C7 - The Depth of Wickedness
Summer had been wet and that means good hay and an extra cut for baling. By the end of summer, the hay was baled and in the barns. Ranchers, who were usually trimming down the herds this time of year, were able to keep young stock months longer, producing fatter cattle and better prices. All was not well in Huntsville. A rumor was going around that the new couple out on the Water’s place had been murdered and their ashes were mingled among what was left of their hay barn. The crumpled remains of their car sat among the ashes. like a carcass in the Sahara. Worst of all, the raven-haired beauty was known to be pregnant.! The fact that two men had been slain in a cemetery just down the road from their ranch made the possibility a lot more believable. The news media had become the source of fables, repeating mindless superstitions and half-truths. The more bizarre the headlines the more papers sold.
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Jesse Rash handed the paper to Amy, his face a mask of worry. “The papers say a young man by the name of Thomas Taylor is missing. He’s only nineteen years old. The police think there has been foul play involved. Amy, if that boy is dead…I’ll never forgive myself!” Jesse said. “When Ed, the auto repair shop owner, started building shine cars, Judd didn’t tell me the driver was so young. Then when loads were being delivered, I turned a blind eye to the young Shine Ghost who could get the job done. He was making Judd and I a fortune. Then one day I came to realize the Ghost was a boy that had never held a razor to his face.”
“Jesse, everything we do has consequences. John and I tried to tell you that,” Amy said.
“Well, Girl, what I made out of Harlan Williams is not at all what your father had in mind. Instead of being your protector, I used the new identity to walk on the dark side. Thinking…or I should say…reasoning, the new identity had nothing to do with Jesse Rash. The names were different, but the soul is one in the same. I turned greedy and was fooling myself. If that kid is dead, the consequences fall back on me. I was living a fantasy under another identity,” Jesse said shaking his head.
Amy looked at the grief-stricken face of her husband and muttered, “The Shine Ghost was Judd’s creation.”
“Yes, he was. Willy and I were trying to formulate a plan to get Thomas Taylor clear of the whole mess, but we were too late! Back when I realized the kid was taking dangerous steps, I had Judd hire a second driver. His name was Bart Wells, but he couldn’t drive like the kid and Judd finally quit using him. Wells is now the town sheriff. Speculations in the paper say Willy Baker and his wife…whom I didn’t even know he had…may have been burned alive in a barn fire by the Chicago mob!” Jesse said.
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Judd sat on his front porch thumbing through the Bryan, Texas, paper. Scanning each headline, he looked for a report of a shooting but other than small stories of weddings and new births nothing else was mentioned. Rubbing his stubble of a beard he considered his next move. ‘I know he was hit and hit hard,’ he thought. It was time he found out what had happened. He thought about the rifle Bart had given him. This was a setup without question. Bart must have used it the night he took out the ranger. Now he would see what the rangers did with the shell casing he had left at the scene. His prints were not on the shell casing, but someone’s was. This was no ordinary rifle and he knew the rangers could trace it easily back to Bart. All he had to do was place the rifle where the rangers could find it. If things got hot, he would plant the rifle on Bart someway. It was dangerous to keep it, but against his better judgement he kept it in a safe place.
It was good to be back home. His dead brother’s wife sure could cook and her coffee was always perfect. He couldn’t see what she had seen in that boob of a brother of his. The front lane of his ranch house was shaded by trees on each side. It was long and added much to the appearance of the place. A dark sedan turned in and came up the lane. There were two men seated in the car. They didn’t have the facial appearances of law men, so what did they want?
“Good mornin’, Sir. Might you be Judd Smith?” one man asked.
Judd replied, “I’m Smith, so what can I do for you men?”
“We represent a man from Chicago who ask dat we be making contact wit’ you,” Jock Birdie Stein said.
“Chicago …well from your accent I take it you are not from Chicago or Texas and I didn’t get your names!” Judd said. Thinking of his sister-in-law, he added, “If you gentlemen will follow me, I need to walk out to the corral.” Judd had purchased a fine colt and the three leaned over the fence looking at the horse.
