The Mechanic’s voice answered his “Hello,” and advised that the car was ready to be delivered. “My driver will have it down at the hotel in thirty minutes. It came to $87.36 with the tax. We washed it, but there isn’t any charge.”
Glen hid his disappointment that it was not Sybil but smiled and said, “You’ve now got a regular customer.”
The mechanic laughed into the telephone, “We appreciate your business!”
Glen followed with, “I’ll be downstairs to meet him when he arrives.”
The car pulled up to the hotel entrance after a short wait, and it had been beautifully restored. Glen moved about the car and inspected it completely. The new windshield fit perfectly and no trace of any recent damage could be detected. The license plate on the front bumper had been moved to the rear. He was very pleased. He returned the driver to the shop, met and thanked the mechanic, then gave him two one hundred dollar bills. He asked the mechanic to call Salvatore Palermo and ask him to contact Glen at the Chartreuse Hotel. The mechanic assured him that he would, thanked him profusely and closed the overhead door before Glen started the car and drove away. Once back at the hotel, he inquired and learned that he had not received any telephone calls during his absence from the hotel.
Glen knew now that any further attempts to change the situation that he faced would be fruitless. He sat on the side of his bed for a while then regressed into himself, his pain, and into the arms of Morpheus, again.
The events that had transpired, especially since his arrival in New Orleans, reappeared and the futile pain returned when he awoke the next morning. He had to quit this room and escape into the freedom of the streets.
He appeared rather shabby. He walked out the door of his room and was joined abruptly and unexpectedly by two men, one on each side of him.
One spoke his name, “Glen Hailes, we were sent by Sal Palermo to take you to the Monteleon. He wants to meet you in the coffee shop to do some business.”
Glen said, “I see the mechanic was able to contact Sal as I had asked.”
The other escort did not acknowledge this comment but spoke, “We’ll walk from here.”
Glen felt that a good morning’s walk would help to stimulate and elevate him from his immediate depression and fell into stride as they left the Chartreuse. They proceeded along the narrow streets that still retained the refuse and tainted odors of another night in the Quarter, but Glen was feeling much more alert and awake as they approached the Monteleon Hotel entrance. They proceeded through the revolving doors and entered the nearly empty hotel lobby, thence to the coffee shop.
Salvatore was sitting at the same table, even in the same chair that he had occupied the last time that they had shared breakfast in this place. He looked up as his two associates completed their delivery. Sal nodded to them and they turned and left the shop. He asked, “Did you have a good Christmas holiday?”
Glen smiled reflectively and said, “I’ve had a lot better.”
Sal didn’t pursue the matter and said, “How’s the car?”
Glen said, “It’ll drive.” He thought a moment and continued, “It’s really a beautiful job. The guy put it back just the way it looked on the showroom floor here in New Orleans, the first day I saw and fell in love with it. You have gone to a lot of trouble for me and I really want you to know just how much it meant to me. I won’t speak of it again, but I won’t forget it.”
Sal laughed and said, “I’ll hold your marker. I won’t forget the marker either.”
“What did you want me to come over here to see you about that was so important I had to have a couple of escorts? What do you have in mind?”
Sal had already ordered for their breakfast. The waitress came shortly thereafter with their orders. His simply stated, “First, let’s eat.”
The savory smell and appearance of the food, the cleanliness and freshness of the table awakened a realization in Glen. It was as though he had tasted nothing since the beginning of this most complex New Year.
The best compliment to the preparation and service of a meal is expressed in the silence of the consumer. Neither spoke, sharing their enjoyment, until breakfast was almost completed. Sal took a final sip on his coffee and set aside his napkin.
He said, “We are going into the pure alcohol business. I have already made considerable in-roads toward getting it established, Glen, but I need your help up in Alabama. I just received word from my connections there that 200-gallons of high quality stuff are ready. They want us to pick it up and move it right away. Are you ready?”
Glen replied without hesitation, “Yes. How many trips do you think it will take?”
Sal grinned and said, “One.”
Glen frowned, “I told you that I love my car. How do I squeeze that much whiskey into it and still have room for the gas tank, the engine, or even me?”
Sal laughed and bent down, just above the surface of the table, speaking barely above a whisper and said, “Hey, take it easy Glen, just listen to this.” He paused, then continued, “Several weeks ago I went up to Birmingham and bought Southern Movers. It’s an old, established long distance furniture hauling company. Dolbert Barclay is the guy that sold it to me. His family has owned it for forty-seven years. He didn’t want to part with it at first, but I finally convinced him of the wisdom of letting me have it. We also have his receiving warehouse here in New Orleans, eight trucks with dollies and protective furniture padding, even key workers from his company to help our own guys move the stuff when we need to make a run.”
