The Making of Blackwater Jack

by Roy F. Chandler

  Of course Galloway remembered. No one had openly accused him, but a few people suspected it had been young Gabriel Galloway who had done the pushing. Shooter had never admitted to it, but Jack had no doubt that he had been the guy at the dozer controls.

  Loss of their home had begun the Elders’ departure from Perry County, and their relocation had pleased a lot of folks.

  The rest of the story, or at least most of it, involved Gabriel Galloway shooting to death four of the Elder brothers while defending himself.

  Some suspicious folks suspected that Gabriel had also shot Box Elder and old Sam Elder. That was all sort of ancient history in the county, but the subject occasionally came up, and no one had ever been accused of the crimes.

  Time had run on, and Galloway had not answered, so Jack went on.

  “Well, the first part of my planning is to do something similar to those two thugs that sit up on the side of Mahanoy Ridge and watch my place.”

  Galloway said, “I thought we were talking about what to do with your treasure?”

  “Well, we are, Shooter, but I want to tie it all together. We can bury the box somewhere on Maloney’s land, and I want to borrow or rent that big tractor of his without any paperwork or mention of Perry County, Pennsylvania.”

  Galloway said, “Stop!” There was no humor in his voice.

  “One of the first things we talked about when you were heading to Afghanistan was that no one should know anything who absolutely did not have to know. That still holds.

  “If, for example, you were to seek a bit of getting-square with some bad guys, I want to be able to pass a polygraph test proving that I did not know anything about it. I am known to be your closest friend. If anything surfaces, I will be asked about it. Therefore, plausible deniability still rules. If I have to know something, tell me. Otherwise, let me speculate to myself or altogether ignore whatever it is you are brewing.”

  Jack thought about it for a long moment. “OK. So, let me ask you. Is this Michael Maloney a reliable person, and do you think I can rent or borrow a piece of his farm equipment for a few days?”

  “Yes, on both counts. Jacque gets Maloney on TV because he is as dependable as the sunrise, he is as straight as a laser, and he can shoot like hell.

  “Maloney is interesting. He was a tough cop before he retired. He can shoot—and he has. He dresses casual out-of-doors, and he votes right. His word is better than anything a bank can provide, and he is tight-mouthed where it counts.

  “If I recommend you, he will do anything he can.” Galloway rolled his eyes in pretended anguish.

  “But Jack, you’ve got to take a hot bath or two with real strong soap before we go anywhere together.”

  Blackwater Jack smiled a bit grimly. “You drive a hard bargain, Galloway, but I need an untraceable tractor.

  “I’ll get a motel room for a week. If you can work it in, I would like to go to Maloney’s farm tomorrow. Maybe we can bury the box and see if I can get a tractor nailed down.

  “Thereafter, in the spirit of deniability, I would like you to stay far away until I call.”

  They resumed eating with improved vigor.

  Jack finally requested, “Tell me about my house.”

  Shooter’s shrug was eloquent. “I’ve told you all that anyone knows. You know what was in your barn, so you know what was saved. I can’t think of anything more.”

  “Well, I can. For instance, I want to know who you think burned the place. Don’t tell me you haven’t worked on that part, Galloway. Let me hear your suspicions, even though there is no proof.”

  Shooter knew what Blackwater wanted. Jack hoped for reinforcement of his own hinted-at conclusions.

  “Well, I suppose I know as much as anyone about who has been lurking around with bad intentions, and we would both agree that Saltz was behind whoever actually touched off the fire, so I won’t bother with any of that.

  “What I suspect, without evidence, just my hunches you understand, is that Saltz’s thugs did the job. Hell, Jack, who else could it have been? To the best of my knowledge no one else gives a tinker’s dam about you or what you are doing or anything you have done, much less anything you are planning or hoping to do.

  “If you have other suspicions, you tell me.

  “But, you don’t have any, do you? You figure, just as I do, that they slipped down in the dark of night, probably tossed some alcohol around, and lit it off. No smell with alcohol and no residue—not that the ruins would be inspected by anyone with special skills, anyway.”

