“I’ve never seen your house Cole. I don’t want your house. I have my own house.” Wisecup’s voice had taken on the sound of a man pleading. “I didn’t take anything. It was her, it was Elaine that took it. She’s been stealing from you!” He could see what was going to happen and couldn’t think of a way to stop this oncoming train. “Even if I’m dead the bank will want its money, you can’t get away from that. I don’t make the rules; I’m just a bureaucrat.”
Alan decided to run. He tried to run, he commanded his legs to move, but they didn’t. Alan watched as Cole walked behind him and the headstone.
“Alan, you shouldn’t talk about Elaine like that. She didn’t take the money Alan, you did.” Cole’s eyes were focused on the pistol.
“Cole, I didn’t… Look, we’ve got programs, refinancing programs, that you can use. Please Cole…”
“Alan, you know the truth.”
“Cole, it’s not me. It’s the bank. No matter what you do to me they’ll take the house and business anyway.”
Cole thought about that for a moment. The crows had returned to the fight over the dead squirrel. He raised the pistol to the back of Wisecup’s head and fired.
“That maybe so Alan. I just don’t want you there when they come to get it.” Cole said to the body.
He walked back to the van and got in. After a moment he adjusted the rear view mirror so he could look at himself. A strange set of eyes met his. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said to the man in the mirror. For several seconds Cole stared at his reflection. “But he deserved it,” the image replied.
Chapter 39
East Bay shimmered under a waning moon as the night fell away. It would be daylight in a short time and Cole had another twenty miles to drive. Gradually the sun climbed above the white cedar trees and found the water in a dazzling display. Cole didn’t care; he had important things to do today. The cool morning air blasted through the open window of his truck and stung his face. He welcomed the chill, it kept him sharp, his thoughts clear. He sped south past Elk Lake and into the outskirts of Traverse City. Quickly passing through the still sleeping town he soon entered orchard country to the west.
Minutes later he passed the Cherry Nation Orchard’s welcoming road sign. He drove past the sign until he came to the next orchard. This acreage was not tended well, it was clearly going fallow, no one had harvested here in several years. A short distance later he found the gravel road he knew was there. Turning onto the rutted side road he slowed and drove several hundred yards. Cherry trees lined the road on the north, woods and low wetlands to the south. It didn’t take long, in minutes he found an equipment gate.
He opened the gate where tractors, harvesters, wagons, and other equipment entered the large orchard and drove some thirty yards off the road. He put the van in park, killed the engine and stepped down from the van’s high seat. The orchard was quiet, only a few doves cooed someplace in the distance. Cole went to the back of the vehicle and examined the two-track path he had just driven.
He was certain the van was now hidden by rows of cherry trees. Cole opened the back of the van and, after a quick search, decided to take a heavy duty bolt cutter, a crosscut saw, a crowbar, his tool grabber and two flashlights. These he stuffed into a nylon backpack.
Another quick check of the van and he set off between the trees. Fifteen minutes later he came to a broken down fence. He paralleled the fence for ten yards, came to a place where it was completely gone and simply walked onto Gerry’s newly acquired property. A short walk further and Cole was face to face with Gerry’s new barn.
The door was padlocked shut. This wasn’t going to be a problem. Cole set the backpack on the ground and took out his bolt cutters. A grunt or two later and the chain hung loosely from the door handles. Cole’s hands began to shake. Slowly he smiled, relief flooded over him. His problems were over.
He wouldn’t need long, Cole guessed ten minutes to get inside the boat, retrieve the pile of hundred dollar bills he was certain lay hidden there, and be gone. A sharp yank and the chain fell away from the door. Cole then pulled the right door open and slipped inside. Finally he could see…nothing!
“NO! Ohhh no, no, no!” In sheer frustration he turned and ran several steps away from the building. Cole stopped and walked back to the building. He paced, he walked back inside the barn, it was still empty. “What the hell? WHERE DID IT GO?” he screamed. He banged his fist on the wall. He swore and kicked the door. Finally, he slumped to the ground, his back against the now closed door of the building.
