Moonshine, Coal, and Hope

by Richard Allen Evans

  Cat nodded and slowly walked to the bedroom, stopping briefly to place a hand upon the shoulder of his protégé. John answered by closing his eyes and slowly nodding.

  ***

  Two days after Christmas 1929, Bob leaned on his crutches with Daisy next to him in the Church Family Cemetery. It was bitter cold and a brisk wind blew snow flurries in the gray light of day.

  The funeral ended an hour before and while most of the mourners had already left — including Cat, Victoria, Adam, Marlene, and Trish with Ginny in tow — seven people stood by Rachel’s grave. John and Ed stood on the other side of the grave from Bob and Daisy. Lucy, May, and Hill stood about five feet behind them.

  The only sound that disturbed the silence was an occasional sob by one of the women and or a gust of wind.

  John stood with his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He stared at the coffin in the freshly dug grave. The rich black dirt heaped beside the grave was frozen nearly solid. John couldn’t help but think how his heart was frozen even more than the soil. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I knew this day was coming. I still don’t know what to do,” he said distantly.

  Ed placed his right hand on John’s left shoulder.

  “Let’s go home John,” Bob said.

  John shook his head.

  “It’ll never be home again,” he said sadly.

  “You and Ginny need to come spend some time at the farm until you figure things out,” Ed said.

  “You’re always welcome in Lexington — you know that,” Bob said.

  “And we’d be happy to help take care of Ginny,” Daisy added.

  “I appreciate it – all of you – I really do. But I just want to be alone right now,” John said.

  The group slowly filtered away leaving a lone figure standing by the grave in the gray light of the late fall afternoon.

  ***

  Joe Milner stepped off of the train at the depot in Crystal Springs. Junior met him on the platform. He was shocked at the appearance of his once and future boss.

  Joe was ghostly pale and underweight by some twenty—five pounds. His eyes were sunken; rimmed by dark circles and his hair was thinner with wisps of gray prominent.

  Perhaps the one feature that stood out the most was the expression he wore. Joe had the look of someone in shock, not unlike a soldier after his first taste or combat or a person who survived a serious automobile accident.

  “Welcome home boss,” Junior said as he took the suitcase from Joe’s hand.

  The malnourished man merely nodded as he followed Junior to the waiting car.

  “It’ll be good to see a familiar face around the mansion again. A lot’s changed,” Junior said.

  Joe spoke in voice barely above a whisper.

  “So have I,” he said as he stepped into the black Ford.

  Junior walked around the car and slid in behind the wheel. He started it up and pulled out onto Depot Street before he turned left onto Tazewell Avenue, heading in the direction of the Milner estate.

  “What’s this guy running the company like?” Joe asked hoarsely.

  “You okay boss? Are you sick?” Junior asked.

  Joe nodded.

  “Fight in prison. I was kicked in throat; damaged my vocal chords. The pen is no place for someone...different...like me,” he said.

  Junior shifted uncomfortably.

  “The new guy is, uh, a lot like your brother. As a matter of fact, his name is Lee,” he said trying to put distance from Joe’s previous response.

  “In other words, a real son of a bitch,” Joe said.

  “He, uh, he’s a tough man,” Junior said.

  “We’ll see how tough he is soon enough,” Joe said.

  In a few short minutes they rolled up to the mansion and Joe got out. He was greeted by his mother and sister at the front door. They hugged him and he appeared to enjoy their attention, offering each a faint smile.

  Once inside, Joe made his way to the office once used by his father. Behind the large wooden desk sat a man he didn’t know. Joe simply stared at the man smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper.

  Lee never looked up from the paper.

  “You’ve lost weight. Looks like prison life didn’t agree with you Joe,” he said.

  Anger flashed across Joe’s face.

  “Who the hell are you to sit at my father’s desk?” He asked.

  Lee smiled and looked up. He pointed to the article on the front page of the Lexington Courier.