“Now dat’ be a fine animal…I bet he some kina fast,” Grey Jack Mahoney said.
“Mr. Smith, let me do some introducin’. We are from New Orleans. Occasional, we do some business for peoples up Chicago way. Dat gen-man’ there be Jack Mahoney, mostly known as Grey Jack. Yours truly be Jock Stein but most peoples just call me Birdie. Our business usual be of a unpleasant nature dat folk need to address from time to time,” Stein said.
“So, who in Chicago knows me and needs my assistance?” Judd inquired.
“I’m of the thankin’ that you yo-self is not known by Gino LaSalle, who has retained us. You were recommended as a contact for us as a helpful fellow. Mr. LaSalle is a generous fella and is willin’ to pay well for helpful information. This type of business is unpleasant but always need somethin’ addressed,” Birdie stated.
“I was recommended by someone to LaSalle?” Judd asked.
“Mr. LaSalle did not give us any mo’ information dan dat. So as to keepin’ things in confident, don’ ya see,” Stein said.
“Okay, what information are you seeking and how much is Chicago willing to pay for it?” Judd asked.
Birdie continued, “A couple of LaSalle men came down to Texas on vacation and got themselves killed in the Houston ship channel. This be a while ago so you might not remember reading it in the papers. One was LaSalle’s kin folk by the name Alvin LaSalle. Folk call him the Stump. His sidekick wuz BB Crawford, the Albino.”
“I read about them in the papers. I think the world is a better place with them dead,” Judd said.
The two grinned at each other and Birdie said, “We thinkin’ you right. Probably a hunred’ fella would be glad to tag dem’ two for free. LaSalle, he look at it as a personal assault on his authority…you know what I mean? Word is dem’ boys tried to hijack a load of shine from the Shine Ghost himself. Now dat ole’ ghost having a reputation what make LaSalle look some kina bad!”
“So, you boys want to know who the Shine Ghost is? LaSalle is willing to pay big bucks for the information. Well, according to the papers LaSalle is in deep water having every lawyer in Chicago now working for him. What makes you think the hit is still good?” asked Judd.
“De’ contract was let lawng before LaSalle don’ troubled up. We lookin’ at a sizable sum and dat’ information is what we be needin,’ Birdie replied.
Judd studied the pair for a few minutes then said, “I have the information you are looking for. There is more money on this ghost character than what you realize.”
“I’m not following you too much, Sha? What zactly you be a sayin?” Birdie asked.
Judd tried to explain to the two, “This fellow you call the Ghost is also wanted by McDonald which would mean both sides of the mob in Chicago are ready to pay you big bucks for him. The mob families are not speaking, so neither one knows their hit is the same man. You could double your money for the same guy. I, of course, hold the information. You understand what I mean?”
“Well, Sha…if the information come quick, we will give you a thousan’ now and a thousan’ after we identify the hit,” Birdie said.
Judd grinned and said, “There is ten thousand on the man from McDonald and ten thousand on him from LaSalle. I want four right now and I give you the name. That will sweeten your stay here in Texas.”
“Well, Sha, dat do sound like a sweet deal all aroun’. I’ll have you the money by evenin’ time,” Birdie said.
Judd state
d, “I suggest you boys move back to Houston. You will be too easily noticed here.” Writing a number down, he handed it to Stein. “I will alert McDonald’s people you two are working on their problem as soon as I get the money. Then you can call the LaSalle family for the Ghost,” Judd said.
“Sound mighty good to us. I don’t want to be waitin’ too long in one place. Make it kina quick,” Birdie said.
“Only thing holding this deal up is four thousand dollars in my hand,” Judd said.
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“Bart, I’m telling you, the doctor left here in a hurry with the dark-skinned ranger. He didn’t come back until around nine thirty. The ranger’s motorcycle is still sitting beside Doc’s office,” Ed said.