  Jack nodded acceptance. “That’s about how I see it. So, we won’t talk about the fire anymore. You know, plausible deniability and all.”

  The conversation moved on, but Galloway had followed the shifting subject matter and expected that he knew just about exactly what his friend Blackwater Jack intended to do.

  Shooter hungered to learn more, to add his own opinions, perhaps to be in on it, but his advice to Jack had been solid. Some things, a man had to handle entirely on his own. No others should know. He, Gabriel Galloway, had practiced that discipline for years, and it had paid off.

  They returned to peddling the jewels.

  Shooter had said, “As you know, I deliver valuable merchandise all over the world. The group I work with would be perfect for easing your jewels into the proper hands, hands that would be circumspect and patient in their very distant marketing.

  “I suggest that I bring one of your stones to our boss, who you will remember, is Jacque’s father, to show him the quality of diamonds we are discussing.

  “If he likes what he sees, he can establish a marketing net that will bring the best profits possible and be the safest with the least penetrable outlets.

  “You will not be involved, Jack, and your cash proceeds can be shipped, delivered, or banked anywhere in the world that you request, without creating wave-one, much less inconvenient investigations.”

  “Who did you say your boss was, Shooter?”

  “I didn’t say. I don’t flash his name to every miss-fit hoping to get a leg up. Ours is an up-and-up firm, but we operate with an absolute minimum of paperwork. Our customers often prefer honor-based security because we always deliver on our word.

  “If our illustrious leader accepts your business, I would probably do some of the delivering, but these days I am more personal assistant than carrier.”

  “You’re his son-in-law and bodyguard.”

  “Yep, those jobs, too. Are you interested?”

  Jack did not have to wait. “You bet I am. Your set up sounds exactly right for what I need.” Then a thought intruded.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Galloway, who does the accounting on this?”

  “There is no accounting, amigo. We often operate on a handshake alone. We hold up our end every time. If we didn’t, our highly confidential business would be dead overnight.”

  — — —

  It was late morning, and they had been digging for almost half an hour. Jack asked, “How do we know Maloney won’t come out here and dig up our box?”

  Galloway answered, “We don’t, but why on earth would anyone or anything other than a ground hog dig here? Maloney probably ignores things this far out, except maybe during deer season. I see he has a tree stand down there along the fence line.”

  “Yeah, I saw it. Looks right down onto his orchard. I’ll bet he knocks over a big buck opening morning and then never goes near the woods until all the wild shooting is over.”

  Shooter smoothed the last of the dirt and replaced the square of sod they had removed.

  “Look at that. It’s perfect. I can’t tell even when I know this is it.”

  Jack pretended doubt. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll spend the next twenty-four hours in that tree stand just watching the place.”

  Shooter nodded. “Brilliant! That would really draw attention away from this area.

  “Forget all about this spot until it is time to dig up the box. Don’t come here and don’t announce on the New Blo
omfield Square that you buried a box of diamonds, and you’ll bet no one can find it. I’m already sorry that I am going to help you peddle the loot. I should know better.”

  Jack shouldered their shovel, and they each gripped a canvas bag filled with extra dirt from their excavation. No clues to treasure burying remained for someone curious to investigate.

  Next on Blackwater Jack’s agenda was bracing Michael Maloney for use of a powerful tractor with a strong snowplow installed.

  28

  Michael Maloney boasted a helmet-like head of white hair that any professional Irishman or even a Mafia Don could have envied.

  As they approached Maloney, who was settled in a rocker on his broad front porch, Jack observed, “If I had hair like that I wouldn’t ever wear a hat.”

  Galloway’s retort was succinct. “He doesn’t, except when he has to put on a motorcycle helmet, which he does only under protest.”

  “Maloney rides a motorcycle?”

  “Of course he rides a bike—a Harley. God, Jack, don’t you watch Jacque’s show? Maloney has ridden his own bike on there more than once.”

