Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Are you getting good crowds?”

  “It’s terrible. I can’t get anywhere with folks in town. Somebody’s telling them to stay away. Not to come to Gator Joe’s. Somebody’s got a serious grudge. Even the merchants in town have it in for me. They won’t carry merchandise I ask for.”

  “I’m more concerned about the pirates. To come at you like that… they mean business.”

  Edith laughs shakily, and gulps. “I know. I was going to talk to a local saloon owner about how he handles them.”

  “There’s really only one way to handle mugs like that, honey. And you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I could ask Meyer Lansky. He’d help, but then I’d owe him. And not being able to handle something so basic to the business like a shakedown would bother me.”

  “More than being held underwater? Or worse?”

  “Mickey must be rolling in his grave seeing how bad I am at all this. I was married to the King of the Bootleggers for goodness sakes, Henry. You’d have thought I might have picked up a thing or two along the way.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Edith. It takes time. Although don’t wait too long before you get a handle on the pirates. Once these things start to escalate, it’s tit for tat until rat-a-tat-tat.”

  “Henry, are you trying to make me smile?”

  “Did it work? Look, sweetie. There’s no sense crying. These are all problems that can be fixed. What can we do to help?”

  “Well, a jar of olives would be nice. I’m desperate for a martini.”

  Henry laughs. “I was thinking something bigger.”

  Edith calms, the sound of his familiar voice, and news from home, are a tonic on her frayed nerves. “Olives are an important necessity around here. You ever try and make a martini without an olive?”

  She catches up on Henry and Sadie’s lives; how their little baby, Harry, is doing. Henry shares a few stories about their friend Maggie and her family. Then they return to the elephant in the room: the problems at Gator Joes. To give up? To leave? Henry suggests taking a loss and opening something in Miami.

  “Mae Capone is always after me to open something in Miami, too. I’m just not sure that running a speakeasy in the city is what I want to do. Sure, it would be easier and make a lot more money, but Henry, there’s just something about Gator Joe’s. You need to see it to understand how special this place is and why I need to be able to make it a success. I keep remembering Mickey’s words about the only failure is giving up.”

  “You are one stubborn gal when you set your mind to it, Edith.”

  “Ha, you know me too well… What comes easy won’t last, and what lasts won’t come easy.”

  “Look, you take care. This call must be costing you an arm and a leg.”

  “I will Henry.”

  “If you need me to come down there…”

  “No, don’t do that. It will be okay. You take care and give my love to Sadie. Yes, good night and sorry for calling so late. You’re a sweetie, Henry. No, you really are.”

  * * * *

  Edith, dressed for bed, brushes her hair one hundred times on each side. The short bob doesn’t take long and the strokes are soothing after the tumult of the previous few hours.

  It will be morning soon. I should try and sleep. Maybe I could put Leroy in the corner of the kitchen, or put a screen around the back porch and he can sleep there. It would be good to have him closer. Who am I kidding? I’m the target. He’s a lot safer in the barn than next to me.

  She gets up and goes to the bar and pours herself a full glass of Mickey’s whiskey. Her hand is trembling. She takes a shaky breath then swallows, trying to wash away the taste of vomit and sea water. She grimaces as it traces a fiery path to her stomach. Another swallow and the trembling in her hand slows.

  Grabbing the bottle and the now empty glass, she returns to her darkened bedroom sanctuary.

  I almost joined you tonight, Mickey. I wound up calling Henry instead.

  Edith fills her glass and carries it to her familiar place at the window.

  Henry was always the voice of reason. The priority needs to be Rum Row. Imagine a bar without liquor? What would Mickey say?

  The moonlight that changes the waves into spun silver, makes its way into her room and is captured in the golden glow in her glass.

  Everyone always expects that I’ll run away from my problems, but I’m a scrapper. Despite what we managed to do together in Philly, folks would think that Mickey was the brains in the outfit. That I’m nothing without him. Lansky would throw back his head and laugh at me with a giant ‘told you so’ grin. ‘Dames can’t run businesses’. No way am I going to let that happen. Only losers quit.