Cole stared at the far end of the empty building. Cheated. He’d been cheated again. Gerry had taken his money. He had found it, it was his, not Gerry’s. Without him Gerry would have never known there was thousands of dollars, maybe millions, just sitting there. Gerry was a thief. What else could you call him? He’d taken Cole’s money hadn’t he? He was helping Elaine take the business from him. Gerry had to pay.
Then Cole had another idea. Maybe the money wasn’t gone. Gerry had just moved the boat to the barn nearer the house. That was the only sensible thing. Gerry had said he needed that barn. The boat was just up near the house.
The money was deep inside the hull. And he hadn’t told anyone, not even Donna. Maybe Gerry didn’t know, maybe it was still there. Maybe he could still get it.
Cole felt better. The boat was near the house. He’d just go up there and get it, no need to hang around here. Cole stood up. He had to find that boat before anyone began a restoration. It couldn’t be that hard. It was probably up front at Gerry’s original barn. Cole brushed the dirt from his pants. He had a plan. This could work, it had to work.
Cole retraced his steps to the van and soon backed out of the orchard. Moments later he approached the Cherry Nation Orchard LLC sign and turned into the driveway. He couldn’t see the boat in the yard. It had to be in the old barn in back. He slammed the van’s door shut a bit too hard and sprinted up the steps of Gerry and Sherrie’s porch.
Pausing only a moment to catch his breath, Cole mashed the doorbell. Just finished with breakfast Gerry was surprised by the early visitor, but greeted Cole warmly. “Wow, Cole, you’re out early this morning.”
Cole hadn’t thought this through, but lying gets easier with practice and Cole was well practiced. “Yeah, well I needed some more information for that report you asked for.”
“Ah, I thought you’d forgotten about the report. I know I had!” Gerry said.
Cole winced at the unintended dig. “I knew you wanted this information, but we’ve been pretty busy. Finally I just had to let everything go and focus on this.” He patted the pad of paper in his hand. “I need some a few numbers, that sort of thing. I’ll be done tomorrow but, like I said, just need a little bit more.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I need to check which engine it has, there were more than one available, some other things like serial numbers, that kinda stuff.” Unconsciously, Cole’s hand brushed his jacket pocket. He could feel the hardness caused by the snubnose. He wasn’t sure why he had the gun. He wasn’t even sure who had put it in his pocket, but it made him feel better.
Cole had to find out where the boat was. He’d thought about coming right out and asking, but that would make Gerry suspicious. So he came up with, what he considered to be a perfect plan. He would be totally innocent. It sounded good, but try as he might Cole couldn’t fight down a nervous stutter and he began to repeat himself. “Well, all I really need is the engine and transmission model numbers. If we could drive out to the boat I won’t be very long.”
“Sorry Cole, can’t do that. The boat isn’t here anymore,” Gerry said.
“But…what, well…where did it go?” Cole fancied himself a decent actor, and sometimes he was right.
Gerry smiled at Cole’s apparent confusion. “It’s a lot easier for everyone to have it out of there. I’m going to use that barn for equipment and some storage.”
Cole’s mind was racing. “Tell me where t
he damned boat is!” he thought. He needed to search the boat…the money was in the damned boat! Cole slipped his hand inside his pocket and found his gun. He squeezed the grip, clenching his fingers hard around the metal and plastic checkered surface, so hard his hand hurt.
“Okay, yeah, sure,” he said. Gerry noticed an odd detachment on Cole’s face. Cole’s mind wandered. He thought about the boathouse, the lifts; he loved that boathouse. He pictured the early days, the truck he towed the two Sea-Doos with all those years ago. He could feel the loneliness, the claustrophobia of the attic room he’d rented from a farmer outside Petoskey. The room was drafty. Cold air blew through the single window like shit through a goose. He was headed back there and there was no getting out of it.
“Where did you take it? I need to see that boat.” Cole’s evident frustration was putting Gerry off.
