by Jack Martin
Clyde glared at Earl for several moments before replying. “Never mind. We don’t have much to show for all our jobs. Banks and stores are as poor as the people in the Midwest. We need cash to keep moving. Say your piece, Earl.”
Outside, Harry Bierce held himself flat against the motel wall next to the single open window to the room.
Earl continued. “You know where all this is leading. Brother Huey can only protect you to a certain extent. You keep up this string of robberies and killings, and it’s only a matter of time until you are all dead, either from a policeman’s bullet or the electric chair.”
Methvin and Hamilton exchanged glances—they had already come to that conclusion. Bonnie grimaced. Only Clyde showed no concern.
“If it happens, it happens,” he replied offhand.
“What if there was a way out?”
“I’m listening.”
“Two more jobs, and you can be on easy street,” Earl said.
“What jobs?” interrupted Bonnie. She had never liked Long, and feared they were being set up.
“They should be simple, considering your … experience,” replied Earl with a conspiratorial grin. “There’s this federal agent, name of Harry Bierce, who is operating out of New Orleans. His health should be taking a turn for the worse very soon. The sooner, the better.”
“That’s one job,” replied Clyde. “What’s the other?”
“We need you to visit our acquaintance up in Chicago like you done before. You are to give him $30,000 and a message. Tell him that he is to try again, only this time he’s to do it himself instead of getting some Dago. And, tell him when it’s done, he’ll get another $30,000. For your part, you’ll get $30,000 now. When the jobs are finished, you will get another $30,000, along with new passport documents and visas allowing you to get into Mexico under new names. Especially in Mexico, that amount of money should allow you to set yourselves up on a beach for life.” Earl smiled.
Clyde thought the proposition over for nearly a minute, then said, “Got the money with you?”
“Sure do.” Earl unclasped the briefcase, turned it upside down, and shook out bundles of money onto the bed where Bonnie, Methvin, and Hamilton sat. Clyde bent over and riffled through one of the stacks of banknotes, then he turned to face Earl Long.
“What’s to keep us from killing you right now and keeping all of this dough?” Clyde stopped the smirk finding its way across his lips.
Far from being frightened, Earl merely smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You could do that. You could indeed. Though the way I see it, you still might have trouble getting out of the country and settin’ yourselves up on easy street without the documents you need. ’Sides, brother Huey would be mighty displeased. You’ve never seen him displeased. It’s truly a sight to behold, it is. You wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the U.S. of A. And if somehow you did manage to get out of the country, you wouldn’t be safe then, either. The people in Washington City probably couldn’t touch you, as they have this naïve belief in this here ‘due process’.” Earl snickered. “I don’t believe brother Huey believes in that due process. No, not at all.” Earl’s face turned somber. “There’s no place on Earth, no, none at all, where his people wouldn’t run you to ground.” Long’s face again took on his characteristic grin. “So the way I see it, your best bet is to do as Huey wants.”
Watching the senator’s brother, Clyde thought that the rumors that Earl Long was as crazy as a bedbug might well be true.
Clyde ground his teeth for a few moments, then in a surly voice said, “All right. It’s a deal. Where do I find this Bierce?”
“Don’t know where he hangs his hat, but I imagine he goes in and out of the Federal building from time to time. Oh, before I forget, here’s what he looks like.” Earl took a photo from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to Clyde.
The gangster looked at the picture intently. It had obviously been taken from across a street, as Bierce was leaving a large office building. After a moment, he chuckled. The man in the photo was small and thin, wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, dressed in an expensive-looking double-breasted suit, a dark fedora perched evenly on his head. The man looked like a bookkeeper, or a high-school teacher. Clyde smiled as he placed the photo in his pocket. Such a pipsqueak would give him no trouble at all.
Earl walked over to the window and stared at the first faint glimmerings of light in the east, unaware that Harry Bierce was only two feet away, just out of his line of sight. Earl stretched as he again yawned.
“Well, I better hit the road. Sunrise ain’t far off, and I want to be far away from here before it’s light enough for someone to recognize the Senator’s brother. Good luck to you all.” He strolled over to the door, opened it, and walked out into the night. The light in the room having temporarily destroyed his night vision, Earl Long could not have seen Bierce, even if he had been looking for him.