  Surprised by her empty glass, Edith pours another. She finds her way into bed, her whiskey on the bedside table. Its smoky smell almost as good as having Mickey there beside her.

  It may have been a long time ago, but I once knew who I was. And I liked that person. Working with Mickey, getting us started bootlegging. I was good at it. I shouldn’t have let myself get talked into giving it up. If I’d stuck with it, I would have been happier. Well, I won’t make that mistake again.

  The bedsprings creak as she turns, trying to find a comfortable position. It took Mickey dying to push me out of a silken prison and I’m not going to let the easier way seduce me again. Like Cap said, a path with no obstacles won’t lead anywhere I’d want to go.

  Edith’s eyes are lullabied, closed by the palms, the sea, and the frogs. The frown lines on her brow melt away. I won’t take the easy way out. I will make a go of this. And it will be on my terms.

  Chapter 44

  B acon is in the air. Enough to wake Edith. Her stomach rolls in protest. She opens one bleary eye and sees the empty bottle; remembers why. Ugh. Hanging over the edge of the bed, she reaches underneath for the chamber pot and vomits the last of the sea water.

  “Miz Edith? You okay?” Leroy asks from the other side of the closed door.

  “Water. Can you get me a glass of water?”

  Bringing it in, his nose wrinkles in distaste. “Eww, it stinks in here. Are you sick?”

  “Just a bit under the weather. I’ll be fine with coffee. You did make coffee, didn’t you?”

  “Sure. Want me to bring you a cup?”

  “No, I’ll get dressed and see you in the kitchen in a bit.”

  Sitting at the table with Leroy, she fills her mind with planning rather than the terrifying images of the assault.

  Edith’s hands clench and unclench, itching to take action, any action. She’s ready to leap forward but doesn’t know in which direction.

  “We’re going to go back out to Rum Row.”

  “Oh, no. That’s not a good idea, Miz Edith. You need to go back to bed. You’re still not feeling good.”

  “I don’t want to put it off, Leroy. The shed’s almost empty and the shelves definitely are. We’ll have gas, and I’ll ask Harley to come with us this time. He can give us another lesson about running that darn boat. I won’t sit around waiting to be rescued.”

  “Why would you need to be rescued? You mean like by a knight and a dragon?”

  “Exactly. A helpless maiden I’m not. You can stay here if you like, but I hope you’ll come with us.” I don’t want him alone here without me.

  Their hastily made sign says Gator Joe’s is closed for the night. Harley, Leroy, and Edith head out. Harley is full of information about the water, the Row, the boat, being a rum runner.

  Edith is humbled by what she doesn’t know. Becoming her own rum runner could be difficult if she’s also running Gator’s. Both jobs require a night shift.

  Harley puts her hands on the wheel, explains the controls, and utters a steady stream of what to do and not do. He has her negotiate the purchase of two dozen hams. Once the price is agreed upon, a roll of money is thrown onto the deck of the black ship and the hams thrown back. Seems like so many operational details to remember—for the boat and for the business—yet she h
as only a short time to cover them all. One thing she clearly understands: get in and out of the transaction as fast as possible. Too many eyes at sea.

  On the way back, Leroy is full of curiosity.

  “Hams? We bought hams?” Leroy asks.

  “Not meat, Leroy. These bundles of bottles are called hams because of their shape,” Harley says, taking a seat next to Leroy in the stern.

  “It’s unusual packaging,” Edith says over her shoulder, hands on the wheel. “I’ve not seen it before. Zeke and Otis always delivered individual bottles.”

  “It sounds like they may have been shortchanging you.”

  Harley lifts a ham and overwhelms Leroy with its weight. “You’re going to have to bulk up a bit there, kiddo, if you’re going to be of any help to Miz Edith on these runs.”