“I’ll have Jim give you a call, he’s in charge of the restoration. He’ll get all the info you need. Sound good?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Cole’s mind was racing. He turned, then turned back to Gerry. “Ya know, just thinking about it, well it gives me sort of a problem.” Cole’s voice trailed off.
“How’s that?” Gerry asked
“I might need to ask a few other questions. I think it would be better if I just examined the boat in-person. I might need to look at a particular part of the boat. You know, to find part numbers and stuff.”
“How much more info do you need Cole?” Gerry was becoming a little suspicious; something was odd here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “I think they’re out of town, but will be back in a day or two, I’m not sure. Like I said, I’ll have Jim give you a call when they get home. I’m sure he’ll invite you down and you can get everything done at one time.”
Cole studied Gerry. He knew; Cole could see it all over that sanctimonious face. He knew what was in that boat and he was going to keep Cole from getting what was his.
“Yeah…sure…yeah that’s fine. Thanks.” Cole turned and walked back to his truck without saying goodbye.
Gerry watched Cole’s truck leave the orchard then went back in the house.
“Everything alright?” Sherrie asked.
“Yeah, just talked to Cole. He’s an odd guy ya know?” Gerry said as he poured a cup of coffee.
“Something about him that’s for sure,” Sherrie replied.
A mile south Cole pulled off the road. He’d lost, he’d lost his nerve when he needed it the most. They had found the money. It was gone now. He’d never get it, he would lose everything. People would point at him and call him a total failure. They found it and then hid the boat so no one would know. Gerry was smart, he’d keep the money and screw Cole. He sat there thinking. He remembered how bad it was when he was just starting. He didn’t want to be broke again. He hated being cold, hated being hungry, and most of all hated not being able to do anything. He loved having all the money he needed to do whatever he wanted. That was gone. Boredom was the real killer.
The pistol was in his hand. It felt comfortable, balanced, like it belonged. He hadn’t put it there, just like he hadn’t put it in his pocket in the first place. The gun was shiny, and beautiful, in a deadly sort of way. He could smell the Hoppes gun oil. He put the muzzle in his mouth. The taste of spent gunpowder and oil wasn’t so bad. It would all be over in a flash.
Then it came to him. He heard the voice.
Chapter 40
Jim and Eve were back at the museum as the doors were unlocked and the building opened for the day. They checked in with Mike Meier and presented him with a dozen paczkis.
“Wow! Where did you get punch-keys this time of year?” Mike exclaimed, putting the full Michigan accent on the Polish word. Unless they were of Polish decent most people only associated the heavy donuts with Fat Tuesday. This was a real treat.
‘Well Mike, ya gotta do the reconnaissance if you intend to hit your target,” Jim grinned. ‘Dutch Girl Donuts makes ‘em year round. Rough neighborhood, but all right.”
Eve grinned, “Its just a little weird seeing the cashier behind a thick bullet proof glass!”
“You can bet I’ll take advantage of this little tidbit of knowledge in the future,” Mike said as he lifted one of the treasures from the box. Jim and Eve took one, cut it in half and carried the paczki and two cups of coffee to their new “office.” Soon they were deeply buried in their research.
Eve poured over the museum’s electronic files while Jim researched Coast Guard records from the early thirties. Just before lunch, Jim’s efforts paid off.
“I’ve got something.” Eve could hear Jim’s excitement.
“Look at this! In August 1931 the Coast Guard intercepted and boarded our boat.” Jim was reading an official looking report with a scrawling, looping handwriting filling in several blanks on the preprinted form.
“The boat’s owner is listed as Ray Bernstein. They thought the boat was running booze. Bernstein was a suspected bootlegger.” Jim’s finger traced down the form. “This says the boat was searched and nothing found. What’s interesting is that the boat they stopped was, ‘…the famous racer Volstead Act.’ How cool is that!”
Eve sat back in her chair and stretched. “Yeah, that’s cool, but also a little weird.”
