Asylum Heights

by Austin R. Moody

Cautiously, the trooper opened the door and found the miserable creature sitting on the left stool of a two-seater holding his head in his hands. His pants and shorts were draped down and made a wreath around his ankles.

  Jordan didn’t speak. The officer’s gun was still drawn as he cautiously entered the stall. The odor was overpowering and he wretched and almost vomited from the stench. Immediately he holstered the weapon and inspected the seated figure.

  He was cold, clammy, and very pale. A stream of sweat trickled down from his scalp and forehead, then down his cheeks. Jordan was very weak and his pulse was rapid, then he whispered, “I’m sick,” then he leaned over and vomited on the officer’s pants legs and shoes.

  Entirely disgusted yet realizing that this poor wretch posed no threat to anyone at that moment the first officer said grimly, “I know I’m dreaming this stuff. I almost shot this bastard, he threw up all over me, yet here I am worrying about whether or not he’s o.k.” After several moments he continued and ordered, “Just sit there.” He turned to his partner and glared at him when he saw him trying to swallow a laugh then ordered, “Belcher, go fetch this guy some cold water while I clean myself up.” The officer replaced his weapon in its holster.

  Jordan looked somewhat better when Belcher returned with the water. He handed the glass to the seated subject. Jordan rinsed his mouth out first then took a sip.

  Belcher admonished, “Take it real slow and easy now. If you drink too fast you’ll throw up again.” Jordan dipped into the glass with his fingers and spread the cold liquid over his forehead and cheeks. He then cupped his right hand and poured one half of the remainder from the glass.

  He washed his throat and the back of his neck then gratefully gave the container back to Belcher. The two officers lifted him up and assisted him as he drunkenly ambulated back through the storefront of the service station. They helped him to sit down and allowed him to rest a bit.

  Finally, the first officer spoke, “Just tell me your name, where you came from and where you’re going.”

  Jordan was feeling well enough now to begin to function independently. He reached into his back pocket pulled out his wallet and handed it to the policeman. “You can see on my driver’s license that I am Jordan Peltier. I am the President of the Commercial Bank of Quitman in Clarke County. I went down to South Louisiana to see some of my cousins and their friends and to get some free firewood to take back to Quitman, just south of Meridian.

  Late last night we went out on the town and I ate raw oysters, boiled shrimp and crawfish with Red Sauce, Sauce Tartare, hush puppies, and dirty rice until I couldn’t stand. My cousin had made some homemade wine for his personal use, and I drank too much of it too. I woke up this morning feeling like my mouth was full of what’s in that outhouse out there where you found me.”

  He continued, “Just about a mile from here I suddenly got this terrible griping pain in my stomach. I had just enough time to stop at the pump, then jump out of the truck and run as best and fast as I could to the crapper.

  I’m very sorry that I couldn’t stop and identify myself and explain what was wrong with me. I deeply regret that I put the two of you through so much stress in all of this, but I was in no position to make conversation at the time. I feel a whole lot better thanks to the two of you.” He turned to the first officer and finished with an apology saying, “I’m very, very sorry that I threw up on your uniform and shoes, sir. I just couldn’t help myself at that time.”

  The two state troopers looked at each other for a moment. The first officer shook his head and said, “I would have sworn you were trying to get away from me, but then I guess you were.”

  Belcher laughed out loud. So did the gas attendant and finally the first officer. The tension broke immediately.

  Jordan quickly looked at the attendant and added, “Son, I want to buy these gentlemen their soft drinks, and all the fixings from your store so they can have a nice picnic lunch. Add it all to my bill for the gas.”

  He continued, “Pull my truck out of the way, and let me stay here for an hour or so. I think I’ll be in good enough shape to make the trip on back into Quitman before it gets too late. I don’t guess you fellows have to pay for your gas, do you?”

  The first officer smiled and said, “When they do that I’ll quit. I suppose that is all the information that we’ll need. Are you sure you don’t want an escort to the hospital in Hattiesburg?”

