Blind Tiger, page 26
“They was stole.”
Her breath escaped her. “What?”
“I wasn’t gonna tell you, didn’t want you worrying.”
She backed up to an upended crate and sat down. “Well, I’m worried now. When were they stolen?”
“Night before last. I’d added a crate to the stash that day. Went back yesterday to add another one. They’s all gone.”
“How many?”
“Ten.”
One hundred and twenty jars of one hundred proof. She did the math. Her heart sank over the amount of the loss.
Ernie said, “I would’ve told Irv last night, only he got shot.” He raised his bony shoulders.
“Where was this stash hidden?”
“Over in that cedar break.”
She looked in the direction he’d pointed. “That nearby?”
“Thirty yards, maybe. I’d dug a hole big as a grave, thought I had it covered up good with brush.”
“Who could have gotten that close without your knowing?”
Another shrug. “I wasn’t doing a run that night. Did some tinkering on the new still. Shored up the firebox with more rock. Crawled into the tent pretty early. Never heard a thing.” He pushed his hands into the deep pockets of his overalls. “You trust those twins?”
“Yes.” Then she gave a shrug of her own. “I suppose.”
“Irv says they’re half drunk half the time. Randy as goats. Lightning rods for trouble.”
“Maybe, but we need them.”
“What about that Hutton fella?”
“What about him?”
“How was it he brought Irv home from Lefty’s?”
“It’s a long story.” She didn’t want to mention the deputy’s badge.
“Irv thinks—”
“I know what Irv thinks.” Her brittle tone stopped him from taking that subject any further. Be careful you don’t dare me.
“Well,” Ernie said, “somebody found out where we’re at. If it’d been lawmen, they’d’ve poured out the hooch and busted up the stills.”
“Unless it was corrupt lawmen.”
“Could be. But…”
“But what, Ernie?”
“You don’t need this on top of Irv.”
“Don’t spare me bad news. I hate surprises. Recent ones have been calamities.”
“Well then, what I think? Whoever stole the ’shine was giving us a warnin’. It was somebody’s way of saying we know who you are and where you’re at, and you got off light with us just taking off ten crates instead of ten fingers and toes.”
“The Johnsons?”
“So long as we’re small timers, they’ll leave us be. But if we start horning in on their profit…”
Again he didn’t finish, but she got the message. “Maybe I shouldn’t involve Corrine after all. What if they come back?”
“I’ve got two rifles, a side-by-side shotgun, a six-shooter, and a trap.”
“A trap?”
“Jaw spring. Big enough to trap a bear. If some sorry sumbitch sticks his hand in that hidey-hole again, he’ll come up with a stump.”
Corrine reappeared. Both observed her as she walked toward them. When she got nearer to them, she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Why are y’all lookin’ at me like that?”
“Can you shoot a rifle?” Ernie asked.
“Damn good. Back home, I helped keep food on the table.”
“You ain’t back home, and you got only one good eye.”
“Then I might have to use you for target practice.”
Looking at Laurel, he mumbled, “I’ll give her the shotgun. Tell Irv to take it easy and not worry about things. That mash needs stirrin’.” He skulked off.
Laurel and Corrine watched him go. Laurel said, “Are you comfortable with me leaving you here?”
“Sure.”
“Will you have trouble finding your way back to the shack?”
“I made note of things along the way. With my one good eye,” she added with a scowl aimed at Ernie.
“Irv and I are counting on you to make yourself useful. Do you think you can do that without picking silly fights with him?”
Corrine looked over at Ernie as he dipped the stir-stick into the barrel. “One thing I can do is put some meat on his bones,” she said. “I never saw a man who needed feedin’ more’n him.”
* * *
When Laurel came upon the road sign, she slowed down then rolled to a full stop. She stared at the sign’s uneven, hand-painted lettering, which was familiar because she’d passed it many times before. But the sign now had new, and more personal, significance.
She calculated how long she’d been away from the house, leaving her infirm father-in-law alone. She thought about the deal he had failed to cement with Lefty before the raid. She thought about Corrine and the abuse she’d suffered.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she made the turn. Earlier today, she’d been told she had sass. This would be a test of just how much.
The road was as corrugated as a washboard. Her tires kicked up dust as fine and white as talcum powder. It swirled around the Model T when she brought it to a stop. As the dust settled, she studied the uninviting structure. It looked deserted.
She hesitated, thinking that perhaps this wasn’t a good idea at all. She patted her pocket and, after feeling the reassuring weight of the Derringer, pushed open the car door and got out.
Warped steps led up to an equally uneven porch. The heels of her shoes tapped loudly on the planks and echoed in the crawl space beneath. The screen on the outer door was rusty and jaggedly torn in places, as though someone had taken a dull can opener to it. The wooden frame supporting it was splintery. It slapped against the solid door behind it when she knocked.
She heard muffled voices from within, and then a thudding tread as someone came to answer.
The individual who opened the door had to be Gert, because she was the female counterpart of an ogre. A cigarette was anchored in the corner of her lips, the smoke from it curling up around her face. She squinted against it, making her eyes appear even more hostile.
