The Hiding Followers
July 21st, 1935 8:00 A.M.
It had been exactly 364 days since John Dillinger had been shot to death by Melvin Purvis and other federal men. 364 days since Billie Frechette's heart had been broken by the news of the one she'd loved death. 364 days since Melvin Purvis had gotten promoted for the death of John Dillinger. 364 days since hiding followers of Johnny had come together and started planning revenge.
Melvin Purvis twisted a gold and red pen back and forth between his index and thumb fingers while lounged back in a chair The tip of the fancy pen dug into his still new looking desk in which came with his office, that came with his promotion, which all was because he had killed John Dillinger. All because he'd killed the number one Public Enemy. A clever criminal, armed at all times, even that very night they'd caught him off guard.
A knock on the thick door of his office shattered his thoughts. "Melvin, a letter for you!", the man called at the door.
Melvin lifted from the comfy chair to walk towards a door. The door cracked open and a finely dressed man handed him a letter tipping his hat to Melvin as he did. Melvin nodded in return and shut the door lightly behind him. He slowly started towards his desk, his eyes darting across the envelope for who this may have come from. Probably his wife who he had just married two months back.
His knife slid through the glue which sealed the envelope. He dropped the knife lightly on his desk and unfolded the letter.
You are Melvin Purvis if I am correct, and you killed John Dillinger exactly 364 days ago. Tomorrow will be his death anniversary. Tomorrow will be yours as well if you do not cooperate. At 6:00 am you will meet at Ford's Bar in Chicago. If you do not, your lovely wife will be first to go. And then you. So I would use the tickets in the envelope holding this letter to get to Chicago, NOW.
Melvin's hand shook with fear, a ticket spouted from the envelope with black lettering that stated it was traveling to Chicago. The letter was unsigned. Melvin checked the back of the letter, and then the inside of the envelope. There was no proof of where it came from. Thoughts raced through his head, shattered by another knock. Melvin shot up and ran to the door this time. He turned the handle and opened the door with a rush of wind hitting him. The man was there again.
"Another letter sir, from a man down stair s who ordered it be rushed to you immediately", the man nodded again and walked back down the hall.
Melvin slid his knife through the envelope and opened the next letter. It was quickly written and on a napkin.
The thought of this being a joke was removed from his head the instant he read the message. Whoever this person was, was watching him. Maybe it was more than one person. It letter never stated. The thoughts rushed through his mind but one stuck out. He had to follow the orders, but he had to be clever about what he did at the same time. He leaned over to his desk drawer and slid it out. A single item sat in the drawer, a pistol, the one he'd used to kill John Dillinger. He picked it up and slid it into his coat's pocket. He closed the drawer and picked up a small mess of papers on his desk. He picked up his suit case and walked to the door, a hat sate on a hood next to the door. He lifted it lightly off the hook and placed it on his head. The handle moved with a squeak as he turned it and pushed the door open. He fled out quickly with terror running though his eyes. Not a single word to anyone and he jumped in his car. It was new and something else that came along with John Dillinger's death. The car started with a roar and he pulled it out into traffic.
July 21st, 1935 9:00 A.M.
As soon as he burst through the door of his house his wife's presence was no longer there. The warmth of the house was gone. There was nothing with the furniture changed though, other than the kitchen a mess. She must have been cooking, but she always cleaned before leaving the room. Without another question to the scene he rushed to his dresser taking out four sets of clothes, and a heavier jacket. He fit the clothing into an empty suit case. He dropped picked up the original suit case and the new clothing packed one and rushed out the door of house.
He closed the heavy door of his car behind him a revved the engine again. It roared up. He backed the car up to a small tree behind his house and turned around head straight to the road. The train station was fifteen minutes away.
He glanced at each of the letters that sat on his dash board. They were real, ad it took him a few moments to realize that, but when he did he almost broke in to ceaseless, bubbling, hot tears that rolled down his face. Who ever this was had his wife, what if they had already killed her, what if they were going to kill her anyways. He bit his bottom lip and sucked up the tears, wiping his tears off on his sleeve.
July 21st, 1935 10:00 A.M.
Wet drops of rain cascaded on to his coat and the brim of his hat, flicking his flesh on his hands and face as he jumped on to the train and passed a man his ticket to punch. As he waited for the man to punch his ticket. He looked around the train, it was no first class. People looked at him with disgust, others looking up to him as a god. They all wore dirty clothing, some looked as If they couldn't have possible even paid for a ride. The man nodded and handed him back his ticket.
