patterson left teaching to write full time. With the 1975 publication of the international blockbuster
The Eagle Has Landed
, which was later made into a movie of the same name starring Michael Caine, Patterson became a regular fixture on bestseller lists. His books draw heavily from history and include prominent figures--such as John Dillinger--and often center around significant events from such conflicts as World War II, the Korean War, and the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Patterson lives in Jersey, in the Channel Islands.
Patterson as an infant with his mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. He moved to Northern Ireland with his family as a child, staying there until he was twelve years old.
Patterson with his parents. He left school at age fifteen, finding his place instead in the British military.
A candid photo of Patterson during his military years. While enlisted in the army, he was known for his higher-than-average military IQ. Many of Patterson's books would later incorporate elements of the military experience.
Patterson's first payment as an author, a check for PS67. Though he wanted to frame the check rather than cash it, he was persuaded otherwise by his wife. The bank returned the check after payment, writing that, "It will make a prettier picture, bearing the rubber stampings."
Patterson in La Capannina, his favorite restaurant in Jersey, where he often went to write. His passion for writing started at a young age, and he spent much time in libraries as a child.