“We’re closed.”
“Not closed. Shut down.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“To discuss business with Lefty.”
Gert took away the cigarette and barked a sound that was half laugh, half phlegmy cough. “I think your business is with me. You must’ve heard about the girl I lost to the raid. You figuring on taking her place?” She looked Laurel up and down. “There’s men who don’t mind small ones. What’s your name?”
“Laurel.”
“Pretty.”
“Plummer. And my business isn’t with you. It’s with your husband. Is he here? Or in jail?”
“I’m here.” A stick figure of a man materialized out of the dark and murky interior. “Plummer, you say? Kin to Irv?”
“His daughter-in-law.”
“Huh. Heard your husband blew his brains out.”
Laurel ignored Gert’s cruel remark and focused on Lefty. “May I have a moment of your time?”
“What for?”
“It would be in your best interest.”
Gert repeated the statement, mimicking the modulation of Laurel’s voice. “Who do you think you are, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”
“Back off, Gert.” Reaching past her, Lefty pushed open the screen door. “Come on in, but I already told Irv no deal.”
“That’s not what Irv told me,” Laurel said as she stepped inside. “One of you is lying.” She gave the hatchet-faced man an arch look. “I suspect it’s you.”
He turned and crossed the large room to the bar, where he motioned her onto a stool. He sat down, leaving an empty stool between them. Laurel pretended not to notice the shotgun lying on the bar.
Gert lowered herself into a chair at one of the nearby tables and lit a fresh cigarette. By the time she’d smoked it down all the way, Laurel and Lefty were sealing a new deal with a handshake.
As Laurel stood to leave, she asked, “Do you know the O’Connor twins?”
“Don’t everybody?”
“Since Irv was wounded in the fracas last night, one or both of the O’Connors will take over making your deliveries. They’ll know the terms of our agreement. Don’t try to cheat me.”
“Wouldn’t think of cheating a lady,” he said, grinning. If that’s what you could call the exposure of his crooked teeth when he peeled his lips back.
“When do you think you’ll be able to reopen?”
“Tonight,” Gert said as she ground out her cigarette butt in the chipped ashtray on the table. She heaved herself out of her chair. “Smarty-pants, you keep undercutting people in this business, you’re gonna start pissing them off.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Laurel headed for the door.
“You got gumption. I’ll say that for you. If moonshining don’t work out, I could always use you upstairs.”
Laurel didn’t acknowledge that. Rather, she kept walking until she reached the door, and only then turned and confronted Gert. “You didn’t lose Corrine to the raid. She took advantage of the commotion to escape her imprisonment here.”
Gert’s face became bloated with rage. “That ungrateful little slut. Where’s she at? If you know, you’d better tell me. She owes me money.”
“While in your charge, she was disfigured, maimed, and half blinded. The only thing you’re owed is contempt.” She turned and stalked out.
The screen door banged against the exterior wall as Gert barged through it, but Laurel didn’t turn to look back. Gert was bellowing obscenities, most of which Laurel didn’t even know the meaning of.
She kept her head high and walked toward her car with purpose, although she was mindful of that handy shotgun. At any moment a blast from it could be the last thing she ever heard.
She made it to her car and thanked God that it started on the first crank. She drove away unscathed except for the blistering her ears had taken from Gert’s profanity.
But midway to the highway, when no longer in sight of the roadhouse, fear and trembling caught up with her. Like the night she’d escaped from Martin’s Café without being exposed as a moonshiner, she broke a cold sweat.
She braked her car, rested her forehead on the steering wheel, and gasped for breath as she willed her heartbeat to slow down. Hearing another vehicle approaching, she jerked her head up and looked behind her. But the sound was coming from ahead, not from the direction of the roadhouse.
She pulled out of the middle of the road, allowing the other vehicle to pass her. It was a newer model than hers by several years, the shiny black paint defiant of the powdery road, but she was relieved to see that it didn’t have an official seal stenciled on the side.
She continued on her way and blessed the second she reached the highway without anyone in pursuit. Still shaken, but calmer than she had been, she pointed herself toward town.
Thirty-Six
After leaving Bill Amos to deal with his situation at home, Thatcher rode the gelding back to Barker’s, then put in a long day of work, exercising every horse in the stable and trying to correct whatever bad habit or stubborn trait each had.
He kept his distance from Fred and Roger. The youngster had developed a case of hero worship since the incident with the rattlesnake and often trailed Thatcher around like a puppy. Today the two picked up on his desire for solitude and stayed away from the stable and corral.
Learning of Bill’s circumstances had left Thatcher with conflicting emotions that were equally strong and unshakeable. Throughout the day, he fluctuated between being angry and resentful over Bill’s manipulation, while also feeling compassion for his personal torment.
And prior to that distressing conversation with Bill, he’d had the set-to with Laurel.
He was ready to see an end to this day.
He returned to the boardinghouse in time to fill a plate with what was left of the cold supper and ate alone in the dining room, even as the landlady was clearing the dishes and utensils off the long table with more clatter than necessary. When finished eating, he dodged the residents seeking companionship and headed for his room.
