Family Secrets-Chapter Two

The next morning Bill drove to see his mom’s oldest brother David, who still worked at Freeman’s Furniture Store, the business David’s grandpa had started from nothing. 

The moment Bill walked through the door, the smell of freshly cut wood brought back memories of his grandpa and the many hours he had spent with him there.  Through the haze of sawdust, he watched David working on a piece of handmade furniture. 

Just like his brothers, David was a tall muscular man with broad shoulders.  And even though he was in his late 60’s, he was still in excellent physical condition.  But looks are where the similarities ended between David and his brothers.  As a youth, David found his passion for woodworking, and was content with his simple life building furniture.  His brothers on the other hand, couldn’t wait to leave Indiana to see the world and everything it had to offer.

“Oh, good morning, Bill.  I didn’t see you standing there,” David said with a smile.  He laid his tools down and approached the counter wiping his calloused hands on his apron.  “What can I do for you?”

Bill laid the photo on the counter.  “What can you tell me about this?”

David’s smile became a scowl.  “I haven’t seen that thing in years.  For the life of me, I still don’t understand why our family is so proud of that photo.  So, where did you find it?”

“I found it in the hall closet at Grandpa’s house.  Look, I know this was taken nearly a year after Dillinger supposedly died.  But what else can you tell me about the day it was taken?”

“When I heard on the radio that John had been shot, I thought we were done with him for good.  Then one day Harry came by my house and told me Jimmy Lawrence wanted to talk to us.  That was one of the names John used when he was hiding out.  When we all met at dads, John had a bag full of money.  He said it was a thank you for all we had done for him. But I didn’t take a penny of it.  I didn’t want his dirty money.  I let Harry, Tommy and your dad have my share.  Then I left before that picture was taken.”

“Can you tell me about anything that was discussed that day?”

“John said he had some kind of business opportunity for us, but like I said, I didn’t stick around to hear what it was.  All I know is within two years after that, dad retired, Harry went off to California to start his own furniture business and then Tommy moved to Missouri.  That left me to run the family business by myself.”

“Where does Uncle Tom live in Missouri?”

“On the south side of St. Louis.”

“Do you know the address?”

David pulled a notebook from under the counter and slapped it onto the countertop.  He pulled a pencil from his pocket protector, scribbled down the address then ripped the page from the notebook.

“Is that photo why some reporter from South Carolina was in here yesterday?” David asked, holding out the piece of paper.

“A reporter came to talk to you?” Bill asked wide eyed as he took the address.

“Yeah, he said he was doing a story on Dillinger for the anniversary of his death.  But I could tell by his questions he was digging for something more.” 

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the same thing I’ve been telling everyone in this town for years.  Any connection our family had with John Dillinger during his crime spree is just a rumor.  I had to learn to be a good liar being a part of this family.”

 David placed the palms of his hands on the counter, leaned forward, and gave Bill a stern look.

“But lucky for us, once this reporter leaves town, things will settle down and get back to normal.  I mean, it’s not like some young and hungry newspaper reporter is going to take that picture there and tell the whole world how we aided and abetted a federal criminal.  No one would do that to their own family, now would they, Bill?”

Bill picked up the photo, put it back into his pocket and looked at his uncle with no expression.  “Have a good day, Uncle David.”

“Don’t do it, Bill.  Don’t sell out your family and your soul for the all-mighty dollar.”

“Save the sermon for Sunday morning,” Bill said.  He turned and started toward the door.

David sighed.  “Wait.”

Bill turned, crossed his arms and looked at his uncle.

“I’m only telling you this because you’re my nephew and I would hate to see you drive all the way to California and waste a trip.  If you’re going to talk to Tommy or Harry about that photo, don’t let them know you’re a reporter now.  If they know that, they won’t tell you anything.”

“Thanks,” Bill mumbled before he turned and walked out the door. 

Bill didn’t care how much his mom and uncle tried to talk him out of it, he was going to get this story.  He always had a flair for telling a good story.  When he was young, he had dreams of writing novels.  But his dad told him that he could never support a family writing books.  “Real men work for a living,” his dad would say. 

Bill’s first job out of high school was with the local newspaper in the press room.  When most people were going to bed, Bill was just arriving to work to print the morning edition.  Then, in the morning, covered in ink and his ears still ringing from the deafening roar of the printing press, Bill would see the reporters in their fine suits and shiny cars arriving for work.  The reporters were the ones who got all the respect. They got the limelight, and Bill swore that one day that would be him.  So, he quit his job and enrolled in college to be a journalist.  Shortly after graduating from college, Bill heard about an opening at the paper writing for the sports section.  Because he was the star of his high school basketball team, it seemed like a natural fit.  But he wanted more.  He wanted to be an investigative reporter. 