  Harley peels back the burlap wrapping. “See Leroy. There are six bottles to a ham; three on the bottom, two in the middle, and one on top. There’s lots of reasons why packaging the liquor this way makes it easy for us and the black ships. Hams are easier to toss to customers than crates are. Wooden crates tend to float if you have to toss them overboard during a chase, and you don’t want that ‘cause it makes them simple for the Coast Guard to pick up as evidence. And hams also fit in the cargo hold better; ships are curves not straight lines. Their shape also makes it easier for us to hide them than a square box would be. And the added weight of the wooden crates can be a real problem. The heavier the boat, the slower it goes. Remember that when you’re being chased by pirates or the Coast Guard.”

  “Don’t they get a lot of breakage?” Edith asks over her shoulder.

  “Not much. They’re packed tightly. When you get these unwrapped, you’ll see packing wrapped around each bottle. If one does break, the crew toss that ham aside and repackages it later on the trip. They call it ‘sewing circle time’, and it does help pass the time. Ships are often on Rum Row for weeks or months until the cargo is sold. And just floating in one spot can be boring as all get out.”

  The wind in her hair, salt spray in her lungs, Edith feels on top of the world. This is what’s she’s meant to do. Dream big. Take risks. “I see why you prefer your own boat. The Rex is a bit of a tug, isn’t she?”

  Harley works his way up the trawler to stand beside her at the wheel. “She ain’t meant for racing. With a bit of work, she’ll be a reliable workhorse; but rum running’s all about speed. For that you need a racehorse, Miz Edith.”

  Back at Gator’s, she manages to dock the Rex and tie up the boat to the dock without doing too much damage to either.

  “Thanks, Harley. You don’t know what this means to me to have independence.”

  “Any time.”

  “You’re not worried about a sunset run? I don’t want to close Gator’s too many times,” Edith says.

  “It should be okay. If we get stopped, I’ll just tell the Coast Guard that me and my girl are out watching the sunset. I don’t think they’d give a dame too much grief.”

  “Ha ha. Come on Leroy, let’s get these hams up to the shed.”

  Trudging the path to the veranda, Edith pulls up short when she sees a stranger sitting in the dark at the small table. Propped next to him are fishing poles. A canvas bag rests at his feet. He rises and comes down the steps.

  The effects of the past few days, the exhaustion, the adrenaline from almost drowning, an empty stomach, all rise at the sight of the stranger. She feels lightheaded. There’s nothing to steady herself except Harley.

  He’s smiling. Wharf Rats don’t smile.

  “And who might you be?” she asks. She drops Harley’s arm, blushing.

  The stranger’s wearing a brown felt hat trimmed with alligator teeth in a snakeskin band. The corner of his mouth turns up in a slow, lazy grin. “Evening, ma’am. Don’t mean to interrupt. The name’s Darwin, Darwin McKenzie. I’m a cousin of your friend, Henry. From Fort Lauderdale.”

  Leroy, who has been following Edith up the path, reaches them and giggles. “Fort Liquordale.”

  Darwin laughs and ruffles his hair. “Everybody gotta be known for something, squirt.”

  “What? Henry’s in Fort Lauderdale?”

  “No. I’m from Fort Lauderdale. Henry’s still in Philadelphia. Henry’s asked that I come down here and give you a hand for a bit, until you’re settled. He said that you’re looking for someone who knows the water. And that I should get down here as quick as I could.”

  Edith scrunches her face, trying to figure this out. “Henry sent you?”

  Darwin nods.

  “To give me a hand?” Edith shakes her head, trying to clear it. “I’m sorry for being so dense Mr. McKenzie. My brain isn’t working quite the way it should. It’s nice to meet you, and thank you for coming down.”

  She turns to Harley, who’s watching the two of them. “Thank you again, Harley. I think I can take it from here.”

  “If you’re sure, Miz Edith. I don’t mind sticking around.”

  Edith looks back at Darwin. “No, I think that we’ll be okay. Night now. And I’ll pour you a whiskey on the house tomorrow night when you’re in with the boys.”

  “Why don’t I bring up those last few hams. You can show me where you want to store them,” Darwin says.

  Through the front window, Edith watches him go down to the dock. She’s suspicious about a strange man just showing up with an offer to help out, even with the link to Henry. And was that even true? She’d call him and check. Maybe these Wharf Rats are smarter than they let on—that this is some insidious plot or trap?

