“Sorry, Wilson. I’m not interested in yours. No, our little business arrangement suits me just fine. I see no reason to change it. But I can see Mrs. Duffy building something special out there. She’s got an amazing sense of giving people what they want. I saw that first-hand in Philly.”
“You know it’s way out in the middle of nowhere?”
“But somewhere—Miami—is getting closer all the time, Tucker. I like to keep an eye on opportunities and potential competition. This Gator Joe’s joint is a bit of both. A colleague of mine drove out there the first night they were open; even that mug could see potential. She’s going to be successful and expand and eventually she’ll bump up against what’s already mine. I’m going to have to buy her out sooner or later, and sooner is cheaper.
“And besides, it’s Edith Duffy. A pal’s wife—a dame—running a place like that? It could be my wife Anna, for God’s sake. I figured she’d grow bored with it, or the rebuilding would be too much for her but, like many, I underestimated her. Always a bad position to be in.”
“I suppose. I don’t know her at all. Gator’s is a sweet little place, though. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that action. If she sells and doesn’t stick around, keep me in mind to manage it for ya, Mr. Lansky.”
“We’ll see. First she’s gotta decide to sell.”
“This isn’t your usual approach, Mr. Lansky. Usually you’re, ahem, more direct?”
Meyer chuckles. “Yes, a reputation which usually helps in the negotiations. But not this time. First, she’s the widow of a former colleague of mine and, while I don’t usually let sentiment color my business, I have been known to make exceptions. Duffy did me a favour once and this is the way I can pay him back. And, of course, there’s the other thing.”
“Other thing, Mr. Lansky?”
“You don’t shoot dames.”
Chapter 39
C hange is always a mixed blessing, and so it is for the Coast Guard during Prohibition. Federal coffers are unlocked and thrown open in an effort to stem the tide of smuggling illegal liquor off America’s coastline. This gives the Coast Guard, perhaps for the first time, the resources they need in terms of personnel and equipment.
For the brass on base, the extra attention from Washington generates more than a few headaches, especially when it comes to meeting the new enlistment targets. The demand for more good men drives a frantic recruitment effort. Because of the hard times, the Coast Guard is awash with applicants—the pool, as they say, is a mile wide and an inch deep with everybody’s brother or a nephew looking for work—but there aren’t many heroes in that shallow pool.
Finally, more money and more men come with strings—a situation familiar to any government funded agency. Search and rescue are replaced by search and seizure as the moral fabric of the Coast Guard’s mission shifts away from protection and concentrates on policing. Pull a fabric hard enough, and tears are bound to happen.
Halfway along the coast between Gator Joe’s and Miami, Dinner Key Station is an adjunct of the busy Miami station, which is stretched to capacity with the massive surge in smuggling. Both stations are located on Biscayne Bay. Like with any younger, smaller sibling, rivalries can surface.
Bosun Hardy knocks on the doorframe of Lt. Commander John Saunders’ office.
“It’s time, sir.”
“Thank you, Hardy.” Lt. Commander Saunders stands and straightens the tunic of his dress whites. “How big is today’s class?”
“There are twenty recruits, Lt. Commander Saunders, sir.”
“Any winners in the bunch?” the Lt. Commander inquires as they go down the hallway toward the parade ground.
Bosun Hardy rolls his eyes. “More whiners than winners in this crop.”
“When the Drys introduced Prohibition, they seriously underestimated the manpower that would be needed to enforce the law. It feels like an assembly-line conveyor belt rather than answering the call.”
“Not like when we joined up, eh sir?”
Lt. Commander Saunders strides to the door and stops to face Hardy. “Those were the days. We guardsmen were prepared to snatch the living from the cold arms of a watery death. Remember the motto ‘you have to go out, but you don’t have to come back’?”
“Certainly do. Lived it. Many times we took off in heavy seas on a rescue mission and weren’t sure whether we’d make it back. Different times, sir.” Bosun Hardy holds the door open.