Clyde turned to Bonnie and said, “Honey, soon as it’s daylight, I need you to call that special Chicago number for me. Tell our friend we’ll meet him at that motel in Kentucky where we last met.”
“Clyde sweetheart, that’s a two-day drive, even if we don’t take the side roads. There’s a good chance we’ll be spotted.”
“Not if we keep going and don’t stop for anything but gas. We’ll spell each other driving.”
Methvin and Hamilton glanced at each other. They didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need to. Years sharing a jail cell had given them the intuitive ability to read one another. They didn’t understand everything Earl and Clyde referred to, but there was no need. They knew Clyde, and Clyde had committed them to something even more dangerous than what they had done to date—and to leaving the country forever once it was done. Both men had families they were fond of and neither had any intention of never seeing them again. With no words spoken between them, the two men agreed to abandon Bonnie and Clyde at the first opportunity.
In the whole of his unusual life, few things had shocked Harry Bierce. Finding that the brother of Senator Long was meeting with Bonnie and Clyde was one of those few occasions. Still flattened against the building, he evaluated his options in a flash. He knew it could be suicidal to tackle the four, armed murderers by himself. Harry Bierce had not a particle of cowardice, but he did not believe in futile gestures. He briefly considered slipping away to notify the local police, but after a moment dismissed that notion. It would take time to persuade them to mount a raid on this motel. Plus, Earl Long’s chatter convinced Bierce that the local police might not be inclined to help capture the gang. Besides, by all accounts, Barrow and Parker had BARs and were skilled in their use. The parish police might easily be massacred trying to capture the gang. No, he decided, the best course would be to follow the gang when they left the motel and wait for an opportunity to call the Bureau. Without a sound, he crept back to his Hudson, quietly opened the door, and slipped in behind the wheel. He settled down for a long wait, eyes never leaving the motel.
It was almost noon when the dusty V-8 Ford passed the Shreveport city limits. Bonnie was at the wheel with Clyde chain-smoking in the shotgun seat. Methvin and Hamilton were in the backseat, even quieter than usual.
Bonnie frowned as she glanced at the grimy streets. Many storefronts were boarded up, and shabbily dressed men and women shuffled aimlessly along the sidewalks. Most pedestrians kept haunted eyes straight ahead, their shoulders slumped with despair. The Depression had taken its toll in Shreveport, as it had in cities across America, and it wasn’t near done yet, especially in the South and Midwest.
Bonnie looked down at the gas gauge. “Clyde, honey, we need gas. Food and things to drink as well.”
“All right.” Clyde lit another cigarette, then turned to face Methvin and Hamilton in the back seat. “We’ll drop you two at the grocery store up ahead on the right, then go up to the next gas station. You buy us whatever we need to keep going for a couple of days. It’s bad enough stopping for gas, I don’t want to stop in restaurants. Too
much time for someone to recognize us.” He threw a wad of bills into Methvin’s lap as Bonnie pulled over to the curb. Methvin and Hamilton exited the Ford. Without backward look, Bonnie put the car in gear and roared off.
As they watched the Ford recede down the street, Hamilton said, “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“Yep. Now’s the time to ditch ’em. We owe them for getting us out of the joint. But the way they’re goin’, it’s goin’ to end in a bloodbath, and I don’t want no part of that.” Methvin looked at the wad of money Clyde had given him, and saw that it was about $120. “How much you got on you?”
“Thirty, forty dollars.”
“Me, too.” Methvin gave roughly half of the wad to Hamilton. “We’ll split up now. That way, if one of us is caught, he can’t rat out the other, even if he wanted. A hundred and twenty ain’t much, but if we hotwire a couple of cars it’s enough to get us a fair distance. Good luck.”
The two friends briefly shook hands, and then went off on separate side streets, looking for cars to steal that would be out of site of the returning Barrow and Parker, knowing that their soon-to-be former partners would not respond well to being abandoned.
