“And now I want to spend a penny,” she had said, and he couldn’t help going as red as a beetroot. He had to show her where the bathroom was, and he had to hang about outside in case someone spotted her coming out. Although he was shy about it, he secretly enjoyed the intimacy between them.
Then he stayed outside the door until she was in bed. He thought she looked absolutely smashing in bed. She had rolled up the sleeves of the pyjamas, and somehow they seemed to fit her quite well. There she lay, her hair like spilt ink on the pillow, the sheet adjusted above her breasts, and her red nailed hands folded on her tummy.
George had sat by the window with his overcoat over his legs and his feet up on a chair They finished the beer and had talked. She had asked him to tell her about his adventures in the States. George was too happy to be cautious. So he began to talk. Everything he had read about the gang wars of America was marshalled and trotted out as his own adventures. Never had he been so inspired. He had described how he had been one of the first to arrive at the little cabin in the hills where Ma Barker and her son had made their last stand.
“I’ll never forget that day,” he said, looking out of the window as he tried to remember what he had read of Ma Barker’s death. “We arrived early one morning. There was a ground mist, and we got right up to the cabin without being seen. I was with a bunch of G-men, and they were jittery. I didn’t blame them, because hell was likely to break loose any minute.
“I’d had some experience working on both sides of the fence, and I had been in some pretty tough spots. If Fred Barker hadn’t played me a dirty trick, I wouldn’t have been hunting him with the Feds. At that time I was out for excitement, and I didn’t care which side I was on, so long as I got into a scrap.
“The Feds didn’t want a battle, but they hadn’t the nerve to call on Ma to give up. So I offered to do it. I wanted to show them I had more guts than they.
“I walked to the door of the cabin. I don’t mind telling you my knees were knocking.
“I hammered on the door. Ma Barker, a Tommy-gun half hidden behind her back, appeared at the window. I could see her wrinkles, her narrowed eyes and the wattles on her sagging neck.
‘’Come on, Ma,’ I said. ‘You know me. You’re caught, and you might just as well come quietly.’
‘To hell with you!’ she yelled and ducked out of sight.