“It seemed like the honor and dignity of the service were easier to find in those days, which attracted a certain kind of man. We were made of sterner stuff, I imagine, than the boots on the parade ground this morning, eh Hardy?”
“Oh, aye, sir. And did those human smugglers we picked up get what was coming to them, sir?”
“Yes, justice was served. They won’t be back out for a while. That was a good day, Hardy. A dozen lives saved. Not bad for a few hours work.”
“Having that kind of success makes you want to double down on the effort, doesn’t it, sir.”
“To know that every day you could be putting yourself in harm’s way and your life at risk to rescue a stranger, well, you need a higher purpose than acting as a doorman in the revolving door of snatch and release that Prohibition has become.”
“Thirty days on and ten days off is a lousy life, sir. It’s no wonder they all talk of getting out of the service. $60 a month just doesn’t make up for the boredom or the bribes.”
Moments later, Lt. Commander Saunders looks out at the assembled men. They are a mixed lot, that’s for sure. Half the recruits are obviously landlubbers—farmers who have never been to sea. They are attempting to stand at attention like the ensign had just shown them. The gulls’ cry and the snap of the flags in a brisk breeze invades the otherwise silent parade ground.
“Guardsmen, today you become members of the United States Coast Guard.” Lt. Commander Saunders pauses to let this sink in. “Semper Paratus. Whatever the circumstances, whatever the task, we are always ready. It is for us to obey, faithfully and loyally. It will be a difficult road ahead of you. During these days of Prohibition, you will be challenged in ways difficult to say no to. Bootleggers and rum runners will tempt you. Human smugglers, the scourge of the earth, will attempt to hook you or get you to look the other way. You will be subjected to all sorts of insidious propaganda and influences and, indeed, attempts may be even made to bribe you.”
Lt. Commander Saunders narrows his eyes as he holds the attention of every man. “Hold fast to your honor, gentlemen. Pay no attention whatever to propaganda or talk intended to injure your morale. And if any man attempts to bribe you, treat him immediately as you would any man who has grossly insulted you.” His dress whites glare in the sun.
“Gentlemen, there is no room for traitors in the Coast Guard. I expect that you will render zealous, efficient, and devoted service.”
One last look at the men. “Dismissed,” he barks out as he turns and, followed by Bosun Hardy, strides back inside the building.
“Let’s do a dry dock inspection, eh Hardy? I think we need some positive reinforcement after that. If we’re challenged by the calibre of the recruits, we can at least take comfort in the calibre of ships we put out to sea.”
Dinner Key Station’s dry dock is always a hive of activity. With cutters, boats, and airships to maintain, engines to overhaul, and repairs to perform, the mechanics and engineers of the Coast Guard take the Coast Guard’s motto to ‘Always be Ready’ to include the ships as well as the men.
Inside the main hanger, one of the station’s mechanics, Ensign Billy Shaw, is retrofitting a seventy-five-horsepower Fairbanks-Morse semidiesel engine. His tools at the ready, various parts scattered around him on a table, he is deep in his work.
Up on a rack against the wall is a prized Liberty airplane engine that Billy has ‘acquired’ from a seizure. He’s planning to install it in one of the picket patrol boats. Despite the generous, augmented budgets of the ‘new’ Coast Guard, retrofitting seizures is the only way
Billy can acquire the expensive Liberty engines that make them competitive when chasing smugglers and pirates.
Seeing the Lt. Commander, Billy stands and salutes.
“How’s it going, Ensign? I see you’ve got a Liberty. A rare prize.”
“Yes, sir. I am installing her in one of the pickets. It’ll blow the doors off all but the fastest smugglers or pirate boats. I’m going to add a large drum silencer, which should really cut the engine noise.” Billy wipes his hands on a rag that had been hanging out of his back pocket. “Although, if you’re really interested in speed, there’s a Sterling Viking available. 565hp compared to the Liberty engines which top out at 450.”
“I like the sounds of that. If we’re going to catch smugglers, we’ll need to be faster than they are. Why don’t you see what you can do, Ensign.”
