King of the Bootleggers

by Eugene Lloyd MacRae

  Tony glanced at Tommy, wondering what they were doing.

  Tommy returned a slight shrug.

  "Stop," Rocco said.

  Tommy put on the brakes and the one-ton truck stood chugging away in the road.

  Rocco looked back along the road and then scanned the road ahead as well. He eyed the old, ramshackle buildings on the right. "I don't see anyone around. You guys see anybody?"

  Both Tommy and Tony took a quick glance around, shaking their heads no.

  "Okay. Keep an eye out Tommy and let us know if you see someone."

  "Okay."

  "C'mon with me, Tony," Rocco said quietly as he slid out the door.

  Tony slid across the seat and out onto the gravel road.

  Rocco scanned the surroundings again and then gestured for Tony to follow him as he ran towards a series of boats tied along the dock. The gravel crunched under their feet.

  "What are we doing, Rocco?"

  "Getting better transportation."

  "We're gonna steal a boat?"

  "Nope," Rocco said as he stopped on the edge of the dock and slipped over into a large rowboat. He picked up a dented five-gallon can of gasoline and handed it up to Tony, who set it down. Then he carefully stepped towards the back of the rocking rowboat and wrestled with a 2 hp Evinrude outboard motor clamped to the back of the boat. The rusty clamp refused to cooperate at first and Rocco's muscles bulged with the effort. The motor finally came free and Rocco staggered back, the rocking motion of the boat almost bucking him off. When the rocking motion subsided enough, Rocco turned and heaved the Evinrude onto the dock, "Take that and the gas to the truck and come back."

  "Okay." Tony picked up the gas can with one hand and the motor with the other, turned and shuffled the heavy load to the truck.

  Rocco jumped across to another boat where he worked to free another outboard motor.

  When Tony returned, the second larger motor was already sitting on the dock.

  Rocco heaved a second gas can onto the dock, the boat rocking under his feet from the effort and the dark water lapping hard against the wooden dock posts, "I'll carry that, you take the motor."

  Tony picked the motor up with both hands and a grunt, turned and headed for the truck.

  Rocco jumped up onto the dock, grabbed the heavy gas can and ran as quickly as he could back to the truck where he placed the can under the tarp beside the other gas can and two motors, "Okay, that's it, let's go."

  Tony jumped into the truck and slid over, "Go, Tommy."

  As soon as he saw Rocco jump on the running board, Tommy shifted into gear and roared away from the docks

  "I thought two motors would be better than one," Rocco said as he pulled the door closed. "I'm not rowing if one goes out in the middle of the lake."

  Tommy laughed and slapped the steering wheel, "You're a genius, Rocco."

  "That's why he's the boss," Tony said as he smelled the strong gas scent on his hands. He wrinkled his nose, "I'm gonna have to wash off. This is like bringing the scene of the crime with me to work."

  "We'll drop you off at your place before we head out," Rocco said. "Those motors should get us back home a lot sooner on this trip."

  Chapter 8

  Four Days Later

  "CAN'T DO IT," TOMMY SAID.

  Rocco turned to look at the young man standing near the back of the one-ton truck. Behind him, the workers for the Glen Gael Distillery were busy piling cases of whiskey outside the back door of the building. "Why? What's wrong?"

  Tony walked out from behind the stack of cases and approached the younger man, glancing back at the workers as he lowered his voice, "You're not backing out now, are you? We need your truck–"

  Tommy waved his hands in the air, "No, no. I wouldn't do that to you guys."

  Rocco stepped next to Tony and lowered his voice as well, "Then what? Don't piss around...."

  "I'm not," Tommy said with concern. "Look," he said as he stepped over and placed a hand on a stack of whiskey cases, "yesterday we took one hundred and forty cases."

  "Yeah. So?" Tony asked. He was clearly frustrated with the delay in getting the whiskey loaded.

  "So we barely got it all stacked in the cargo box," Tommy explained. "Now you say you just bought two hundred and sixty cases. That's like...double. How do we get it on the truck? We're gonna have to make like two trips. Do we just leave it out here at the back of the building? They'll be closed and we got no place to take it until we come back. And we're gonna be late getting back...."