  “I already like this guy.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Jack, I will bet you five dollars to your two that when he stands up we will see that Michael is wearing a pistol on his left hip.”

  “No bet. You know him, I don’t, but why would he be packing here on his own land?”

  “Because this is where enemies might look for him, and trust me, this guy has them. Michael Maloney always carries a gun. I even wonder where he puts it when he showers. Maloney is not only a tough ex-cop, he is a smart one. If he were not, we would be visiting his gravesite. There are still criminals getting out of penitentiaries that have sworn to get him. Maloney does not forget, and he doesn’t take chances.

  “Believe what I am telling you, Jack. This guy is for real. If he likes you, you are in. If he doesn’t, make tracks for our car, get in, and don’t even look around.”

  As they neared, Maloney stood up. Jack judged him about six feet or so. He needed to lose some weight, and he had blue eyes that Blackwater judged might become steely and intimidating when that was called for. And, Michael Maloney was packing—a 1911, Jack judged.

  Maloney smiled, “Is this the pilgrim you and Jacque have been telling me about, Shooter?”

  “This is the thieving, malingering, lazy-assed, sick-book rider that I might have mentioned.

  “Michael, meet Blackwater Jack Carlisle.”

  Maloney was left handed, which explained the pistol holstered on his left hip. When he shook hands, Jack noted that his free hand slid really close to the butt of the Colt semi-automatic pistol. A careful old warrior, Michael Maloney.

  Introductions and handshakes completed, Maloney motioned for everyone to sit down. Then he turned his attention to Jack.

  “They call you, Jack, Mister Carlisle?”

  “They do, Mister Maloney.”

  “Forget the Mister stuff. Call me Michael and I’ll answer. You are a friend of Shooter’s, so you can be a friend of mine—probably.

  “The fact is that I like Galloway’s wife better than I do him. Her sisters are damned fine as well. Too bad I’m so damned old.”

  Maloney stared a bit as he asked, “You trying to cut one of them out of the herd, Jack?”

  Galloway snorted in amusement, so Jack was sure the questioning was in fun.

  He made himself sound rueful and claimed, “I’ve been Gabriel’s best friend for about all of my life, but he never even told me that Jacque had sisters till a few months ago. Some friend, he is, Michael.”

  Maloney wanted to know about the Blackwater moniker, and it took some time to explain and discuss Blackwater Training Center and the shooting they did there.

  Maloney wanted to know why Shooter had never gotten him down to Blackwater? Galloway claimed Maloney was too old and decrepit to make the cut. Laughter ensued.

  Michael Maloney decided, and Jack could almost see him become personally satisfied, before he said, “So, Galloway has never brought any of his crowd down here before. That makes you special to him and to me. What is it you want from me, Blackwater?”

  As Jack gathered his thoughts, Maloney said, “I’ll tell you ahead of time, I don’t loan money or guns. I’m also careful about whom I loan good books to. Book thieves are everywhere, and they are usually posing as friends who promise to bring the book straight back. The next letter I get is from their new home in California or some other liberal hell, and they don’t even remember borrowing my book.”

  Jack struggled to get a word in.

  “It’s not money, guns, or books, Michael, but I would like to borrow or rent your big tractor with the snow plow attached. Not for too long; maybe a week at the most.

  “I saw the tractor on one of your Outdoor Channel appearances, and I figure it is exactly what I need for a one-time job I want to take on.”

  Galloway’s chair scraped, and Shooter said, “I need to use your facilities, Michael,” and he disappeared inside the house.

  Maloney asked, “Now what is that all about, Blackwater? Hell, he usually pisses in my yard.”

  Jack laughed a bit stiffly, but with this sharp, old-school cop, he figured straight ahead was his only acceptable choice.

  “Michael, Galloway is my best friend, and if I ever got into anything, anything at all, he would be the first man questioned. He is just practicing one of our favorite policies. You remember plausible deniability, right?”