Billy stands at attention and salutes. “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”
As the two officers head back out into the sun, Billy grins at the thought of bigger, more sophisticated engines to work on. He returns to work, whistling.
With Billy’s independent streak, his mother had despaired of him ever finding a job that he could settle into, but—touch wood—the Coast Guard could be it. Billy’s self-reliance has caused him to butt heads with more than a few employers. He can’t work with somebody looking over his shoulder all the time. While he enjoys being part of the crew, and wears his Coast Guard uniform with pride, bosses can be a real pain in the arse whether they’re in a suit and tie or dress-whites and medals.
Billy’d be hard pressed to put into words what exactly draws him to the work. It’s understood that there’s a beauty to fixing something with your own hands. A mechanic is always the most popular person in the room—because he can repair things. There’s a moment when a colleague will bring you a problem, knowing you’re the only one that can solve it, and everything in your life falls into place. That’s when Billy knows he was born to be a mechanic.
One of the other things Billy loves about being a mechanic is the days are always different. One day he can be tinkering on a small winch, and the next day on a giant diesel motor the size of a small house from one of the destroyers. There are times when he gets to work on a brand-new Liberty airplane engine, and more often he will be on a thirty-year-old pump. The rapidly increasing sophistication of the motors and engines requires a different kind of mechanical engineer, and Billy has a reputation as a good pair of hands and an excellent problem solver.
Initially, he’d been drawn to the Coast Guard’s reputation for helping others. It was a way of living that fit neatly with his own values. Billy’s proud that his skills keep the guardsmen safe, and indirectly keeps civilians safe, too. He’s seen the people who have been rescued at sea. They appreciate the miracle of a tiny ship and a handful of heroes up against the raging weather and indomitable water.
But, at the end of the day, Billy’s just glad to have grease under his fingernails, and an array of amazing tools within reach. He’s thrilled not to be stuck behind a counter or inside all day. The dry dock hanger, with its thirty-foot ceilings and large open doorways, is the perfect mix of space and shelter. Nope, Billy couldn’t be happier.
Chapter 40
F rom her chair on the veranda, Edith watches the sun turn the morning a soft rose-gold. Mist rises off the stream that flows beside Gator Joe’s. A heron slowly picks its way along the water’s edge, as it often does.
She’s put off the Grand Opening announcement a day or two while she wrestles with what to do about Tucker Wilson’s offer. On the outside, she looks cozy and serene, wrapped in her quilt against the cool air, listening to the waves making a gentle lapping sound on the beach. Inside her head, yesterday’s surprising offer is still causing turmoil.
Can I succeed at this? Should I take the money and run? “What do you think Mr. Heron? I can double-down, have a spectacular grand opening, stand up for myself, and succeed on my own terms.” That would be worth something, but is it worth what Tucker is dangling?
The heron stops and looks in Edith’s direction. “The downside of course, is that it will attract more attention from the Wharf Rats, the Deputy, the Coast Guard and Lord only knows who else who doesn’t want me to succeed. Although, things have been quiet lately. No harassing rats, threats, and intimidation. No flat tires or misfiring generators. Maybe Harley was right and all it took was time. In which case, why wouldn’t I stay and build this place into what it could be?”
The sun is now over the water, the sky brightening to azure. Edith slips the quilt off her shoulders. The heron is only half listening, dividing his attention with the changing current around its feet—breakfast.
“Okay. That’s option number one. Option two is to call it a day. Gator Joe’s was an interesting first try. I learned some things. But I’ll take Tucker Wilson up on his offer, and use it as a grub stake somewhere else. Say goodbye to this small-minded town and to those horrible Wharf Rats. I make my money back and then some. Like my granny always said, when opportunity knocks, don’t sit there complaining about the noise. The downside is… pft. I can’t see a downside.”
The kitchen door slams. Leroy will soon have coffee ready. At the bang from the door, the heron straightens its neck, stretches a pair of massive wings, and takes flight. Edith sits mesmerized.
I guess that’s the downside. Saying goodbye to Leroy. I’d miss the kid. Nobody can cheer me up like he can. Him showing up was an unexpected bonus.