  “I’m the man that shot the leg off of a pain in the ass reporter. Damn shame I didn’t kill him,” He rubbed out the cigarette in a glass ashtray to his right and stood up. “I’m the man that’s going to kill Ed Elkins and put an end to his bullshit once and for all. I’m the man that’s gonna settle all the scores for the Milner family,” he said.

  Joe looked at him curiously.

  “What’s wrong with your voice? Swallow a little something you shouldn’t have?” Lee asked.

  “Who are you?” Joe repeated with a rasp.

  “Consider me one of them ‘avenging angels’ you used to read about when you was a kid,” Lee answered.

  Joe’s face twisted in comprehension.

  “Lee?” He asked in disbelief. “H-how...Is it really you?”

  Lee smiled and removed all doubt. No amount of plastic surgery could hide the nasty grin that decorated his face.

  “Long story. Let’s just say I suffered and changed like you. Well, maybe not exactly like you, but I suffered...and obviously changed,” Lee said.

  “And you got me out?” Joe asked.

  “I did and it wasn’t cheap either,” Lee said.

  “For mother?” Joe asked.

  Lee shook his head and walked back over to the desk where he picked up the newspaper.

  “Make no mistake, if I had my druthers your sick ass would still be getting pounded in Atlanta,” Lee looked back to Joe. “Yeah, I know what you did to stay alive in the joint. I’ve seen it before when sick guys like you go to prison. I wanted you to die there. You’re not even a man. You’re a disgrace.”

  “Then why?” Joe asked.

  “Because I need somebody that can run this company and make sure it’s keeps making money,” Lee said as he waved the newspaper at Joe. “I have better things to do with my time but we need money to get back the power you and that dumb ass Luttrell cost us so you’re here to try to make up for the big ass mess you caused.”

  Joe’s eyes were drawn to the floor and a thoroughly defeated look painted his face.

  “The other mine owners...they won’t deal with me. They don’t respect me. I’m a convicted felon on top of everything else,” he said.

  “You mean jail bait lover?” Lee sneered.

  Joe shifted his weight awkwardly and said nothing.

  “You’re right. But you know people, our people – and the right ones to put in place to get the job done,” Lee said.

  “What about the strikes?” Joe asked.

  “Settle it with the union. No more work stoppages. Remember, your job is to rebuild the family fortune,” Lee said.

  “And our good name?” Joe asked.

  “Piss on that. I just want to get some judges and politicians back in our pocket,” Lee said.

  “What’s your next move?” Joe asked.

  “Don’t worry about my next move. Just make money,” Lee said.

  ***

  As 1929 turned into 1930, John became more consumed by grief each day. He tried to take solace in his daughter but every time he looked at her he saw Rachel. It seemed the harder he tried to pull himself out of despair the deeper he fell back into it.

  He returned to his practice as quickly as he could to find a distraction – and it helped to a point. But there were only so many hours in a day and eventually he had to go back to the house he shared with Rachel. He had to decide if he wanted to see Ginny or sit alone beside his bed and spend another long sleepless night.

&
nbsp; After the last patient left, John set about closing the office for the day. It was mid-January and colds and respiratory infections were rampant. Thankfully there had not been another outbreak of influenza. John put away equipment and went to close the door on the medicine cabinet in the exam room he occupied. As he started to close the door, he noticed a bottle of clear liquid Cat kept in the office to mix cough syrup.

  John reached up and took the bottle. He looked it over carefully. It was some of Ed’s finest — or so Cat had told him. John pulled the cork from the bottle and took a healthy slug. The moonshine burned when it hit his esophagus and the invisible flame backed up into his throat. It had been awhile since alcohol crossed his lips.

  Rachel didn’t approve of liquor. He looked at the bottle again. Rachel wasn’t there anymore and would never be back. John took another drink and placed the bottle back in the cabinet.

  ***

  “The Milners just cut a deal with the union. They gave in on every point,” Hill said as he walked into Ed’s living room.

  Ed nodded.

  “I heard. Looks like Joe’s tired of losing money,” he said.

