DUDLEY and WALDO sit in their chairs in the dayroom.

DUDLEY

Today I’ll tell you about how I killed Waldo Dickman. You know who Waldo Dickman was, don’t you? If you had a radio, you remember.

The tip-off came from a gas station owner in Manhattan, Kansas. Said his grease monkey had gone out to fill up a brown Buick with Arkansas plates. The driver was a young fellow with a mustache. We never identified him, though I’ve always had a hunch. But there was another man in the back seat of the Buick, all alone. It was evening, the grease monkey couldn’t see too well. Nevertheless he told his boss he could have sworn that man was none other than you know who. Number three on the ten most wanted. Number one on mine. I’d been after that son of a bitch for almost two years.

They said the Buick pulled away, heading east. East, I said to myself.  Kansas City.

The state troopers were on the roads. I knew he’d slip by them. He knew the back roads better than they did. No, I said, we’ll wait for him in Kansas City. I knew he’d show up. He had a chippy in Kansas City. He didn’t know she’d been talking to us since he’d been in hiding. Not friendly talk, mind you. Every goddamn name her filthy mouth could come up with. Told us she had no idea where he was. She was trying very hard to be uncooperative. I could smell her devotion to him. Almost didn’t have the heart to tell her about his other molls. Almost.

So while the cops were looking for a brown Buick, which later turned up abandoned, we were following Dickman’s chippy. Sure enough, she left her apartment right on schedule, caught a streetcar, checked into a cheap hotel. It was raining. We stood in the entrance of a movie theater across the street, Betsko, Monahan and myself. Waited for Dickman to make his appearance.

There was an unspoken assumption between the three of us that there wasn’t going to be any due process. No reading of the rights. And I also knew that they were going to let me take the first shot. Hell, I deserved it. Worked hard for it. And in my heart I was a little sad, that the time had almost come and it was going to be over.

Midnight, one a.m., two a.m. we waited. Two thirty seven a.m. we heard footsteps in the deserted street, splashing in the puddles. Suddenly there he was, on the other side of the street. We got a good look at him as he passed under a streetlight. We knew it was him. We watched him climb the steps and buzz the doorman and wait.

I could’ve picked him off right then and there.

Half a minute, it took that doorman. Must’ve been the longest half a minute in Dickman’s life. He was looking up and down the street, shifting his feet. Like he knew someone was watching him. Like he could smell us.

I could’ve stepped out of the shadows, fixed him in the eye, and let him have it.

The doorman came and opened the door. We watched Dickman go into that hotel.

Betsko and Monahan thought I was crazy, letting him go like that. I said, what’s the hurry? He’s got a girl waiting for him. Let him get his end wet one last time. Let him enjoy his last night on earth, and we’ll get him in the morning.

In the morning we had reinforcements out front. But I knew he wasn’t coming out the front way. Betsko, Monahan and I waited in the alley by the service entrance. Six a.m., seven a.m., eight. Eight fourteen the door opened and we saw them come out. We watched them walk down the alley, away from us.

Not even Waldo Dickman could I shoot in the back. I could have called out and waited for him to turn around. But I didn’t. We watched them walk out into the street.

Before Betsko or Monahan could say a word, I said, I know what I’m doing. They’re going to Elmore’s Diner for breakfast. He always goes there. He’s going to order a stack of pancakes, steak and eggs, hash browns and coffee. Let the guy have a decent last meal, and when he’s finished we’ll be waiting for him.

Less experienced guys, who knew me less well, would’ve called my superior and relieved me of my command. But Betsko and Monahan knew I was probably right. And I was. We watched the Elmore from a laundry across the street. I saw Dickman stand up and walk toward the back of the diner.

I had him figured. A man drinks his coffee in the morning, it gets his bowels moving. The Elmore at that time had no indoor plumbing. He’s going out back, I said, to the outhouse the kitchen boys use. I told the others to wait. I crossed the street. I poked my head around the side of the diner just in time to see Dickman go into that privy shack. I thought to myself, let him take that one final dump. He’ll come out into the sunlight a happy man, relieved of his burden. And he’ll never know what hit him.

Then I decided I wanted him to know. I’d shown him enough kindness and courtesy. More than he’d shown to those innocent bystanders during the Topeka heist. I wanted him to know this was justice, not gangland rivalry. So when he came out of that privy, all satisfied and pleased with himself, I had my badge ready. Good morning, I said. He turned. I waited only a couple of seconds. Long enough for him to see the badge. Then I put two bullets in his heart.

I stood over him and said, so long. He didn’t say anything back.

Then it was all over the papers. My picture next to his. My home town gave me a parade. I got another promotion. Elisha Cook played me in a movie. I thought it would last forever.

It did.  It did last forever.

I don’t know what garbage you’ve heard. That I shot somebody else. Some fall guy made up to look like him. That Dickman had paid a visit to a plastic surgeon in Mexico and had a new face, new fingerprints. Don’t believe it. I knew him by his habits as well as by his face. It would take one hell of an actor to get his habits down like that.

Yes, they should’ve done an autopsy. Of course they should’ve done an autopsy, just to be sure. But that wasn’t my department. I was as sure as I needed to be. Still am.

See, I know you’re not Waldo Dickman. If they’d done plastic surgery on him, I wouldn’t be able to recognize him. But you’re his spit and image. I’d know you anywhere.