“No one could have survived that fire! Baker was near death and the woman was tied up. The flames were coming out the roof before I got out of the barn!” Bart said.
“Why else would the doctor have been hustled out of town by a ranger?” Ed asked.
Bart’s anxiety began to well up in side of him. Thinking about the events of that day he thought out loud, “The rangers had been at the farm house when I arrived during the fire…could they have gotten them out of the barn in time? Ed, there is just no way… out of that inferno? We barricaded the doors with bales of hay and lit them off! Every door was blocked except the side door that we used, and fire was coming out of it right behind me!” Bart said.
Neither man noticed Judd Smith had walked into the garage where they stood talking. “Things have been mighty quiet around here,” Judd said. Both men jumped and realized they had been careless. “What’s the news?” he asked.
“Judd, what did you see the other day when you thumped the man in the barn?” Bart asked.
Judd looked around cautiously before saying, “No one was at the place and the shot was one of the best I ever made. The downhill trajectory made it work for me and I know he was hit hard.”
“That’s a fact Judd, but he was still alive later that day with a big hole in his chest,” Bart said.
“Now we suspect he survived, or maybe his wife,” Ed added.
“Wait a minute, you better back up and fill me in on what you two are talking about!” Judd said.
Bart wiped his forehead and the hatband in his Stetson nervously and said, “Alright, Judd, the man you shot was laying just inside the barn in a puddle of blood when I entered the barn later that day.”
“Who is this gent anyway and why the large price on his head?” Judd asked.
“His name was Willy Baker and he worked for McDonald in Chicago,” Ed said.
A light went off in Judd’s head and he said, “I knew of a Baker in McDonald’s organization. He wasn’t too well-liked by Smitty, McDonald’s right-hand man.”
“It’s the same guy! He pulled a double cross on McDonald and the mob found him here in Huntsville. I got wind that the Rangers suspected him of the killings at the cemetery and thought I could make a buck by turning him in to the mob. McDonald wanted to see Baker’s body and I took him out to the barn after you did your work,” Bart said.
“How was Baker stealing from McDonald?” Judd asked.
“Baker was running most of McDonald’s operations and evidently was helping himself to the take. He setup all the illegal contraband from Europe. Baker stole three trucks loaded with contraband from McDonald and sold two trucks to LaSalle,” Bart explained.
“This Baker must have had a death wish or be crazy!” Judd said.
Bart loosened his tie and continued, “Baker’s wife showed up after we got in the barn and to make a long story short, we burned down the barn with them in it!”
With humor and disbelief on his face, Judd said, “You burned the barn down with them in it?”
“We had no choice, but even that doesn’t seem to be the end of the Bakers!” Bart exclaimed.
“A short time later a ranger came in to town and took the doctor out of town in a hurry!” Pointing at Ed, Bart said, “Ed here saw the doc leave with the ranger and they were headed west. Judd, do you think he could have survived the wound?”
“Anything is possible, but not likely…plus you said he laid there for hours before he got help. What does this Baker have on you that you would hire me to take care of your loose ends? I seem to have been kept in the dark here. By the way, where is Thomas Taylor? I haven’t seen him since I came home,” Judd asked.
“Thomas has decided to live on the river. He works in a shade tree sawmill out there. Pretty much keeps to himself,” Ed said. The two quickly glanced at each other which did not go unnoticed by Judd.
C8 - Sometimes Things Go Wrong
The day started out to be a doozey for George Ford. His first month in practice and he was already perplexed. He had finished law school with honors and on this bright Texas morning he had received his mail order shingle. It looked like real wood, but this new plastic sign would last longer. His staff consisted of himself and with no capital to get a receptionist it was likely to stay that way. The letter on his desk indicated he had a case, but his client was somewhat elusive. He had been retained by mail and the information was sketchy. The money order made out to him was real enough. Leaving his office he debated, should he lock the door or not? With no one to greet any prospective client he decided to lock up and hope no one came by until he returned. The letter had been delivered this morning and he was on his way to meet this strange client in, of all places, the cemetery. Looking at his watch he needed to hurry. There was no time to stop by O’Hara’s to check out the college girls that met at the soda fountain daily. He didn’t dress like a lawyer. Cowboy boots and jeans didn’t make him look too professional. Until the money started coming in, he would have no suit and tie to wear. He would start image building after he was a little better healed. The boyish look wouldn’t hurt either.