So, easy money or roll up the sleeves and take another shot at it? I’m not sure I can turn away from the potential of the place. And there’s something addicting to being the one that carries all the decisions.
Sure, we’re off to a slow start, but what if I throw my hands up and walk away too soon? Maybe a bit more effort is all I need. What if we do something over-the-top for an official Grand Opening? Maybe it’s the thing that really turns this place around? How great would that be, to walk up to Lansky and Anna and all the other doubters, as a success.
“Here’s your coffee, Miz Edith.”
“Thanks, Leroy. After you’ve finished your breakfast, can you bring that beer that’s out in the shed and put it in the cooler?”
“Sure thing, Miz Edith. You want anything to eat?”
“No thanks. The coffee is all I need.”
Edith takes a sip, wishing the heron would come back.
Somewhere in all this to-ing and fro-ing is payback to the Wharf Rats. They’d feel like they won if I skedaddled back to Miami. Again, how much is it worth to have a bit of payback? I’ve always been known as somebody who gives as good as they get, and I would dearly love to give them a taste of their own medicine.
And if I go back to Miami with that kind of money, there’s no doubt that Anna would see me as a success. But would Mae? Would I? I guess that depends on what I am truly wanting to accomplish here. I thought it was to rebuild Gator Joe’s and run the bar, which has been fun, but something’s missing. Another saloon? A better saloon? Something else? Stay or go?
I can’t do both. A Grand Opening would be a public declaration of sorts. There’s no way I could pack up quietly and go home after that. Regardless of what I do, it will be me saying who I am and what I want.
Edith smells bacon frying and smiles. That boy does eat. If I sold Gator’s, maybe Cassie would let him come with me? Miami has great schools and lots of opportunity. Ha, who am I kidding? That boy has swamp water in his veins. He wouldn’t be happy in a city. He’d have to wear shoes. No Gator’s, no Leroy.
What to do? What to do? Better to be a success on my own terms, even if those terms include the Wharf Rats.
I need time to clear my head.
Edith changes into her swimsuit. On her way out the door, towel over her arm, she stops by the kitchen. “Leroy, I’m going for a swim. Do you want to come?”
“Heck yeah, Miz Edith. Can I finish my breakfast first, though?”
* * * *
Leroy comes barging in the back door off
the kitchen, a string of trout in his hand. “Lookie, Miz Edith. I caught dinner again. That stream running next to Gator’s is just full of them.”
Edith is busy rolling out a circle of dough, restless energy gone into making a pie for supper.
“Well done. But remember the rule: you catch ‘em, you clean ‘em. Outside.”
As he turns to leave, she takes a deep breath. She knows what she wants to do.
“Hey Leroy, guess what? We’re going to have a party. Gator Joe’s is going to be having a Grand Opening this Saturday. There’ll be live music and we’ll put up posters advertising the band. I want everyone in town talking about it.”
“I love parties. Yay!”
“You go get that fish cleaned and put it in the fridge. We’ve got lots of work to do before Saturday. As soon as my hands are clean, I’ll call Reggie to pick me up some premium stock before the weekend.”
Leroy’s sunny face clouds. “You’re not thinking of going out to Rum Row on your own again, are you?”
“Don’t worry kiddo. Next time we go out, I’ll make sure we take all the precautions. Right now I’m going to make up some flyers and posters.”
“What music are you going to get, Miz Edith?” Leroy asks.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to find out who packs a place. Billy or Harley will know. If they don’t come in tonight, I’ll give Harley a ring. I don’t want to wait until Thursday when they usually come in. I’m sure we can get something lined up by Saturday. Say, do you think we could build a bar-b-que pit on the beach, Leroy? I’ll get some ribs and give Mae a quick call later today to ask her to make up a big pot of bourbon beans.”
Leroy nods, grinning. “It’ll be just like our campfire at home.”
Edith claps her hands. “Come on, then. Let’s get a move on. I’ll make those calls to Mae and Reggie and then we’ve got work to do.”
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