  “Of course, by observing that principle we older cops have stayed out of jail.

  “In the old days, cops stood together. We said and did what we thought was needed and to hell with outsiders.

  “Now? Well, I’m glad I’m retired because these days another officer can be your worst witness. The vaunted Blue Wall isn’t what it once was.”

  Maloney jerked himself back into the subject.

  “How do I know that my tractor would not be involved in some nefarious scheme that will track back to me?”

  “All I can guarantee will be that you will have loaned me the tractor, and you will have my signature with a safe and sane explanation for why I need it.

  “Hey, it is a famous TV artifact, Michael. In fact, that could be the basis for my request.”

  Maloney seemed to ponder. Then he said, “What you need is something that will not slip and slide and that can bulldoze more than plow? Am I right, so far?

  “If I am far off the mark, let me know, but we must practice our own plausible deniability.” Jack did not respond. Maloney nodded understanding and continued to speculate.

  “You need a pusher from far away so that nothing can be traced back to you.” He again got no answer.

  Maloney grunted. “I assume that if I knew all of the details I would more or less agree with whatever it is you intend doing?

  “Uh huh, no answer there, either. All right, let me think for a minute.”

  Following the minute of contemplation, Maloney stood and directed, “Follow me.” Jack did, and they entered one of Maloney’s barns. Galloway was still emptying his bladder or something and did not reappear.

  The big tractor Jack wanted was not in sight, but something rather huge loomed. Until Michael put on the lights, Jack could not figure what he was looking at. When he could see, he still wasn’t sure exactly what it was, a vehicle, a truck, with a snow blade, but an old truck. Maybe of WWII vintage? Was Maloney suggesting … ?

  Maloney explained, “First of all, I will not loan or rent you my tractor. Hell, I show that vehicle at county fairs, but it is not what you really need, anyway.”

  He waved at the big truck, still wearing its ancient dulled and beaten-in US Army paint.

  “Look Blackwater, my tractor is a handsome vehicle. It would catch every farmer’s eye. This not-so-pretty machine is about as unnoticeable as it gets. This model was called a GM five-ton truck. It has rear duals on two axles, and both of them are driving axles. There weren’t too many of them made, but if y
ou don’t know, they look like any common truck that was on the road just after WWII.

  “Look at the tread on these tires. They were made for war, and Jack, they just don’t slip, and that’s a fact. I keep it around to push snow in really bad winters. The heater works well, and I don’t tear up my first line equipment.

  “You’ll notice that it is plugged into a mini-charger. If you are going to own something that gets little use, it pays to keep up the maintenance. I would not hesitate to take this vehicle anywhere at any time, and I suspect that you are intending to push something or maybe many things that have weight to them. This monster won’t even gasp no matter what you decide to move.”

  Jack was virtually speechless. Before he could respond, Maloney threw a left hook.

  “There is one problem, that I hope you can handle. This truck, like most of them from the 1940s, require double-clutching. Do you know how to double clutch? I’m embarrassed to ask, but damned few young men of today can even operate a normal clutch much less a double clutch transmission.”

  Jack experienced vast relief.

  “Shooter has an uncle out in Montana who uses old equipment. He works as a guide for hunters, fishermen, and photographers. When I was a little boy he taught us to double clutch an ancient three-quarter ton Dodge. I can shift this truck, but I will have to inquire about the low range and how to raise and lower the blade. That would be new to me.

  Galloway did not resurface until Jack was riding around the yard practicing shifting and operating the snow blade.

  Galloway said, “Good God, are you making a deal for that monster?”

  Maloney said, “Stay out of this, Galloway. You are the one always blatting about plausible deniability. Go away while Jack and I bargain.

  “All right, here’s the deal, Blackwater. You pay for any and all damage to my truck.” Jack nodded agreement.

  “You make out a rental agreement, and I keep it, just in case—if you know what I mean. You put in the agreement that you intend using the truck in a TV commercial, and that it will be returned in about a week.” Jack’s nod was instantaneous.