A block away, Harry Bierce sat parked in his dusty Hudson convertible. For one of the very few times in his eventful life, he faced an agony of indecision. He recognized the two men who had alighted as Methvin and Hamilton. That left Barrow and Parker in the car. He was confident that he could take down two of the criminals at a time. He desperately wanted to seize the opportunity to bring in Bonnie and Clyde and considered waiting for them to return. Then again, he needed at least one of them alive, to explain fully just what it was that Earl Long had asked them to do. He calculated he could take them by surprise and kill them easily enough, but if he tried to take them alive, one or both might open up with their BARs. The street was full of cars, the sidewalks full of pedestrians. There was too great a chance innocent civilians would die. He decided instead to take Methvin, who had already gone down a side street with little traffic. He could take him alive without too much trouble, and even if he didn’t know what Earl and Clyde had been talking about, he could help lure Clyde and Bonnie into a trap where there would be less risk to the innocent.
Harry Bierce vaulted out of his car and dashed after Methvin. The criminal was busy casing the occasional parked car on the side street, and didn’t realize he was being pursued until Bierce was less than twenty feet away. He turned at the sound of Bierce’s footfalls, saw the small man drawing an enormous Colt .45, and instinctively went for his revolver. Moving almost too fast for the eye to track, Bierce brought down the heavy barrel of his gun on Methvin’s hand with bone-breaking force. Reflexively, Methvin pulled the trigger as his wrist broke, sending a bullet through Bierce’s jacket but only grazing his ribs. Quick as lightening, Bierce tossed his gun into the air, grabbed it by the barrel, and brought the weapon’s butt down on Methvin’s skull with stunning force.
As Methvin’s shot rang out, two dusty Plymouths were approaching the intersection of the main road and the side street. In the lead car, Frank Hamer rode in the passenger seat, his arm dangling out the open window. His response to the shot was spontaneous.
“Turn right!” he shouted at Ted Hinton, who responded instantly. Tires screeching, Hinton took the corner virtually on two wheels, the second Plymouth following automatically. Hamer and Hinton instantly took in the scene before them, two men struggling, a pistol lying on the sidewalk. Hinton hit the brakes. Hamer was out of car the instant it stopped, a large Colt revolver in his hand. He didn’t think that this had anything to do with Bonnie and Clyde. Hell, this wasn’t even his state. Regardless, when Texas Rangers were confronted with crime, they never paused to think things through. “Show me your hands, you two!” Hamer shouted in a gravelly voice.
Bierce, who had just finished cuffing Methvin’s hands behind his back, shoved the stunned criminal across the hood of a car. Still holding his automatic by the barrel, Bierce turned slowly and said, “I am a Federal Agent in the act of arresting a criminal.”
As Hamer’s three companions rushed up, Hamer said, “Drop that gun and put up your hands, or you’re a dead Federal agent.”
A knowing smile crossed Bierce’s face as he placed his gun on the roof of the car. “If you permit, I have identification in my coat pocket proving that I am a Federal agent,”
“Just stay there with your hands up, or I’ll make your birth certificate a worthless document!” Hamer approached Bierce carefully, patted him down for additional weapons, and then removed Bierce’s wallet containing his identification. Scowling, Hamer read it, then with a certain reluctance handed it back to Bierce.
“Guess you are one of Hoover’s boys. Take your piece.”
As Bierce holstered his automatic, he asked, “May I have the honor of knowing your name?”
Hamer laughed at Bierce’s formal diction. “Who are you Bierce, some kind of Limey?”
“I’ve simply had an excellent education,” replied Bierce mildly.
“Well, I’m Frank Hamer of the Texas Rangers. My boys here are Ted Hinton, Manny Gault, and Bob Alcorn.”
Bierce nodded once. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hamer. What are you and your … ah … companions doing in Louisiana? A bit outside your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”
“Don’t give a goddamn about state lines or what the courts say about it. Barrow, Parker, and their gang killed my best friend, leaving his wife to raise her little ones on her own. They can run to Mexico, India, Russia, it don’t matter. There ain’t no place on Earth they can run to where I won’t find them.”
Bierce, grimfaced, managed a smile. “Well, if you’re after Barrow and Parker, you’re in luck. I believe this gentleman can lead us to them.” He jerked Methvin off the hood of the car, and showed him to the Ranger. The reaction was not what Bierce expected.