  Hill pulled a cigar from his pocket and waved it at Ed.

  “He’s tired of fighting,” he said.

  “Like hell,” Ed said. “He wants payback just like his asshole brother. He’s just trying to make money. The strikes cost them dearly.”

  Hill shrugged slightly.

  “Could be,” he said.

  “Speaking of Joe, have you found out who got him out of prison?” Ed asked.

  “That son of a bitch Hoover commuted his sentence to time served,” Hill said.

  “I know that. Who got the son of a bitch Hoover to do it?” Ed asked, slightly irked.

  Hill lit his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “Sen. Luster Foy of West Virginia. From what I hear, the Milner’s lawyer paid him a shitload of money and he approached Hoover on their behalf,” he said.

  “They lock up one congressman from this district the Milners owned. And what do they do? They go out of state and buy a senator,” Ed said.

  “Well whaddya gonna do? Outbid’em? You know the Republicans don’t exactly like you for what your newspapers did to them in the last election. I don’t think you have enough money to buy a favor from any Republican in Kentucky or Washington,” Hill said.

  A look of realization crossed Ed’s face.

  “You’re right. So maybe it’s time we went to a Democrat,” he said.

  Hill chuckled.

  “There ain’t a Democrat that can really help us. None of them really owe you anything,” he said.

  “Then we need to get a few people of our own elected,” he said.

  Hill took another puff of his cigar.

  “You already got somebody in mind don’t you?” He asked.

  Ed chuckled.

  “Yep. I think I do. I just need to see if I can talk him into it,” he said.

  “This just didn’t come to you,” Hill said as Ed laughed.

  “No, I’ve been thinking about this for a little while and I think now the time has come,” he said.

  ***

  Junior sat in a straight back chair near the front door. He was as much added security as he was driver on call. He looked across the foyer and watched Nick Ryder nap.

  Ryder was a bodyguard hired several years before by the old man. He was 5’10 and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds or so. His black Fedora slipped down over his eyes, Ryder snored none too softly. His fingers were interlaced and his hands rested on his sizeable stomach. The black suit was unbuttoned and hung open with the .45 semi—automatic resting in the shoulder holster plainly visible.

  Junior could tolerate him much better than Jack, the dumb ass that got himself killed trying to shoot Ed Elkins. Ryder was lazy for the most part but he was usually good for an occasional joke and he always had plenty of cigarettes and a full flask of the good stuff — not the watered down Canadian booze the old man used to push on guests.

  As Joe walked downstairs and headed toward another room, Junior watched him. Joe was a shell of the man he was before he was arrested. Once a dapper dresser with neatly combed hair, Joe now moved like an arthritic old man — his clothes hung loosely on his frame and his hair had thinned rapidly. In the past two years, Joe aged visibly. He looked ten years older and his constant frown made it look as though his face would break if he smiled.

  A twinge of regret crossed Junior’s mind as he recalled his own role in Joe’s downfall. Lee had it coming but Joe, on some levels, maybe deserved better – and so did the old man. He considered the irony. The old man and Joe paid the penalty (at least partially) while Lee was still out there somewhere running free. He shuddered to think of the price he would pay if Lee ever discovered the role he played in those events.

  And now this new Lee...it was eerie how much he acted and sounded like the Milner who got away. This guy was more like Lee’s brother than Joe would ever be, Junior thought. He remembered the night of the shooting at the union rally. Seeing Lee light his smokes with a lighter that belonged to the old man, knowing where the safe house was located, and the response Mrs. Milner had when she heard he had been shot – there was something more to the new Lee than most people knew, Junior thought.

  It was as though someone simply stuck a new face on Lee and sent him back to Kentucky. As Junior watched Ryder nap he remembered reading an article in a magazine about disfigured war veterans and something called plastic surgery. It seemed doctors were able to repair damage to people’s faces to cover the scars of war. And sometimes that meant changing their entire face, he remembered reading.