  She opens the screen door when she sees him coming back up, arms loaded with wrapped bottles of liquor.

  “Thanks. Can I get you a cold beer, or some coffee?”

  “A cold beer would be appreciated. Let me get these put away first.”

  “Just leave them there on the floor. I’ll look after it later,” Edith says, pulling a cold bottle of beer from the cooler.

  “I’d rather not, ma’am. I like to finish what I start. Otherwise, it’s just sloppy.”

  Edith can feel her hackles rise. “Fine, they go in the shed.”

  Darwin eventually returns and hands her back the key. “Sorry I took so long. I decided to tidy up in there and get things organized. The bottles are now lined up by brand so it will be easier to find. It will be much better.”

  “All that organizing and I’m afraid your beer’s a bit warm,” Edith says. She grits her teeth from saying more.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Can you explain to me again how you came to be sitting on my front porch in the middle of the night, Darwin?”

  A beer in one hand, Darwin sits and explains the call from Henry. “It’s family, Miz Edith. Henry asked that I come, so here I am. You’re family to him. He’s family to me.”

  Leroy is wrapped around the chair next to Darwin. He can’t take his eyes off the man, or his hat. “You can sleep with me in the barn, Mr. Darwin.”

  Darwin smiles. “If it’s okay with you, Leroy, and it’s a choice between the barn and the boat, I’ll sleep on the boat. It needs a good cleaning of course, and I can tell from the lines and the tack that it needs some care. No one in their right mind would take it out that way. Maybe you can help me with that tomorrow. That will be the first thing I tackle.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” Leroy says giggling. “We’ll get the Rex ship-shape.”

  Edith’s back teeth grind. Still, she grabs a chair across from him.

  “I’m not sure Mr. Darwin’s going to be staying long, Leroy.”

  “Sorry ma’am, but I told Cousin Henry that I’d come here and give you a hand. Unless you’re saying you don’t need the help?”

  Edith stares back, and then let’s out a breath she’s been holding. “Mr. McKenzie. Darwin. You’ve come a long way and Henry is a good friend who thinks he’s got my best interests at heart. I suppose I could use some help around here.” She looks around the barroom and can see the dock and the Rex through the window. “For a little bit,
anyway.”

  Darwin remains sitting across from her.

  “I guess that settles it then.” Edith stands and turns toward the kitchen.

  “I don’t mean to be a rude hostess, but I really have to get some sleep. It’s been a long day and an exhausting night. If you really are going to sleep on the boat, Leroy can run and grab you some blankets from the barn.”

  “Much appreciated, ma’am, but I brought my own gear. I don’t like to be beholden to anyone or put anyone out. And Henry said you weren’t expecting me.”

  * * * *

  “Henry? Edith, here. Look, a fella showed up here at Gator Joe’s claiming to be a cousin of yours.”

  “Good, he got there sooner than I’d expected. Isn’t he a great guy? And he’ll be a real help with your trips out to Rum Row. He’s spent his whole life on the water. Fishing, a bit of rum running. Darwin and his brothers have been messing around with boats since they were born.”

  “I told you I didn’t need any help.”

  “Everybody needs help at one time or other. You really helped me when I was trying to decide what to do about Sadie. I owe you.”

  “That was different. I just gave you a bit of advice. This Darwin McKenzie fella seems to have moved right in.”

  “I asked him, as a favor to me, to give you a hand. And I promised him lots of good fishing your way. If you don’t want the help and can manage everything on your own, then thank him and send him on his way.”

  Edith breathes into the receiver of the telephone. “I guess he can stay. For a bit, anyway. You went to a lot of trouble. And I do appreciate it, Henry. But you don’t have a cousin a little less stubborn, do you?”

  “Ha. If I did, I wouldn’t send him. You’d eat him for breakfast.”

  “Henry Mercer, that’s an awful thing to say,” Edith says, smiling.

  “But perfectly true and you know it. Say hi to Darwin for me, and Edith—“

  “What?”

  “Good luck.”

  * * * *

  “I went over the Rex from stem to stern and that trawler’s in rough shape, ma’am.”