Hamer howled like an animal, and with a surprisingly powerful left hand jerked the dazed criminal away from Bierce, slammed him against the side of the car, and thrust his revolver into the man’s mouth, breaking off several teeth.
“Hank Methvin, you cow-raping bastard! You have two choices. One: die right here, right now. Two: tell me where to find Barrow, Parker, and Hamilton, and I’ll let you live long enough to meet the hangman in Texas.”
Calmly, Harry Bierce said, “Mr. Hamer, I think our goals coincide. I also want to take Barrow and Parker. However, Mr. Methvin can hardly tell us how to go about that with the barrel of your gun in his mouth.”
While everyone’s attention was on Hamer and Bierce, Bonnie and Clyde’s Ford rolled into view at the intersection of the main drag and the side street. The gangsters were on the lookout for Methvin and Hamilton. Sharp-eyed Bonnie spotted the small crowd down the side street, and recognized Methvin by his clothes. He was obviously a prisoner, and Bonnie had no desire to go up against what looked like half a dozen undercover cops. With exaggerated casualness, she shifted the car into second gear, and as the Ford gathered speed she began to explain to Clyde why it was necessary to leave without their two henchmen.
Back on the side street, Hamer reluctantly removed the barrel of his revolver from Methvin’s mouth. Methvin spat some blood and pieces of teeth, then looked fearfully at Hamer and Bierce, who said, “Mr. Methvin, it is of the greatest importance that I bring in Mr. Barrow and Miss Parker. You are going to help me do so.”
Still visibly frightened, Methvin nonetheless said, “Don’t gotta say nothing. Want to see a lawyer.”
“You’ll next be seeing an undertaker if you don’t cooperate,” growled Hamer.
“I’m afraid a public defender isn’t going to do you much good,” added Bierce in a reasonable voice. “They are not of very high quality, and I doubt you have the money to afford a skilled advocate.”
“Ah can get a good lawyer,” replied Methvin. “My pa lives not far from here, in Bienville Parrish. Got a small farm, he’ll mortgage it to get me a good shyster.”
Bierce turned to
face the Ranger. “Mr. Hamer, I believe I have an idea as to how we can bring in Bonnie and Clyde.”
The following morning a dazed Hank Methvin was hustled out the rear entrance of the Shreveport Courthouse. Three cars were parked in the dingy alley: Bierce’s Hudson convertible, and the two Plymouths behind it. Alcorn and Gault were at the wheels of the Plymouths. Hamer shoved the handcuffed Methvin into the backseat of the middle car, then turned to Ted Hinton and said, “You ride in this one. I’ll be in the lead car with Bierce. If the bastard gives you any trouble, shoot him.”
“No problem, boss,” Hinton replied laconically.
Bierce had already installed himself behind the wheel of the Hudson. As soon as Hamer had eased his bulk into the passenger seat of Bierce’s car, Bierce pressed the starter, slammed the car into gear, and roared down the alley at a speed the Plymouths struggled to match. The cars shot out of the alley, made a reckless right turn after two blocks, and were soon on the main road leading north out of Shreveport.
For some minutes, Hamer was silent as the poverty-stricken city slowly disappeared to the south of them. Finally he addressed Bierce, raising his voice to be heard over the wind that whistled around the open car.
“All right, Bierce. Tell me how in hell you knew the judge was going to release Methvin. The bastard’s helped kill five lawmen, whether he pulled the trigger or not. That business about me not having jurisdiction to make an arrest is crap. The judge knew that you are a G-man, and if I didn’t have the jurisdiction, you did.”
Bierce was silent for a minute, eyes never leaving the road. Then he responded. “Although Texas is famous for its sense of rough justice, you know as well as I that corruption is not unknown in the Lone Star State. Still, nothing could prepare you for the depravity of Louisiana under the rule of Huey Long. Although I cannot present proof that would stand up in a court of law—even an honest court of law—I have reason to believe that the Barrow/Parker gang enjoys the protection of Senator Long and is safe from Louisiana’s legal system. I knew, too, that the judge would receive orders to release Methvin from Baton Rouge, and, would be unable to resist those orders.”