Glen asked, “What did you do that for? Wouldn’t it have been a lot simpler to have set it up here?”
Sal looked about the sparse number of patrons in the coffee shop and was convinced that he wouldn’t be overheard. “We’ve been running regular routes up to Birmingham with loads of furniture that we move both ways. Dothan, Alabama is almost exactly half way between Birmingham and New Orleans. I found a truck stop filling station on the highway not more than a mile from the farm where the stills and the suppliers are located, and built a maintenance shop out behind the station.
I brought one of the moving vans into our new shop in New Orleans, and rigged a trap door in the roof of the truck bed behind the driver’s cab. They made a false front wall, creating a compartment then I dropped a couple of hundred gallon stainless steel tanks into the little space, to keep the truck balanced, connecting them together, and then to the 60-gallon external fuel tank on the driver’s side of the truck.”
He pressed on, his voice becoming more animated with excitement. “The woods just behind the shop are thick with brush, only thirty feet behind the cleared margin of the fence to the truck stop property. Working at night, we installed a septic tank and lined it with two 250-gallon stainless steel holding tanks. We flushed out the gasoline from the number one gas pump in the station until it was completely free of fuel smell, then connected the septic holding tank with a pipeline to a valve in the shop, and then on to the gas pump tank.”
Glen didn’t say anything, but Sal knew that he had Glen’s full attention. He continued, “We found a used semi-tractor trailer tank truck, and painted it like a Texaco tanker that delivers gasoline to the service station. At the still, we collected the homebrew into the truck then delivered the product to the maintenance shop at the station. We opened the valve in the shop and pumped it from the truck into the septic holding tank then closed the valve. We’ll load the rigged van with our own furniture pieces for delivery from Birmingham to New Orleans.
When it arrives at Dothan, it stops at the number one pump. We open the valve from the septic tank allowing the whiskey to flow into the gasoline tank beneath number one and then it is pumped just like gas into the van for delivery on to our warehouse here in New Orleans.”
Finally, he concluded. “After the whiskey arrives, we take it from the truck and subject it to a variety of tests to assure the product’s good taste, purity and smell, and then finally bottle it up in half pints for distribution through
out our delivery system for sale to the customer. It’s already done!”
Sal waited a moment and watched Glen’s face. After almost a minute Sal began to become agitated, “Well, come on, what do you think?”
Glen calculated in his brain, “There are two half pints per pint, times two pints per quart. There are four quarts per gallon times two hundred and sixty gallons per delivery.” He whistled softly, “That comes to two hundred and sixty times sixteen half pints, and that’s forty one hundred and sixty half pints!” His figuring continued, “You charge six dollars per half pint of pure uncut hooch.
That comes to almost twenty-five thousand dollars a load! Five deliveries a month comes to one hundred twenty-five thousand per month and $1.5 million per year with just one truck!” Glen smiled and said simply, “It’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant.” He continued, “You have it all figured, all worked out. What do you need me for?”
Sal told him, “You take care of business. I need you to handle the entire operation to be sure the ‘Stiller’s’ get the liquor produced, to see that it is poured into the transfer truck, that it is delivered to the truck stop maintenance building then make sure the guys move it into the pump tanks and on into the furniture trucks.
After that you must be sure that nothing happens to it from Dothan to town. I will give you full authority and all the infrastructure and support including the muscle to get the right people all the way up the ranks from the bottom to the top and to keep them in line.
You will be the final boss. Everyone will answer to you and you to me, and that’s what I need you for.”
Glen did not smile and looked directly into Sal’s eyes, then stated emphatically, “I want twenty percent after you pay off everything and everybody.”
Sal considered a moment, “I can’t do that, Glen, but I will give you eight percent, and only if you succeed in every step of what is required of you.”
Glen said, “Fifteen.”
Sal countered, “Ten.”
Glen said, “Twelve and a half, but no less. I am going to be away from my work at home, and Papa will have to hire at least two men to replace me. That won’t take a lot of money, but I’ll be taking a great big risk and you know it. You also know that if I take it on then you can go to sleep at night with the peace and assurance that it will be just as though you yourself were there to take care of everything. If I get caught then I will do the time, and I’ll cover for you all the way. I cannot and will not go for less than twelve and one half percent.”
