Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  * * * *

  With the posters and flyers promoting ribs and music in hand, Edith goes visiting. She stops by the mayor’s office to personally invite him—‘I do like bourbon and beans’. Her next stop is the sheriff’s office where she makes an extra-generous contribution to the look-away fund, explaining about the Grand Opening. She also hands out flyers to local businesses along the main street and the post office. Jasper is excited by the idea of the beach party and asks for a stack of flyers to pass out to the fellas when they pick up their mail. “Don’t worry Miz Edith, I’ll make sure they get into the right hands.”

  She and Leroy buy a pot of glue and a brush to stick up posters on the sides of buildings and on poles and fences. The posters promote the music and the beach bar-b-que, careful not to mention liquor. After a long day, Edith’s sure that there isn’t anyone in town who’s not going to know about the Grand Opening.

  Edith’s urgent call for advice about local musicians gives Harley the excuse he needs to drop by. Billy Shaw and Harley Andrews have friends who they’re sure would like to play. Excited by the Grand Opening, Billy offers to take posters back to the Coast Guard base. Edith laughs, shaking her head. “Maybe take a few flyers instead, Billy. I don’t want to invite trouble to my door on the night of the Grand Opening. Folks around here are pretty relaxed about the illegalities as long as they get a taste of the action, but I don’t think I can put the Coast Guard into that camp. Let’s let those sleeping dogs lie, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Miz Edith. I’ll be careful handing them out. But I know that there are lots of fellas on base who’d love to come out,” Billy says.

  * * * *

  Edith wakes refreshed and energized. Goodbye easy money. I hope Cap was right when he said nothing worth having is ever easy. I’ll telephone Tucker today and tell him. Heck, I’ll invite him to the party. This Grand Opening is exactly what I need.

  Edith stretches, and throws back the covers. I’m so glad Mae’s going to be here. She was here at the beginning. And I’m going to invite the whole Miami crew to come down for it. I can hardly wait to hear what they think. And Lansky. He’ll eat his words. Women can too be successful in business.

  Chapter 41

  T he best laid plans of mice and men…

  Edith hangs up the telephone. “Damn. Damn. And double damn.” Reggie had just called to say that her order of liquor for the Grand Opening wouldn’t be coming. The sheriff had stopped the truck on the way from Miami and seized all the booze.

  Standing back, she surveys her small selection of hard liquor.

  “Oh-oh, bad news?” Leroy asks.

  “The worst. We don’t have enough stock and there’s not enough time to get more. Not for the crowds we’re expecting. It’s already Thursday and we’re short on time as it is.”

  That night, Edith watches for Harley to come in.

  “Go out to Rum Row tonight, Miz Edith? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Wind is up already and there’s supposed to be a squall blowing in.”

  “Well, what about tomorrow before I open?”

  “Sorry, Miz Edith, but I’m not going out to Rum Row in the afternoon. I’d be picked up for sure.”

  Edith feels panicked. “What about tomorrow night, after we close?”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Miz Edith. And I don’t want to be difficult. But it’s a risky business, rum running, and I don’t take foolish risks. Friday’s are busy out there. Lots of weekenders. I make it a point of going out the beginning of the week. Less traffic, better prices, and fewer Coast Guard.”

  “But the Opening is Saturday. What am I going to do without liquor?”

  Harley scratches his head. “Have you thought about putting in some moonshine? I know a fella who makes some of the best ‘shine in Florida. I could take you out to Jeb’s tomorrow.”

  “It’s good quality? Not cut too badly with water or chemicals? They’ll mix anything brown with tap water and call it whiskey. I don’t want my customers going blind or dying on me. No black teeth from the booze in this joint.”

  Harley nods. “I drink it myself, all the time.”

  “Then moonshine it is. What time tomorrow? I have a few things left to do before Saturday.”

  Leroy clears the table. “Leave me a list, Miz Edith. I’ll get it done while you go get the ‘shine.”

  “It’s best to go through the ‘Glades in daylight so as not to get lost. How about we leave after breakfast. That way you’ll have plenty of time to finish up the last-minute things for the party and be open Friday night.”