“What? Why? It’s a smuggler’s boat, you’d sort of expect it to be stopped every once in a while. I’m sure even the boats that weren’t smuggling were stopped all the time.”
“Well, I’m sure a lot of boats were stopped. But why would they call this boat famous?”
“What?”
“You said the article called the boat famous. That’s weird. Why call it famous?”
“You’re right! That is odd.” Jim thought for a moment. “But…I’ve got an idea of how we can find out. Let’s go.” Jim stood up and began searching for his keys.
“Go? Go where?” Eve was surprised by the sudden action. Jim was already opening the door to the little of office.
“First to the copy machine, then I think we need to review some newspapers.”
They made a copy of the report, returned the original to its binder and were soon crossing the parking lot to their Jeep.
“So where are we going to review newspapers from the 1930s?” Eve asked as she buckled her seat belt.
“To the public library, of course. They have copies of all the newspapers from the 1930s on microfiche. We need to know more about the “Volstead Act”.
They crossed Douglas MacArthur Bridge and turned left on East Jefferson. Jim, as usual bemoaned the fact that people drove too slow, wouldn’t move to the right for faster traffic or were busy texting while driving. It was the same speech Eve heard every time they drove through any village, town or city; and after many years of marriage she’d learned to tune it out.
“Jim, the library has a copy of every newspaper right?” Eve asked.
“Yeah, the Detroit Times, the Free Press, the Detroit News and a couple of others that I’ve never heard of.”
“Okay, so we’re supposed to read every paper printed for the years we think the boat was in business?”
Eve was beginning to see a long day ahead of them.
“That’s about it. A microfiche isn’t a digital record. The only way to search it is by date, then read that day’s paper,” Jim answered.
“Are you nuts? That’s going to take forever!” Eve thought about the prospects of sitting on a wooden library chair for the next several hours.
“Well, I guess we can hope they’ve digitized many of the past newspapers, but I’m thinking that’s a long shot.”
“C’mon now hon, don’t you want to know the history of our boat?” Jim asked.
“All I wanted was the plans so you could get this little project done and out of my barn. I’m putting two stalls right where that boat is sitting. I’ve already got names picked out for the horses,” Eve said.
“Yeah but Eve, this could increase the value of the boat, and I’m sure this won’t take too long.” Jim was
scrambling.
She studied him for a moment then smiled, “Alright, but at six-thirty we’re heading out for dinner.”
Jim looked sideways at her and grinned.
“I’m just sayin’,” Eve announced and folded her hands in her lap.
They exited the Chrysler Freeway and in a few moments were nearing the public library. A few minutes later they were climbing the stairs of the ornate Italian Renaissance building.
The reference librarian did not fit the image. Jim expected an older woman with gray hair in a bun, a high collar and shoes that resembled clogs. Instead, a young man wearing a dark blue tie introduced himself as the assistant head reference librarian. Mark Lewis listened to their story, asked several questions, and then showed Jim and Eve to two small cubicles, each with a microfiche reader. Satisfied they knew how to operate the machines Mark glanced at his notes, then to Jim’s horror disappeared.
“Now what?” Jim whispered to Eve.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything. Where are the rolls of film? How do we check them out?” Eve asked, not expecting an answer from her equally confused husband.
Their confusion didn’t last long. Less than two minutes later Mark appeared carrying a small wooden box. “Here are the Detroit Times microfiche rolls. I pulled all the copies from 1928 through 1935. Each roll is labeled with the month and year. I’ve got one other item for you. I’ll be right back.”
Jim opened the box to find several rows of what looked like old, large metal Kodak film containers. Selecting January 1931 he handed the case to Eve who immediately began loading it into her microfiche reader. Then he removed the February 1931 can and began loading the film into his own.
As Jim began to scan the first image Mark reappeared and laid a large book on a table. “I happened across this book a few weeks ago. While pulling the microfiche I remembered it. Hope this helps.”
Jim picked up the book. He studied the faded pressed words on the cover, gave up and opened to the title page, “A History of Detroit’s Notorious Rum Runners.”
H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy Page 15