  Jordan hastily replied, “Thanks much, but y’all have been more help to me than you’ll ever know. I won’t leave until I know I can make it back to Quitman tonight. I’ll stop in Hattiesburg if anything new goes wrong. Thanks again!”

  They accepted his offer and went about the store, selecting soft drinks, bread, mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, tomatoes, pickles, cheese, and ham. They picked up some paper plates and napkins, and the first officer thanked Jordan and said, “I don’t think any of us will ever forget what happened here today. Let’s just don’t ever meet this way again!”

  Everyone laughed, and then the troopers got back into the Ford patrol car, and pulled back out into the Forrest county road.

  Jordan recapitulated the sequences that resulted in his good fortune to be resting here at the service station, and not checking in to his new, and perhaps much extended accommodations at Parchman Farm in central Mississippi. His first thought was that nothing, absolutely nothing was worth the terror he had experienced, and yet there had been a phenomenal rush, an excitement, an exhilaration that had elevated his sense of awareness and anticipation that he had never experienced.

  He thought, “Now I know why criminals do it. It isn’t just for the money and the hope for gain. That’s nice, but the real incentive is for the extreme fun of it, the excitement, the planning, the clandestine preparation, and finally, the execution and if successful, the ultimate sense of victory over the entire system and regulation of things. It defies the laws and those that make them, those that tell you what you can and cannot do. It proclaims your sense of independence albeit at the expense of others. That is the ultimate root of it all.”

  He knew personally, however, that he never wanted that feeling again no matter the exhilaration or the excitement. He was not a criminal, at least in its most critical definition and could not conceive that anyone could try to live on such a premise, one that could never ultimately succeed over any extension of time. More than anything he wanted to get the hell out of there and get back to the reality that he had known and enjoyed all of his life.

  An hour later, his color had returned to his face and the sweating had subsided. He paid his final bill and gave the attendant a two dollar tip then climbed into the cab of the truck and followed his predecessors northward back to Clarke County.

  Paradoxically, he felt very fortunate. He had had no flat tires and the wood and other consignments upon the truck had survived without any broken bottles or other losses. He pulled into the Hailes’ place front yard at 5:30 that afternoon, thirteen hours after his departure from south Louisiana.

  Papa and Glen were in the forest when they heard the distant blast of the truck’s horn coming from the direction of the house. Shortly thereafter they emerged from the forest and moved quickly to meet Jordan.

  Peltier was glad to see them and said, “This has been a very difficult task. I don’t want to talk about it tonight, but for now I will help you unload the materials and then return home to sleep for several days.”

  Even Glen was placated somewhat by Jordan’s offer to assist in the unloading of the truck. He knew that Jordan must be dead tired from the long, perilous drive through that great distance. Had he known of Jordan’s real harrowing experience with the Mississippi Highway Patrol, especially since he had not complained, he would have appreciated him even more.

  Glen said, “Jordan, why don’t you go in the house and let Mama fix you a nice glass of tea, and stay on for dinner. Then we can get the wood and bottles off and let you be on your way. You have already done your part.”

 
; Papa, pleased, agreed.

  Jordan replied, “I much appreciate your hospitality, Glen, but I beg for an invitation for another day in the very near future. Right now, give me your leave and allow me to go home and go to bed. I am sure you understand my reasons for the request.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE LOUISIANA CONNECTION

  Four months later their preparations were completed. The nearly finished wine had slept comfortably in their curing barrels and finally was ready to be bottled, corked and placed into the truck for their final journey. They loaded the booty, each bottle lying expectantly upon its side within the car as more accumulated each day until all had been received and cushioned with pine needles on the floor, in the trunk, indeed into every crevice that could receive and gently support the precious cargo during its long, hazardous journey to its ultimate consignment to the purchaser in New Orleans.

  When the car was completely loaded, they went to bed and Glen slept poorly through the night. After finally drifting away in the early morning hours, he slept late and awakened.