 

After leaving his uncle, Bill stopped at the five and dime to get some things for his trip.   He stopped at a rack filled with road maps.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Bo Swanson approaching him.

 “Are you taking a trip Mr. Reeves?” Bo asked.

“Yes, I am taking a little vacation,” Bill replied.

“And where are you going?  That is, if I may ask?”

“West,” Bill replied with a grin.

Bo picked up one of the maps.  He looked at it for a moment, and then looked at Bill.

“I do want to apologize for yesterday.  I’m sure it came as quite a shock to learn that your very own mother once knew the notorious bank robber John Dillinger,” Bo said.  He paused for a moment.  “Or did you already know?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bill kept his eyes on the map.  “Your sources are wrong, Mr. Swanson, my mother had nothing to do with John Dillinger.”

“I don’t know much about people from the North, but where I come from, family is everything.  I’m sure I too would tell a bold face lie in order to protect my mother.”

Bill stepped forward and looked Bo in the eyes.  “My mother doesn’t need protecting, especially not from the likes of you.”

“That’s a very bold statement seeing how you don’t even know me Mr. Reeves.  I could be a person that brings a great deal of tribulation to your family.”

“If you believe that, you have greatly underestimated my family.”

Bo took a map and slapped it into Bill’s chest. “Oh, I would never underestimate a family with such strong ties to organized crime as yours, Mr. Reeves.”

Bill gritted his teeth and shook his head as he watched Bo walk away.

 

After Bill left the store, he laid out his road maps on the hood of his car to plot his course to see his uncles. With his route planned, Bill got into his car and headed west.  He had never left the state of Indiana before, so he was looking forward to seeing more of the country. 

 

After a few hours of driving Bill stopped in a small town in Illinois for some lunch.  As he scanned a crowded diner for an empty seat, his jaw dropped when he saw Bo sitting at the counter eating.  Bill marched across the diner, sat down next to Bo and gave him an icy glare.  “Are you following me?”

Bo calmly picked up a napkin, wiped his mouth and rested one elbow on the counter as he turned and looked at Bill with a grin. “Well now, seeing how I was here first, I must ask if you are following me.”

A waitress approached Bill chomping on a piece of gum with a pad and pencil in her hand.  She stopped in front of him and shifted her weight to one foot.  “What can I get you, honey?”

“I’ll have the special and a Coke,” Bill said not taking his eyes off of Bo.

“If you must know,” Bo said after the waitress left.  “I am on my way to St. Louis to interview someone for my story.”

“My Uncle Tom,” Bill said in a loud voice. He then looked over both shoulders and leaned in close to Bo.  “My Uncle Tom doesn’t know anything about John Dillinger,” he whispered before he leaned back onto his stool.

“So, your uncle lives in St. Louis?  I didn’t know that,” Bo said with a smile as he pulled his notebook from his pocket.  “Now, tell me, why are you going to see your uncle?”

“I don’t know much about people from the South,” Bill said mimicking Bo’s southern accent.  “But where I come from, we like to visit family members we haven’t seen in a while.”

“Well, I didn’t plan on seeing your uncle while I was in St. Louis… but I do now,” Bo replied as he slid his notebook back into his pocket.

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After he left the diner, Bo drove nonstop until he reached a prison just outside of St. Louis.  A guard escorted Bo to the visitor’s area and a chill went down his spine when he heard the iron door slam behind him.   Bo was escorted to a room with a single barred window and an armed guard standing at a door on either side of the room.  In the center of the room was a wooden table with a chair on both sides.   Bo sat down and drummed his fingers on the table.  After a short wait, a burly inmate with a scar on his right cheek was brought into the room.  He glared at Bo for a moment before he cautiously sat down across the table from him.

“Mr. LeRoy Parker?” Bo asked with a warm smile.

“Yeah, that’s me,” LeRoy answered with a raspy voice.

“My name is Beauregard Swanson.  I am a newspaper reporter, and I would like to ask you a few questions.  That is, if you don’t mind,” Bo said pulling his notebook from his pocket.

LeRoy leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms across his chest.  “Why would I want to talk to some newspaper reporter?”

“Mr. Parker, surely you won’t deny the good people of South Carolina the opportunity to read about THE Leroy Parker…only one of the greatest bank robbers in American history.”

LeRoy sat up straight and gave Bo a long look. “Well…I guess I can talk to you.  It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“Now, at one time you once associated with Baby Face Nelson, is that correct?”