He’d almost reached the third floor when he was called to from below. “Hutton.”
Chester Landry was rounding the landing on the second floor. His gold tooth caught the light from a wall fixture as he smiled up at Thatcher. “Hold up.”
Shit. Chester Landry’s intrusion was the perfect top-off to this crappy day.
He replied unenthusiastically to the salesman’s greeting and was tempted to continue on to his room, but, in spite of himself, he was curious to see if Landry would refer to the roadhouse raid.
Landry reached him and took a moment to catch his breath. “You’d think I would be conditioned to climbing these infernal stairs by now.” He inhaled deeply, then asked, “Am I keeping you from anything?”
“Bed.”
“That kind of day?”
“And then some.”
“Would you consider going out for a little refreshment? Grab a Coca-Cola at the filling station?”
“No, thanks. I’m ready to hit the hay.”
“Well then, another time.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I feel at loose ends tonight.”
“Ask your buddy to go with you.”
“Buddy?” He tipped his head and looked at Thatcher with puzzlement, which Thatcher thought was faked. “Oh, you mean Randy? He’s moved on.”
It occurred to Thatcher only now that he hadn’t seen the young man around lately. “Where’d he go?”
“God knows. Greener pastures, I guess.” He shrugged. “I missed seeing him around and inquired about him. Mrs. May said he left without notice. She went up to collect his rent, which was a day late. He’d cleared out in the dead of night.” He chuckled. “Sounds like something impulsive and irresponsible he would do.”
Thatcher thought Landry’s dry laugh also seemed faked. When Thatcher didn’t join in, Landry must have sensed his reserve. He glanced down the staircase to make certain no one else was around. No one was. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice to a confidential level.
“We’re avoiding the subject we’re both dying to talk about.”
Thatcher just looked at him.
“Come on, Hutton.” For the first time ever, some of Landry’s polish dimmed and he showed annoyance. “I didn’t see you, but I heard you were there last night.”
“I saw you, running away.”
“Yes, our perspectives were entirely different. We were on opposite sides of the bedlam.” When Thatcher didn’t respond, Landry said, “No comment on that?”
“What do you want to know?”
“From kidnap suspect to deputy sheriff is a very broad leap. You covered it in a matter of weeks. How did you manage to curry the sheriff’s favor and become a deputy?”
“I didn’t.”
He declared it as a fact, but that damn badge was still in his breast pocket. After listening to Bill’s tragic tale, witnessing the heartache, sorrow, and despair that he lived with daily, Thatcher hadn’t had the heart to return the badge with the stern put-down he’d rehearsed.
“What I heard was that you were in the thick of it with the sheriff’s men.”
“I went for a hamburger, and got caught up in it.” He stopped there, not feeling a need to explain or justify anything he did to this popinjay. “What were you doing there, Landry? Fitting the soiled doves with new shoes?”
Thatcher got a flash of the gold tooth when Landry threw his head back and laughed. “You have a sense of humor after all. I was beginning to wonder.” Recovering from his laughter, he said, “God help any man who goes near one of those girls. I’m sure they’re petri dishes for VD.
“No, I went only for a hamburger, too, but couldn’t resist the enticement of a drink. You were the one who told me about the place, remember? Did you know about the back room?”
“I’d heard rumors.” Thatcher paused, then asked, “That was your first time there?”
“Rotten luck to choose last night to try it out, huh?”
“I’d say.”
“Having to escape arrest wasn’t the worst of it. In the melee, I lost my pocket watch. I went back today to see if it had been found and turned in. The madam…” He raised his eyebrows. “…denied having seen it. I doubt that’s true, but there was a shotgun within her reach, so I wasn’t about to question her honesty.”
“Good call.”
Landry shuddered. “Lord, she’s a species unto herself. To make the unpleasant encounter even worse, she was already in a foul temper when I arrived. I hope her ire wasn’t provoked by Mrs. Plummer.”
Thatcher felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through him, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Every nerve ending in his body sizzled. “Laurel Plummer?”
Landry grinned and winked. “The charming lady of the pies. She was leaving as I was arriving.”
“Leaving Lefty’s?”
“We met on the road. She pulled over so I could pass.”
“You must have mistaken somebody for her.”
Landry tapped him in the chest with the back of his hand and winked again. “Come now, Hutton, who could mistake that face?”
Thatcher wanted to lift him bodily and pitch him headfirst over the bannister. But he knew he was being baited, and that a volatile reaction was what this slick dude was after, so he forced one corner of his mouth to tilt up. “A blind man, maybe.”
“There’s an appealing air of refinement about her, too.” Landry made a spiraling motion with his hand. “I can’t picture her going to that ratty roadhouse for any reason other than it having something to do with her father-in-law getting shot.”
“You’re well informed, Landry.”
“Small-town scuttlebutt,” he said. “I couldn’t go anywhere today without hearing about the raid and the fallout from it. It’s all anyone was talking about.”
Thatcher remained noncommittal and tried to look bored with the subject. He covered a yawn with his hand. “Sorry. As I said, I was off to bed.”