One other man sat on the train who was decently clothed. He sat down next to him, that's where the man who punched his ticket told him to sit. He pulled back his sleeve and looked at the time, 10:06. About two hours since he received the letter. He glanced at the man he had sat next to, he was dark looking. He seemed to catch the man smirking every time he glanced at him.
"Hello", he greeted the man with his hand stuck out for him to shake it. The man shook his and nodded.
"Hey", he said in a Chicago-like accent. He must have been going back. But the man didn't look as if he were anything like a lawyer or FBI agent, like himself. But he was too well dressed to be any other job in Chicago.
"You from Chicago?", Melvin asked looking at the man.
He nodded again, "You're from here I'm guessing".
Melvin nodded and looked at his watch again, 12 minutes had gone by. Time flew so fast. He looked back up, "Lawyer", he lied. He instinctively lied, but didn't try to fix his mistake.
The man seemed to notice his lie and nodded.
July 21st, 1935 6:00P.M.
They arrived earlier than expected. When the train rolled to a slow stop Melvin was the first to jump off the train. He had 12 hours to find a place to stay, Frank's Bar, and get some sleep, which he did get three hours of on the train.
He found himself having to go to a post office and find someone who knew of Frank's Bar, it was an hour away by Taxi. He took the first he could find. The wind blew through the old taxi's windows as they traveled and he was able to pay the taxi a tip when he got out.
The bar was a criminal's paradise. He wouldn't go in, it was too big of a chance, what if one of them were in there and killed him or his wife for coming to early. He shook his head and started off down the block. He came to the first place to stay, 4 blocks away.
July 21st, 1935 8:00P.M.
Melvin settled down and lied on top of his den looked up at the ceiling. He turned out the lamp next his bed and let himself drift in to sleep.
Russell Clark 9:00 P.M.
Russell Yawned as he sat at the bar table. He had actually been sitting next to the man he planned on murdering earlier today, an FBI agent, Melvin Purvis. The man who killed his gang's leader, John Dillinger. Billie was still in jail, and he was here with a few other followers of Johnny. Russell had been watching Melvin all week. They'd taken his wife 3 days before he left for a not very far business trip. And the FBI agent didn't even notice him, the criminal. It was good to know the revenge they'd all spoke n about for a year now would be fulfilled. No matter what happened in the end, it was all for Johnny. He'd always cared for his followers, he'd broke them from jail, fixed our wounds, tried to keep dying friends alive. But the FBI didn't see that, they just saw the bank robber. They themselves were worse than any of us, they tortured people violently for answers, and beat Billie half to death for her answers.
Russell took a long refreshing chug of his drink, and looked at the bar tender, Frank. He nodded as in his sign that he was leaving and pushed his way out the door. His feet knew the way to his house, and lead him there.
July 22nd, 1935 4:00 A.M.
Melvin was terror filled as he rummaged through his clothing looking for the right outfit. Once he did he slapped his hat on his head and took a sip of water from a cup he'd filled near the faucet. Down stairs they were serving breakfast. He would eat for an hour and get to the bar half an hour early.
When he got down stairs the sweet aroma of food filled his nostrils. He sat at a table and was served, taking small bites and savoring his food he tried to forget about everything. But when he felt the gun in his pocket when he went searching for a watch, it all came back. The worry, the fear, the anger, everything. All at once. He almost broke out in tears again but refused to make a scene in public. He left a wad of cash on the table and walked out the door.
July 22nd, 1935 5:30 A.M.
Melvin shook intensely as he stepped to the door of the bar. Frank was inside serving some guys. Did the letter say meet in or at because he wasn't quite fond of the thought of going in there. He un raveled the letter from his pocket and read it again. At, at wasn't very specific… A man tapped he shoulder and he was thrown in to a car with force, pulled at the same time. The men he'd seen before, in mug shots. Some held guns at him, others poked guns in his ribs, one pinned to his head leaving a mark where the barrel sat. They were tying his hands behind his back before he could get his gun, and another man found the gun and threw it to the driver who was the same man that pushed him in, same man that was sitting at the bar last night when he peered in.
"What do you want?", he was surprised by the snap in his own voice. A sharp edge to it.