  The next morning, Edith waves goodbye to Leroy, who is standing on the veranda clutching several pages of things to be done.

  Driving along the road, Edith’s nose is stuck out the window. Large swaths of tall grass are mixed in with mangrove and cypress forests so thick you can’t see more than a foot into the trees. Away from the ocean breezes, mosquitos appear to swim through the thick, wet air. Even with the speed of the truck, sweat tickles as it trickles down her back.

  Imagine, Leroy and Cassie live out here.

  The semi-tropical forest crowds the road that gets less used and narrower the further into the Everglades it goes. Harley points out the various trees, and whistles to pass the time. Edith dozes in the heat.

  She wakes with a start when the truck starts bouncing over deep ruts. “This is it. I go any further, and we won’t be getting out. We’ll walk the rest of the way,” Harley says.

  Swatting at mosquitoes, hair plastered to her head, and sweat dripping down her back, Edith trudges behind Harley.

  “Halloo, Jeb? Don’t shoot. It’s Harley Andrews from Coconut Grove. I’ve brought you a customer.”

  From out of the dense forest, a white-bearded man appears, bent and walking crab-like, his skinny arms swinging from side to side.

  “Howdy, Harley. Ain’t seen you in a spell. Who’s the pretty lady. This your missus?”

  Edith steps forward. “Lordy, no. I’m Edith Duffy, and I run Gator Joe’s now.”

  “A lady running a blind tiger? What will they think of next? Well, any friend of Harley’s is a friend of mine. What can I do you for today?”

  Harley explains the Grand Opening and the need for a couple of cases of his best shine.

  “You’ve come to the right place. I just finished a batch. Mighty fine stuff. Here, let me show you.”

  Jeb tours them around his ‘corn-squeezing factory’. The campsite is in a clearing of live oak and tall slash pine, bordering a clear creek. Edith steps carefully through the disorganized clutter and various tools that are scattered between sagging tents bulging with barrels of sour-smelling corn mash.

  “Follow me and I’ll show you the real secret to good corn squeezing.” Jeb walks down to the creek and, taking a tin cup that has been sitting on a log, scoops out a cupful of water and hands it to Edith. “Here, give yerself a taste of this. See what I mean? Ain’t no sulfur taste or other minerals like some I’ve tasted; just sweet, cool water from the creek.”

  Edith takes a small sip, then a larger swallow. “I see what you mean by good water. This is better than we have in town.” She passes the cup to Harley, who drains it.

  “Best water around,” he says, water dripping from his chin.

  Jeb leads them back into the camp and disappears into one of the tents. When he comes out, he’s carrying a glass sealer jar. He unscrews the metal lid and hands it to Edith. “Just bottled this up; was going to take it into Coconut Grove myself. You can buy it all and save me the trip.”

  Edith holds the jar to the sun, checking for clarity. It might as well be water. She brings it close and sniffs, her head jerking back at the smell. “What proof is this?”

  “I reckon 190. Fellas like to run their cars on the stuff. I didn’t figure this would turn out so good or I wouldn’t have let it get such a strong kick. You might want to cut it back some if you’re going to be serving it to people.”

  “They run their cars on it?” Edith says, eyes wide.r />
  “Oh, for sure. You can get away with 150 in a pinch but, to get any kind of performance from a motor, you gotta run ‘shine about 190. Just makes sense.”

  Edith screws the lid back on, giving the jar a good shake. She likes what she sees—big, fat bubbles that disappear almost immediately.

  “Heck, the gal ain’t no amateur, Harley. Where’d you learn to proof ‘shine like that?” Jeb asks.

  “It’s something my late-husband taught me. Up north.” Edith smiles for Mickey.

  “They make good ‘shine up there?”

  “Some of the best, although I’m not sure we run cars with it.”

  Harley and Jeb roll their eyes.

  “Yankees,” they say in unison.

  The deal concludes with a handshake and a stack of bills. Harley and Jeb carry several cases to the truck.

  “It’s been a pleasure, Jeb.”

  “Likewise, Miz Edith. You come back when this runs out. I got a batch in the cooker that looks like it will be mighty fine when it’s done.”