  Tony looked at Rocco and cursed, "Kid's right. I never thought about that."

  Rocco cursed as well and grimaced, "Me neither. Too caught up in how well things have been building for us." He stepped away from the workmen, still piling up the cases.

  Tommy and Tony followed Rocco over to the other side of the truck.

  Rocco clenched his jaw and put his hands on his hips as he looked back at the stacks of whiskey, "This load will bring us thirteen thousand." He cursed again, "We're gonna look like country hicks if we leave half this stuff behind."

  "Okay, so we get another truck, maybe like we did with the outboard motors," Tony suggested.

  Rocco shook his head no, "Too dangerous. We get pinched with the truck and all this the booze that is supposed to be on its way to Cuba...."

  "Yeah. You're right." Tony looked at the kid, "Maybe we get another truck from where your father got this one."

  Tommy shook his head no, "Pops got it from an army buddy in Detroit who went to work where they make 'em."

  Rocco had an idea and he called out to the husky guy supervising the workers, "Hey pal? The other guys who come here with trucks, do they get them from around here? We got this one out of Detroit."

  The guy lifted his cap off and scratched his head, thinking. "Yeah, there's a place...what's it called....?" He turned his head and yelled, "Hey, Macklin, what's that place where they make those auto-mobiles?"

  "Acme? Yeah, Acme Motor something or other. They're over on Piker," yelled a voice from back inside the open doors.

  The guy turned back and nodded, "Yeah, that's–"

  But Tony was already hustling Tommy away from the truck, "That's only a few blocks away. Rocco, we're gonna see what we can find–"

  Rocco waved them on," Yeah, yeah. Go. I'll get what I can on the truck."

  Tony and Tommy began jogging away from the distillery. The rutted roads were frozen from the cold and they had to be careful not to twist an ankle. Their chests were heaving by the time they jogged down Piker. A long line of old wood and brick buildings stretched ahead of them.

  "There it is," Tommy said and they came to a stop in front of an old, two-story wooden-frame warehouse set back off the road. A white sign with black labeling said it was the Acme Motor Carriage and Machinery Company.

  Tony had his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  "I just realized, we don't have any money," Tommy said, putting his hands on his hips and breathing heavy, "how do we get a truck off these guys?"

  "Just leave that to me. I'll do the talking," Tony said. He stood erect and led the way towards a set of double doors that were wide open. Inside they found a large open area filled with a variety of machinery and the frame bodies of several vehicles in the process of being built from the ground up. The smell of gasoline and oil hung in the air and there was a steady racket of hammering on metal and the buzz of machinery.

  A large, barrel-chested man with a full beard approached them with a friendly smile, "Howdy friends. I'm Anton Caden, the owner of this place. What can I do for you today?"

  "We need a truck, a delivery truck," Tony said.

  The man turned and began walking towards an old office on the far side of the building, "Sure, sure. We'll just get the specifications you need and we can have something for you in the next few weeks–"

  "No, we need it right now," Tony said quickly.

  The man stopped and turned back, a self-indulgent smile on his face, "Sorry, that'
s not how it works. We take an order; you make a down payment–"

  Tony pulled something out of his pocket and held it up towards the man's face. It was a gold shield that read Hamilton Police with the digits 0042 engraved on it. "I'm a copper and we need something right now."

  The barrel-chested man looked startled, "Oh, never had that happen before. Really?"

  "Just show me what you have. I need something with a cargo bed in back."

  Scratching his beard, the barrel-chested man just looked at Tony.

  "Now!"

  The barrel-chested man acted quickly and waved for two men to follow him. He led them through the building, past men working on the frameworks of two new vehicles being built and stepped out a back door. He walked over to a truck parked on the right. "This one isn't finished yet. It still needs the cab, but it's the only one ready to go. We gassed it up to bring it back here–"

  "Look, Tommy," Tony said, "the cargo bed on this one is what...five feet longer than the one we're using?"