"Your life", one of the men chuckled in a not so sarcastic tone.
"No, we would just revenge on you, but it is mostly for Billie's sake. She was heart broken when he Johnny died. We've decided to let you choose who feels the pain of one being gone", the driver spoke.
It took a few curdling moments of silence for Melvin to understand, they wanted him to choose his own life or his wife's to be taken. The answer was immediate, himself. He couldn't bare watching his wife die and she had so much ahead of her, but what if she wanted herself to be taken. He didn't answer the men. "Will I see my wife?", he asked
"As soon as we get there, the place you killed Johnny", the driver spoke again. Melvin now recognized the voice. Russell Clark. Another bank robber friend of John Dillinger's.
July 22nd, 1935 7:00 A.M.
The force of a stronger man flew him out the car door. He instantly was familiar with the place. The smell of popcorn and perfume, the sound of talking people. But the Theater sat quite until the movie would play at 6:00pm. The place rang with memories of John Dillinger's body.
Blood poured onto the side walk that many feet had pounded on before. The crimson color covered his white shirt. The immigrant who had given them his location was screaming in fear and regret. A man leaned down close to John's head and listened for his last words. Nothing but a jumble of sounds.
He blinked and walked forward. The man, Russell Clark, and the others lead him down an ally way behind the theater. There was a door that led into the building next door. Darkness consumed him but he could feel a new person's presence as they stumbled down the dark hallway. They entered a small room with bright lights. His wife sat in a chair looking completely fine other than her hands tied in rope and the chair bolted to the ground.
The man who had joined them in the hall spoke, "We've explained to your wife what will happen. She actually seems to agree it is fair in a way she said. We don't know if she's telling the truth, but we'll take it anyways. She had chosen herself, who do you choose?"
She looked at him and shook her head is sorrow. "I-I choose myself", he said.
"We'll let one of you make the final answer", the man spoke again, and before he could reach for his gun on the table across from him separating him from his wife, he felt someone tug his hands into a knotted rope. The man speaking flipped a coin and slap his hand over. He gestured towards Melvin's wife, "Your heads", he said with a sly smirk. His hand lifted slowly off the coin creating an unbearable suspense. The coin was too far away to see what it really was but the man paused and said, "Heads…".
Melvin shook his head and shouted, "No! Marie, please", she just shook her head. Her face showed that she was so terror filled, heart broken, angry, all negative emotions, that she just didn't talk, she didn't care. She seemed like a statue, no emotion at all by time she counted all of the negative emotions.
"You will sit here until, about..7:00pm. That's when tonight's show is", the men chuckled.
July 22nd, 1935 1:00P.M
A loud blast followed by a gut twisting moan rang through the room. Russell Clark and used the same bullet to kill both Mr. and Mrs. Purvis. They had figured out how to escape and were at the door when Russell caught them. The bullet shattered through Melvin's neck and then was plunged deep into Marie's spine. Both instantly dead. Cops, and the FBI sprung into action quickly. The plan was never officially accomplished. Though, all of the hiding followers, got away.
2 years later
Billie brushed her dark hair as shook watched herself in the mirror. She was at the restaurant she had met Johnny. She took a deep breath of the nice-smelling air. Different type of food filled the air, but she could almost smell Johnny, like his scent would always be left behind. She smiled pleasantly at it and turned around heading towards a table of men, Johnny's followers. They knew she wasn't interested in them but they all stayed friends.
She sat down and starred at her plate thinking of Johnny. If only she could have seen Melvin's wife be shot exactly where h was, unfortunately revenge never worked out how you wanted it to.
If you have seen the movies 'Public enemies' you know most of the characters listed in the past. You will also know that this story has a dull-ish ending and doesn't really he a point to some of you. You're probably wondering why I wrote this then. Let me explain... Have you ever felt like you just hated an ending so much that you wanted to do something about it? Well, that's exactly how I feel about that movie's ending. I decided to change it and researched for 4 hours straight on fact of the real John Dillinger, Melvin Purvis, ect.. Hence, how I got Melvin's wife's name, Russell Clark's name, the fact that many of his followers were still alive, and more that you see in this story. Though when I was writing this I did not give myself much time, I was just too mad at the ending when I recently re-watched the movie. So, I will probably re-write this story later on and make the ending better. If you have anymore questions, please contact me!