  “You can count on it, Jeb,” Edith says, waving from the truck.

  Harley backs up the vehicle, maneuvering as best he can to avoid the potholes and ruts. “Don’t want to risk an explosion,” he says with a wink.

  “Any idea on what we can cut it with?” Edith asks, as they hit the wider dirt road back to town.

  “If you’re okay keeping it clear, we can just add water.”

  “It would be a shame to put regular tap water in.”

  Harley nods. “Probably muddy it up some.”

  “We could mix it with soda pop. Root beer, maybe? We could give it a fancy name.”

  “How about Black Jack’s, after the pirate?” Harley says, grinning.

  “Oh, I like that. Black Jack’s Rootshine. How’s that sound?”

  “Pretty good. I just might have to sample a glass or two of that myself. Something else we could do, if you want to mix it up, is add some water and some of that red food coloring that they use in cakes and such. Set it on fire and call it a fireball.”

  “That has potential, too. Let’s do both. At 190, we can more than triple our stock by diluting it, and it will still pack a punch.”

  “You musta spent some time with the husband to know about how to check proof like that.”

  “I helped Mickey start his bootlegging business. There were more than a few nights that he, Henry, and I would be sitting around a still outside of Philly sampling the merchandise.”

  “Sounds like a good way to get snozzled,” Harley says with a grin.

  “Snozzled? You mean wipsied?” Edith says, grinning back.

  They share laughs, comparing terms for moonshine and being drunk. There are some regional favorites like corn juice, giggle water, monkey swill, panther sweat, tonsil bath, and whoopee juice. Drinking too much carries entertaining labels like drenching the gizzard, hitting the hotbozel, going on a bender, going on a spree, getting three sheets to the wind. Folks around Coconut Grove would routinely get drunk, canned, coked, corned, fiddled, or frazzled. Up north in Philly, they get methodisconated, pickled, piffled, plastered, slopped, snozzled, soused, wipsey, or woozey.

  Edith giggles. The back of the truck is full of moonshine, and her first excursion as a Florida bootlegger is a success. On the way through town and out to Gator’s, they stock up on root beer and red food coloring. The Grand Opening is going to be a night to remember.

  * * * *

  Buford marches down the street toward the barn. He’s headed to the regular meeting the Wharf Rats have to get their assignments before they head out for the night. He’s just been to the post office. Clutched in his hand is a crumpled poster promoting Gator Joe’s Grand Opening.

  The Boss is not going to be pleased about this.

  Chapter 42

  S ometimes we create our own heartbreak through raised expectations. Edith had planned for an amazing Grand Opening. While they diluted moonshine, Leroy finished the bar-b-que pit on the beach, even dragging over a few logs to serve as seating. There were trays of ribs and sauce in the kitchen, and Mae had arrived with large stock pots of her special bourbon and beans. “Mrs. Capone only ever uses real bourbon,” Edith had told Leroy.

  With this being her first visit since Edith bought Gator Joe’s, Mae looks around. “What kind of a place are you running here, Edith? It looks like a honky-tonk—a blind tiger for goodness sakes. With all your talk of renovations, I had visions of a club like the Cadix in mind. You really did decide to re-create Cap’s Place.”

  “Without the fish nets or shark jaws. But a fancy club wouldn’t really go over around here. The locals, especially from the Coast Guard station at Dinner Key, are regulars.”

  “Look, why don’t I get settled, you mix up a shaker of martinis, and we can sit on the veranda and enjoy the view before the crowds start to arrive.”

  “I’d love to give you a martini, but we don’t have gin. Or whiskey. I’ve got beer and moonshine. What’s your pleasure?”

  “You know, I’ll take a pass on both. Not much of either a moonshine or beer drinker. The next time I come, I’ll definitely bring gin.”

  “And olives.”

  The evening starts off well enough. Edith and Mae are ready for the crowds. The stuffed alligator on the wall is ready to greet each customer coming through the door, a twinkle in his freshly polished eye and a toothy grin. Even Leroy has washed behind his ears because tonight is a special occasion.