  If doctors could do that for a wounded war veteran, could they do it for a fugitive from justice with plenty of money? Junior reasoned they probably could. But how would he prove it? Did he want to prove it? It might simply be best if he left matters alone and got by as the dim wit people thought him to be – it would be safer. Besides, it never hurt to have an ace in the hole just in case it was ever needed.

  He looked at Ryder once again.

  Sometimes it simply paid to be stupid and lazy.

  ***

  John across the kitchen table from Cat. The doctor dropped by unannounced for a visit while Trish had taken Ginny with her to the grocery store. He could feel his mentor studying his face. If it was a tactic meant to intimidate it wasn’t working. John was beyond caring what others thought these days.

  “It’s got to stop John,” Cat said solemnly.

  “What’s got to stop?” John asked.

  “The drinking. We both know you’re a falling down drunk these days,” Cat said.

  John chuckled.

  “Because I enjoy a shot now and then don’t make me a drunk,” John countered.

  “But it’s not now and then John. It’s all the time. It’s March and you’ve not drawn a sober breath in two months,” Cat said. “Look at you now. You’re a mess. You’re eyes are bloodshot and you haven’t shaved in a couple of days. And you reek of liquor.”

  “I’m still able to do my job,” John said.

  “No, you’re not. You’re slipping badly. You misdiagnosed three patients this week. If I hadn’t been there to catch the mistakes...well, it’s not just your reputation being hurt. You’re causing people to suffer,” Cat said.

  “They’re free to see you or better yet, Lethem find a new doctor,” John said. “It’s a fact, piss on medicine. Medicine couldn’t save Rachel.”

  Cat shook his head in disgust.

  “Dammit John! It’s about more than the patients!” He bellowed as his fist pounded the table hard enough to jolt the younger man slightly. “You think you’re the only man to lose a wife?”

  “But I did lose her...I couldn’t do anything,” John said bitterly.

  “I know. But we’re only doctors and you know that. We’re not God. Dying is part of life. It’s different when it’s your own – I know. I’ve buried two parents and a brother,” Cat said.r />
  “Do you think that’s the same thing?” John asked.

  “No, I don’t. But those are losses I couldn’t prevent either. Rachel’s gone. You have to face that John,” Cat said.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing? I know she’s gone. I know she ain’t coming back. I face it every morning when I wake up and she’s not here. Every time I come up Donahue Street...knowing she’s not going to be here...she’s never be here again! I hate this house! I hate it!” John roared as he snatched a white coffee cup and threw it across the room. Porcelain shattered and ricocheted off of the now damaged kitchen wall. Cat dodged quickly but a few remnants of the cup managed to dust his left shoulder.

  “Then move. You can get another place to live,” the elder doctor said calmly.

  John’s laughter maintained the same bitter undertone.

  “Really? And that will make everything better? Maybe I need to get a new wife too. Would that help?” He asked mockingly.

  “You’re the one who hates this house. Moving might be a good start toward getting through this,” Cat said.

  “And what about the new wife?” John asked, his voice equal parts acid and ice.

  Cat shook his head and tried to keep his own temper in check.

  “Don’t insult me with such a question. And don’t insult Rachel’s memory with such stupidity. Stop trying to destroy yourself. Your daughter is about to lose both parents. Is that what you want? Is that what Rachel would have wanted?” He asked.

  John’s head dropped as the tears flowed freely. He said nothing.

  “Me and Vick will help any way we can but you need to straighten up. When you think you’re ready, come back to the practice. But come back sober. If you can’t do that, don’t bother coming back,” Cat said as he stood, hoping his words got through to the pitiful man sitting in front of him.

  John didn’t even acknowledge Cat as he walked out of the kitchen toward the front door. He continued to weep. John remained seated at the table crying inconsolably until Trish and Ginny returned.

  “John! Are you okay?” Trish asked as she surveyed the damage while she sat a bag of groceries on the table. John could only nod.

  Ginny, still in the stroller, reached for her father. “What on earth happened in here?” Trish asked.