  They didn’t speak, but there was a sense of exhilaration, yet also of apprehension, indeed of foreboding that was felt by both of them. The sensation was neither near nor pressing, just enough to increase the awareness of their tenuous position until all of this had been delivered, consigned, received, they had been paid, and Glen had returned to the quiet of his home.

  Papa and Glen looked at each other and Papa spoke, “Now we must call and see Mr. Peltier. We have to have all of the information about the who, where, and when. We already know about the what, and the how.

  Let’s go into town in the wagon because the truck can’t move until all is ready to go to New Orleans.” Without a word Glen returned his father’s gaze. His face erupted into a smile, and he nodded his head in assent.

  The following morning Papa and Glen arrived at the bank, shortly after Jordan Peltier arrived. He was seeing his first customer when they entered through the front door. He was acutely aware of their presence as they loitered, appearing to be completing a bank deposit slip near the cashier’s cage. He didn’t give them any recognition, but glanced up furtively. He could see that Papa was writing a note that he left in a prominent place on the deposit slip desk. Jordan saw them turn and walk from the bank.

  After the business of each predecessor was completed and dispatched, another was ushered before Jordan. During the next hour he was denied any opportunity to retrieve the tiny piece of paper resting upon the depositor’s desk.

  As the customers arrived, Jordan smiled, extended his hand and shook theirs. After a seemingly unending entourage of these, and feeling that the precious information contained upon that tiny little scrap of paper might be tossed away by some intervening fastidious depositor, Jordan stood up as the next customer arrived at his desk.

  He smiled at the new arrival and said, with no little expedience, “Mr. Cook, I am very glad to see you, but I have not had an opportunity to go to the bathroom since I arrived this morning. I beg your indulgence that I may have an opportunity to run to that facility before I embarrass the both of us.”

  Mr. Cook roared with amusement at Mr. Peltier’s request and exclaimed, “Mr. Peltier, just don’t do anything on my shoe in passing!”

  Jordan returned his laugh and inquired, “You did say ‘passing,’ didn’t you, Mr. Cook?”

  After a moment of consideration, realizing the joke, Mr. Cook bellowed out, “I must say that your wit exceeds your urgency this morning, Mr. Peltier!”

  Jordan moved from his desk and walked quickly to capture the note on the depositor’s desk. As he passed the piece of paper he quickly scooped it up and pressed it into his shirt pocket en route to the bathroom and opened the heavy entrance door to the facility, hoping that no one had noticed this subtle prestidigitation. He walked directly to a commode stall, closed and locked the door, and quickly removed the note from his shirt pocket. It simply stated, “Ready. River.”

  Jordan unlocked the door, left the enclosure and briefly washed his hands, then returned to his desk. He dispatched the morning’s business as quickly as possible. Finally, the morning’s interviews were completed. He glanced at his pocket watch as he left the bank at 11:43 a.m. He went straight away to the livery stable, and by 12:15 was riding south from town toward the Chickasawhay River, where he knew that his partners would be waiting. He was ready to provide Papa and Glen with the three remaining pieces of the puzzle that is, who, when, and where necessary for them to embark upon and to conclude their first delivery, and liquidate their hard won gains.

  Chicago stepped carefully near the bluff that was above the tiny clearing adjacent to the river; their usual meeting place. Jordan looked down and saw them bending over a fire waiting for his arrival. They talked and laughed then began to argue as he intervened.

  He called out to them, “Hello, don’t kill each other, otherwise I will have to complete the project all by myself. My only reward will be to take all of the money, both yours and mine, then keep it and spend it all upon myself and leave nothing for your heirs. It will be painful for me yet somehow I will find a way to make it tolerable.” Then he laughed and after another moment Papa and Glen joined in the laughter themselves.

  Papa enjoined, “Come down Jordan. We will either swim with you or drown you and close out your participation altogether.”

  Jordan laughed and spoke to them, “It is very nice to have partners that one can trust completely.”