Looking back, he noticed a big hound dog tagging along behind. “Go away you smelly beast…go home, git!” George said. Wagging his tail, the hairy beast just fell in behind keeping step with George as if he knew where they were going. “Get out of here you ill-bred mutt!” George scolded. Appearance-wise, the hound’s unruly ears didn’t seem to know which way to hang and no doubt he carried a host of fleas too numerous to count.
This morning’s walk took him by the front window of the dry goods store. Passing the window, he came to a sudden halt. Thinking quickly, he began to admire the business suit on display. What had really gotten his eye was a beautiful girl that was creating a woodsy scene in the window. Cutting his eyes at her, George gave her his best smile. His opportunity arose as he watched her tussle with a heavy piece of a tree limb used to set foot wear on.
Golden blonde hair fell in her face as she leaned into her task. Slowly she moved the wood toward its intended location. Seizing the moment, he quickly entered the store and stepped in the display window. The limb was quickly positioned, and he was about to make his move when her sweet smile turned to an expression of horror. George had been mesmerized by the captivating blue eyes and turning his eyes he saw what had caused this beauty such alarm. The dog that had followed him down the street had entered the store behind him and was now relieving himself on the closest clothing rack. In one instance of time, the woman of his dreams became his worst nightmare. Neither shouts nor screams would deter the dog from his resolve. He held his position as long as there was a supply of water available.
Susan had only been employed at the mercantile for the better part of a week and with all the competition from other college students she was glad to get the job.
Her words hit him like a stick. “Boy, is that your dog?” the young blonde almost growled.
“No, No!” He wailed in a high-pitched whine. He couldn’t believe that sound was coming from his own mouth.
“It followed you in here!” she shouted.
Behind them the store owner and several other employees rushed to the front of the store.
“Someone get a mop bucket and clean this mess up! Boy, your dog has ruined an
entire rack of clothing,” the store owner said.
“That is not my dog! I never saw him before this morning. He just followed me down the street!” George said emphatically. As if on cue the dog strolled up to George and began licking his hand.
“Not your dog, huh?” Susan asked skeptically. Then stomped off to find the mop and bucket. Lifting the soiled garments off the rack, the store owner began to tally up the cost of the affected items.
Wearily, George left the store and headed for the cemetery. Looking back at the dog he said, “If I had a gun, I would shoot you dead!” Any attention directed toward the dog was taken as a sign of friendship. In each instance the dog responded with a vigorous wagging of his tail. A week earlier George’s ego had been inflated to the point he may well become the best lawyer in Texas. In less than a morning, he had been reduced to a freckled faced boy with a hound dog. A few minutes later he entered the cemetery where he hoped to dissolve into the elements until this incident was forgotten. No longer did the blonde-haired beauty with Susan on her name tag appeal to him. Today George only wanted to disappear into the sea of grey stones.
He didn’t particularly like going into places like this. There was a disturbing finality in cemeteries. According to monument dates, the cemetery didn’t discriminate on the basis of age. The grey stone graveyard always struck George as an eerie place where all the pluses and minuses were averaged and a negative for one’s life was almost always the results. Very few people he had known that now lay below grey stones had influenced him in a positive way. Absent mindedly, George glanced at the headstones while behind him the dog followed along with a renewed bladder level, randomly marking the headstones.
“Rufus, you have no respect for the dead!” he said. “Today you wrecked my love life and turned my professional life into a nightmare. I owe the store fifty bucks because of your bladder problem…This day will haunt me for the rest of my life!”
Doing Time In Texas, Book 3 Page 5