  "Yeah, it'll do great," Tommy said as he bounded up into the driver's side.

  Tony ran around to the other side and jumped up onto the running board. He didn't bother to open the door. He didn't need to. He just vaulted over and sat down.

  Tommy started the vehicle and put it into gear.

  The barrel-chested man stepped back and shouted, "But what about–?"

  "I'll bring the money tomorrow. How much?" Tony yelled as they pulled away.

  The man scratched his beard and said something, and then realized they couldn't hear him over the noise. He took a few lumbering, running steps behind the moving vehicle and shouted," Once I put the cab on...$785." The man stopped and continued scratching his beard as the half-finished truck disappeared around the far corner of the Acme Motor Carriage and Machinery Company.

  Chapter 9

  NIGHT FELL AND THE temperature dropped below freezing as the two whiskey-laden trucks drove the frozen and rutted dirt road to deliver their next load. Tommy drove the lead vehicle, the new truck without a cab, carrying 120 cases while Rocco followed with the other 140. They only had to move over twice to let the oncoming headlights go by. Both were black Model T Fords with one driver inside. The sound of a train whistle echoed somewhere off to the left, beyond the trees. The outskirts of Apple Hill, a collection of thirty or so houses lining the road on both sides, was just up ahead. A truck came up behind them fast and they moved over to let it pass.

  Ten minutes later, Tommy leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering far ahead into the darkness of the road, only broken by the soft moonlight painting the road through the break in the trees up ahead. Several dark figures appeared to be standing on the frozen road.

  It was Rocco who realized what it was. He pressed down hard on the gas pedal. His truck bounced and vibrated from the frozen ruts as he cut across them and steered his truck to the right side of Tommy's. He yelled as loud as he could, "Tommy. Stop. Stop your truck."

  Tommy could hear something but he wasn't sure what it was and he continued driving.

  Rocco realized the kid couldn't hear above the racket of the two trucks. And he didn't have enough speed to get right up beside the lead truck before they were right on the dark figures in the road. Rocco did the only thing he could do, he jerked his truck left and banged the back end of Tommy's truck.

  Tommy startled and jumped in his seat, nearly losing control of the one-ton truck. He jerked his head around to the right and saw Rocco waving and yelling. He immediately hit the brakes and the truck vibrated to a stop.

  Rocco continued on until he was right beside the lead truck before he hit his brakes and slid to a stop, his driver side door already open. He didn't hesitate, stepping onto the running board and bounding urgently over into the cab-less truck. He took one step in the middle of the seat and jumped over behind Tommy and onto the driver side door. He slapped Tommy on the shoulder, "Jump. Get out now!" Rocco jumped, landed on his feet and rolled over the rutted road to the edge.

  Tommy didn't take the time to open the door. He jumped up and over and onto the running board just as the first shot rang out.

  Crack.

  The metallic ting of a bullet striking off the front of the truck sounded just as Tommy hit the road, took two steps and dove to the earth beside Rocco.

  Rocco was up and running for the trees, "Run, Tommy, run."

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  There was a shout and then dozens of shots rang out.

  Several shotgun blasts joined in along with a steady rat-a-tat-tat that was nearly deafening.

  Bullets chewed up bark, ricocheted off hardwood trees, splintered branches, dug up dirt and ricocheted off rocks, following behind in a steady death march as the two men scrambled further into the bush.

  Rocco and Tommy desperately fought their way through dense brush as bullets ripped through the dark, seeking their flesh. Tommy fell over a tree root and Rocco pulled him to his feet, keeping them moving as hot lead tore through the trees and bushes all around them.

  Thirty seconds later, the gunfire stopped, the laughter of several men back on the road taking its place.

  Rocco grabbed Tommy's jacket and urged him to stop. Both of them sunk to a squat, trying to keep their breathing under control, afraid the men would hear where they were.

  The sounds of voices talking reached their ears in the darkness and then they heard the engines on both trucks starting up.

  A few moments later, they could hear the trucks driving away.

