Love Letters From the Grave(6)

Hepworth spoke for the first time, his speech as pinched as his sallow face. ‘I’m only interested in hiring you for a few hours on a week-day morning to drive the second Packard.’

‘Oh. Well, that might be okay, I guess.’

‘I will pay you $100 for those few short hours. The date is Friday next.’ Hepworth shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way to him. He obviously had other people lined up for the job. ‘You’ll have to decide quickly.’

With that, he drained his malt and left the drugstore, before Charlie could even tell him that he’d consider it carefully.

‘He’s very … um …’ Charlie couldn’t think how to describe the man to Wendell – certainly not without offending him.

‘Clever,’ finished Wendell. ‘He’s brilliant. That’s why he’s planning the job.’

His eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if he, too, were weighing Charlie up.

‘So … what is the job?’

Wendell glanced around before leaning in close to Charlie. ‘It’s a bank robbery.’

‘What?’

‘The boss and the gang are planning a robbery in the city, and he wants the two of us – you and me, Charlie boy – to drive the two Packards as get-away cars.’

‘I … I don’t want to be part of a bank robbery.’

‘You won’t!’ said Wendell smoothly. ‘Nobody’s going to get hurt, and nobody will get caught, and anyway, the drivers aren’t part of the actual robbery. You won’t be exposed to any danger, or any criminal liability. It’s just a drive, Charlie. A super-fast, super-exciting car ride.’

‘I don’t …’ He couldn’t think straight. ‘I can’t …’

‘Hey, Charlie.’ Wendell moved in even closer so that Charlie was staring into his dilated pupils. ‘I recommended you to the boss. I told him what an excellent driver you are. You’re not going to let me down and make me look stupid, are you?’

Charlie shook his head, trying to get his thoughts straight. A hundred bucks for some exciting driving was quite an offer. Hard to ignore. But a bank robbery …

‘Don’t worry about it, Charlie,’ whispered Wendell. ‘These robberies are a dime a dollar since the Depression started. It’s true. Hell, bank-robbing gangs are being celebrated as folk heroes by huge swathes of the American people. Think of it this way: it’s just the poor folk taking back what the stockbrokers stole from us.’

‘So … so it’s almost like helping the people who’ve suffered,’ said Charlie uncertainly.

‘Exactly.’ Wendell counted out a couple of dollars to pay for the malts, as if to show Charlie just what the poor could achieve when they put their minds to it. ‘And there’s no danger, remember? You just think about it, while we take the Packard for a spin.’

Charlie agonized over the offer as he nosed the car out through town. His first inclination was to turn it down, for rational and obvious reasons. However, he could use the $100. That would help out around the farm so much. He could try some of the new innovations that the County Farm Advisor was suggesting. It was easy money, and it could do some good in any number of ways.

And he very much wanted to experience the thrill of driving that fast, powerful Packard at full throttle. For two hours, Charlie drove Wendell around the countryside in the big car, taking every opportunity to accelerate, speed, and maneuver it around all manner of obstacles. Once again, he was amazed - elated, even - with how well the car performed.

‘Okay,’ he said, as they pulled up near the Essex so he could drive himself home. ‘I’ll do it.’

Wendell smiled, staring out through the windshield at the road ahead of them.

‘See?’ he said softly. ‘I knew you were a smart boy. That’s why I recommended you for the job. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Charlie assured him. ‘I mean, I won’t. I’ve given you my word, and you can rely on me, Wendell.’

Even at fifteen years old, Charlie knew that to be true. Charlie was an achiever. He got things done.

And he’d never let anyone down in his life.





Chapter 2




* * *



The Folk Hero



* * *





“After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and newspaper men … Most of the reports were a nightmare – grotesque,

circumstantial, eager, and untrue.”



The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald



The 4-H agricultural program had come in handy already, just a few short weeks into his studies. Charlie had arranged with his teachers and his parents to miss school on the Friday of the planned robbery, telling them he needed the time to do field work on his 4-H project.

‘What about your chores, son?’ asked his father. ‘I know your program’s important, but the farm has to come first.’

Charlie smiled, hoping he looked more calm than he felt. ‘I’ve done some of them early. As for the rest … well, I’ll be home in plenty of time.’

And now he had time to kill. Maybe a minute - or more? It was impossible to tell.