 LeRoy quickly stood up and slammed his hands on the table.  “His name was Jimmy Gillis,” Leroy shouted.  “He hated the name Baby Face.  Why, if he was here right now, he would kill you with his bare hands.”

Wide eyed, Bo threw himself back into his chair and gripped it with both hands.  The two guards rushed over, grabbed LeRoy, and forced him back into his chair. 

“Try that again and see what happens,” one of the guards said as he pointed his nightstick at LeRoy’s face.

After the guards took their post at the doors, Leroy looked at Bo with a scowl.

“I…I do want to apologize, Mr. Parker, I didn’t know he took such offense to that name,” Bo said.  He picked up his notebook and took a moment to compose himself before he continued.   “Now, is it true that, um, Mr. Gillis and Mr. John Dillinger once collaborated?”

LeRoy tilted his head.  “Did they what?”

“I’m sorry.   Did Jimmy and John Dillinger at one time work together?”

“Oh…yeah, they did.  You see, John and Jimmy escaped from jail together in Indiana.”  LeRoy leaned forward with a smile.    “And believe it or not, they did it with a wooden gun,” he said with a laugh before he leaned back into his chair.  “But I’m telling you, when those two got together, I thought they were really going to do something.  They were the two meanest guys I had ever met in my life.  And trust me, that’s saying something.  If those two stayed together, they could have cleaned out any bank they walked into.”

“Why did Mr. Gillis and Mr. Dillinger stop working together?”

LeRoy shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.  Our gangs only did two jobs together.  Then the G-men nearly got us in a shootout up in Wisconsin.”  A grin came across LeRoy’s lips. “We were hiding out in a resort up there.  Then, one night, we got word that the G-men was coming to get us.  Johnny and his gang packed up and left.  But, me, Jimmy and the rest of our gang stayed back and ambushed them.  Anyway, after that, we just never got back together.”

“So, was Wisconsin the last time you saw Mr. Dillinger and his gang?”

LeRoy crossed his arms and gave Bo a long look before he leaned forward.  “It was all over the newspapers and radio that John was gunned down in Chicago in July of ’34.  We took it pretty hard when we heard the news.  Then me and Jimmy were in Chicago in early November.  There was this little speakeasy downtown that had gambling.  Jimmy and his wife liked to play the slot machines.  I went along with them because I like to shoot dice.  Anyway, the guy who ran the joint called me and Jimmy into the back room.  And there was John…standing there…in the flesh and still alive.  John said he wanted to start working with us again, but he said we wouldn’t be robbing banks, he said this would be bigger.  We would have done it too, but the G-men killed Jimmy two days later in Barrington.”

“I want to thank you very much Mr. Parker, you have been very helpful,” Bo said as he closed his notebook.

“So, if you print this story, will you really put my name in the paper?”

“If I can verify your story to be true, I will surely put your name in my story.”

“Good, in the old days Jimmy always got the headlines.  It’ll be good to see my name in the paper for once.”

 

Reviews

[Michelle Saldana]

Another solid chapter you've crafted. I'd personally love to see fewer dialogues and more vivid details, but I'm genuinely invested.

Bo Swanson - what's his deal? His interaction with Bill at the diner was so charged. I could literally feel the tension. They’re like two cats circling each other. I’m excited to see how you develop his character.

Can't wait to see where this goes!

[Gary]

Others have pointed out my reliance on dialog. I believe it is because details are the weakest aspect of my writing.

[Michelle Saldana]

But you know what?

Every writer has their unique strengths and areas to develop. Dialogues can be a very powerful tool in storytelling, and you genuinely do it quite well.

Bo's presence in the story, even through dialogue-heavy scenes, is palpable – and that's a testament to your ability.

Personally, I struggle with dialogue, which might be why I tend to focus more on the details in my writing.

We all have areas to improve on, and there's always something new to learn each day.

[SweetNutmeg]

Now I'm very curious what this big job was supposed to be. It seems weird that Bo knows all this when Bill just discovered the photo himself. I'm curious about that too. I'm also wondering whether Bill will really sully the family name in pursuit of being an investigative reporter. You left me with lots of questions.

I enjoyed your dialogue. I'm also paying close attention to how you blend showing and telling. People say Show don't tell, all the time. But you've got to tell some things. It's knowing when to do one or the other that is important. You strike a very good balance. It's a pleasure to read something so well written. I'm busy looking for how you pull all the elements of writing together to make a satisfying whole. I'm here to learn.

[Gary]

Thank you so much for the very kind words.