  Chicago began to descend and the magnificent horse was driven back until his rump rested on the slick black vertical earth of the cliff, and he tobogganed on his buttocks down to the river’s edge beside Papa and Glen. Jordan simply stepped off onto the ground in his dismount.

  Papa handed Jordan a tin cup filled with hot coffee. The heated metal stung his hands and he shifted the cup around to avoid burning his fingers. Jordan deferred the offer of cream or sugar. He simply crouched down and took a tentative sip of the black, steaming liquid in the cup.

  They all sat together in silence for a while. The picnic spread was already laid out upon the tablecloth on the ground, and Jordan reached for bread and made a sandwich, then sliced a piece of cheese and took a pickle from its jar.

  Papa advised, “We have bottled and loaded all of the wine into the truck. Now we must look to you for our final instructions regarding delivery, the location, and the person or people that we must meet in order to complete the delivery and the method of collection of payment to finish the entire undertaking.”

  Jordan removed a small valise from Chicago’s saddlebag, made of leather and with a bright brass metal buckle. He extracted a small key from the watch pocket in his vest and ceremoniously inserted it into the lock on the valise, turned and opened the latch, and reached into the container. He extracted several papers and handed them to Glen then continued, “First, you will find a map of downtown New Orleans, including the Eastern terminus of Canal Street, ending at the landing on the Mississippi River. Look carefully at the small and narrow streets that comprise the French Quarter. You will identify the wharf district and the intersection of Royal and Canal Street. That is the location that you must reach with your loaded vehicle at 3:00 a.m. this coming day’s morning. Your party will be waiting to receive the delivery. When you are identified by your expectant hosts, you are to open the briefcase and present the next sheet in your portfolio. It is the minimum price that I feel should be acceptable for the full load of the product. The delivery must include all of the bottles shipped, and payment must be made in full at the time that the liquor is accepted. Don’t unload anything until all is accepted and accomplished. It shouldn’t be any problem at all.”

  Glen looked coldly at Jordan and replied, “If it doesn’t work out just exactly as you predict, I’ll tell them to wait while I call you for further instructions.”

  Glen pressed on, “If you don’t mind, I am going to be hauling all of this down there, and my ass and life will be on the line. Don’t worry a
bout how I do it, but I’m going to do it just as I see fit. When I am through and if I’m still alive, I’ll bring the best sale price I can make. You all will just have to wait until I get home. Let’s just cut the bullshit and give me the contact guy’s name and the signal so that we don’t have to worry about running into a carload of cops.”

  Restraining himself, Jordan completed his briefing. “His name is Salvatore Palermo, a Sicilian with heavy connections with a group of his relatives and associates back East in New Jersey and New York. They call their endeavor ‘La Questa Cosa Nostra.’ Some people call them the Mafia, from an uprising group in Sicily that were being nearly enslaved and abused by some of the more affluent gentry or landowners. They finally stood up and fought through all of this tyranny, killing many of their oppressors. They ran into the same kind of treatment when they immigrated to America, and landed in the tiny, over-crowded boroughs of the lower East Side of New York called the Bowery, Hell’s Kitchen, and Little Italy. They organized and began to dominate a variety of very bad things, like gambling parlors, prostitution and with the passage of Prohibition, bootlegging and entertainment with Speakeasies.

  They’re now one of the most powerful underground organizations in the country with fingers into every major city in the nation. They are the perfect partners for this kind of endeavor. They have the money to pay you for the stuff, the places to distribute it, and the strength to protect you as you provide them your goods. You will find that they are very dependable and trustworthy so long as you maintain every portion of your commitment to the letter of the agreement. Do not, however, under punishment of grave injury or almost certain death, betray their trust in your delivery of your part of the bargain. If you try to cheat them, overprice the stuff, or short the number of bottles that you declare to have delivered then they will find you out and send your fingers, your hand, or your head back to your family in Mississippi. Do you understand?”