  Edith wears a mid-calf cocktail dress of a tropical print. It’s got a tight waist and big skirt that is all the style according to the shops in Miami. She looks every bit the part of an enchanting hostess. She has tucked a hibiscus blossom behind one ear as she waits for the first customers to come rolling in.

  And she waits.

  And she waits.

  The band she’s hired sits listlessly in one corner of the barroom, tuning their instruments. The guitarist is teaching Leroy a few simple chords when the screen door bangs open, and Billy Shaw strolls in.

  “Whoa, did I get the night wrong? You guys are open, right?”

  “Looks like you beat the crowd, Billy. We’re open, but they’re not quite lined up out the door yet. Can I get you one of our special drinks tonight? We’ve got two Grand Opening specials: Black Jack’s Rootshine or the Fireball. Either one of them will knock your socks off,” Edith says with a smile she’s been practicing all day in the mirror.

  “You know, I think I’ll try one of them Black Jack’s.”

  Edith pours a bit of Jeb’s moonshine into the bottom of a large glass and then quickly adds in a root beer she’s pulled from the cooler. It foams dramatically, stopping just at the edge of the glass, a good one-inch head of creamy foam on it.

  “Here you go, Billy. Have the first one on the house. The fifth one’s on the house as well, as long as you’re still standing.”

  “Cheers, Miz Edith. And congrats on the Grand Opening. It’s early yet. I’m sure that folks will start streaming in soon. Lots of the fellas at the base said they were coming.” Billy raises his mug in salute and wanders off to chat with his friends in the band.

  Next to arrive is Harley Andrews and that sweet gal of his. He’s taken special care tonight on account of the Grand Opening, wearing a tie tucked into his overalls. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his hair is still damp from the bath. With his best girl snuggled beneath his arm, he and Nancy make their way to the bar.

  “I want one of them root beers we dreamed up. Been thinking about it all day,” he tells Edith, slapping his money down on the counter. “What’ll you have, honey?”

  “Can I have mine without the moonshine? Just the root beer?”

  “You bet, Nancy,” Edith says pouring the pop and sliding the two drinks across the bar.

  Slowly, a few more people drop in. Coast Guard from the look of them. And Billy knows them all by name. Good for him, spreading the word like he promised. Still no sign of the mayor or any of the merchants in town, although there are a few
more folks from Coconut Grove here tonight.

  Edith nods to the two-thirds-full room. While it’s not as busy as she’d hoped for, it’s the best crowd they’ve had since she first opened and started pouring drinks.

  “It looks like the posters worked, Miz Edith,” Jasper says as he arrives at the bar. “I’ve been meaning to check this place out myself, but well, the missus doesn’t take kindly to me drinking anywhere but at home.

  “If this keeps up, I’ll have folks lined up half-way to Coconut Grove,” Edith says, handing him his Black Jack’s Rootshine. Jasper sips. He smacks his lips and grins. With his drink in hand he wanders off to join a few friends he’s spied.

  Mae, her tray full of empty glasses, pauses at the bar.

  “Great crowd tonight. I don’t see any reason I won’t be rich in a few years’ time,” Edith says, putting on a brave face and nodding to the crowd.

  Mae snorts. “Then there must be something the matter with your eyesight.”

  Edith turns away, getting busy behind the counter. She swallows hard.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Mae says, resting her tray on the bar counter. “That was outta line. I know you’re working hard to make this place a success.”

  Shrugging it off, Edith smiles and heads over to one of the few tables of locals. “Welcome to Gator Joe’s. Did you know about the Grand Opening from the posters? Or are you friends with Billy?”

  “We saw the posters, ma’am. There was going to be more of us come, but word’s out around town to stay away. Tonight at least.”

  The fellow next to the speaker jabs him in the ribs. “Shut yer yap, Pete. He’ll hear you’ve been blabbing and you’ll be in for it.”

  “Who’d say something like that?” Edith asks, frowning.

  “Nobody, ma’am. I musta misunderstood, is all. I’m sure that more folks will show up by and by.”

  Edith heads back behind the bar to fill their order, nodding at Leroy to check to see if there are any customers down by the bar-b-que pit on the beach. The band has started to play, although there’s an echo in the place that makes Edith cringe. Stupid town. Wharf Rats.