  "Who the hell was that?" whispered Tommy in a shaky voice.

  "Hijackers," hissed Rocco. "I figured it would happen sooner or later but...."

  "How...how did they know–?"

  "I have no idea," Rocco admitted. "Probably one of those trucks that passed us spotted something. Maybe one of the tarps got flipped up and they spotted the cases. The name's right on the side."

  "Yeah. Must have been that last bozo that roared past us," Tommy said.

  "Could be."

  "So...now what? We wait and then...?"

  Rocco shook his head no, "We'll freeze if we wait too long. The temperature is still dropping." He looked up at the sky, "And I think it'll snow before long." He gave it some thought. "Apple Hill is just down the road. That's where they were headed. Let's go see if we can find them."

  Tommy stood up on shaky legs, "But...what then? We don't have any guns...."

  Rocco stood up and began to push his way through the trees and back towards the road, "We'll think about that if we find them. And if we don't, maybe we find a vehicle we can steal to get us back home."

  Letting out his breath, Tommy began to follow Rocco and in a few minutes, they were back on the edge of the dark road.

  Rocco started walking in the direction of Apple Hill and spoke in a low voice, "We'll stay on the edge of the road. Keep an eye open behind us. If you see or hear anything, yell and we'll beat it back into the bush."

  Tommy walked sideways for a bit, watching behind them. The air was becoming colder and crisper and the uneven ground and road made walking difficult. But thirty minutes later a lamplight peeked from a window in the first house on the left. A dog barked somewhere off to the right, behind a house that was completely dark. There were no vehicles either man could see. Large barns at the back of several of the houses suggested the possibility of horses but Rocco kept going. Reaching the far edge of the small village, the sound of voices up ahead on the left reached their ears.

  Rocco went into a low, crouching run, heading for a small dirt driveway just passed a stretch of trees on the left.

  Tommy was right behind him, running low and listening carefully.

  Reaching the edge of the driveway Rocco knelt against a tree.

  Tommy joined him.

  Fifty yards in, behind a two-story ramshackle house that appeared to be 100 years old, sat a large, old barn. Light peered out around the cracks of the large double doors at the front of the barn. Voices and laughter could be heard inside.
Rocco looked down at the dirt of the road leading to the barn and pointed out something to Tommy.

  Tommy could see depressions in the frozen dirt of the road where heavy wheels had passed just recently "Maybe was just a heavy buggy or a wagon," he whispered.

  "I don't think so. But there's only one way to find out," Rocco said. He scanned the house for signs of movement. Every window on both floors appeared to be dark. He moved in a crouch along the dirt road, heading directly for the large barn. A door squeaked on the right side of the barn and Rocco grabbed Tommy's jacket and pulled him into the darkness behind the house.

  A man stepped out of the barn and closed the door behind him. A small, red glow brightened as the man took a drag on his cigarette.

  "I'm pretty sure these are the guys," Rocco whispered. "I bet our trucks and whiskey are inside."

  "But...how do you know it's them for sure?" Tommy whispered back. "We never saw their faces or–"

  "See what he's carrying in his right hand?"

  Tommy peered into the darkness. The man took a drag on his cigarette, using his left. His right hand was down at his side, holding a strange looking rifle.

  "That's a Thompson submachine gun. Tommy gun for short. I saw one being demonstrated near the end of the war when I was in the Army. Once you hear that sound...you never forget it. Up to 1,000 rounds per minute...."

  "I...I never heard of it," Tommy whispered as he peered in awe at the weapon.

  Rocco shook his head no, "It was invented near the end of the war. There were only a few of them made. I have no idea how these guys got their hands on one of them. And see there?" He pointed off to the right, near a large elm tree.

  Tommy squinted into the darkness and saw what Rocco was pointing at on the ground, "Is that our–?"

  "Yeah, our outboard motors and the gas cans," Rocco whispered harshly, his jaw clenching with anger. He moved low across the back to a woodpile where he picked through the pieces of firewood, feeling the heft of each one until he found a club-like piece of wood he liked. Then he crept back towards Tommy.