Sal countered, “That’s actually a good deal more product than our source in Dothan can produce annually, but you can certainly appreciate the potential. Are you in?”
Glen thought, and then answered, “First, we will have to come to some understanding of what you want me specifically to do for you, and we must agree on the consideration for my services.”
Sal said, “You have shown me that you are very loyal. The most precious asset that a man can possess is to be completely devoted to a purpose, be it to his family or to an idea, a principle, or a belief in someone or something, then to commit to that purpose and to abide by it no matter the consequences. My people have done it for generations.”
Sal thought awhile then continued, “I remember the first night we met on that empty road back to Mississippi. You had but two things, a very good product and enough love and loyalty to protect your family. I saw that you were ready to die for both and very few men are willing to show such courage. You also had the wit to demand and to get a very good price under the pressure. You have never failed to deliver to me as promised, and that shows me that you are consistently dependable.” He paused a moment then continued, “I know that I can trust you, and, if you still need it you have my pledge that you can trust me.”
After a moment he continued, “I want you to run the entire show up there. No one knows those country sides better than you and all but the most critical decisions will be yours and you will only answer to me. Don’t take any shit off of any of my guys or anyone else while you are trying to get the job done. All you need to do is pick up the telephone. I will pay you twelve and a half percent of the net just so long as you deliver.”
Sal stood up and placed his napkin on the table and said, “Now I have to take a leak,” then retired to the restroom.
Glen felt a rush, an exhilaration, a total release and renewal from the reactive depression that he had felt every day, since this New Year began. Shortly thereafter Sal returned and reiterated his offer, “Are you in?”
Without hesitation, Glen replied, “I must go home and let my mother and father know, but I want you to be assured that I want it, and I will do it. However, you must go with me and get this across to everyone that will be working for me. It will be hard enough to overcome the obstacles that will be there locally to cover it all.
I will not dilute myself by having to fight a rear guard action with your troops. They will only see me as someone that has been picked above the best of them, and they will try everything at their disposal to get rid of me and to replace me with one of their own. Then they’ll have a revenge factor against you and may even try to undermine and replace you then take it all for themselves.”
Glen paused, and then continued, “I must be able to enter into understandings with them and have complete authority to offer them whatever it takes and have your complete backing to provide me with all of the cash or whatever I must have without question, on demand, to show them that I am their final and ultimate boss. You must agree to that now.”
Sal did not consider. He extended his hand and said, “It is done.”
Glen stood up and extended his hand. Sal grasped it and looked into his new partner’s eyes. They embraced. Glen sealed the agreement and said, “It is done.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
DOTHAN
Glen arrived in Hale shortly thereafter to tell his parents that he had taken a new task upon his shoulders. He told them he would have to get back as soon as possible. He related his entire conversation with Sal to them, but could see that his father was full of worry and apprehension. He said, “This is all very fine and good, my son, but what are we going to do when you are needed here?” He paused and continued, “You must be here when we do.”
Papa Hailes stood before Glen and knew that his son was anguished, though his expression was calm and unaffected. Glen looked away, diverting his eyes from his father then replied, “Yessuh, I understand, Papa.” His father continued, “You can go until mid-March, but you must be back here by then to get the new crop in the ground, do you understand?”
Glen repeated, “Yessuh, Papa.” He turned, took his mother in his arms and pulled her close, then kissed her forehead. He looked at her and said, “Take good care of him. I couldn’t begin to make this place work without him.”
His mother smiled back and replied, “I can feed him and wash his clothes, bind his cuts and keep him warm at night, but he won’t be able to make this place work without you, either.”
“You will never have to worry about that, Mama. I'll be home in time,” he whispered, then bent down and picked up the worn old leather grip, opened the door and walked down the steps and out onto the front yard for several paces then turned and waved to them both as they stood in the doorway. A few moments later the Studebaker engine started, and he was gone.
Glen drove as slowly as his anticipation would allow. Two hours and eighteen minutes later he arrived in Dothan, Alabama. He was low on gas and drove around the little community until the found the Texaco Star Truck Stop and Cafe on Highway 84 on the south end of town toward New Orleans. He pulled up to the gasoline pumps and stopped at pump number one. He got out and arched his back in a stretch.
An attendant strolled up to the car and studied the cream yellow color of the body the lines of the hood, the wire wheels and white stripes on the tires. He stepped up to the passenger’s door and gazed at the black leather upholstery of the seats with admiration.
Glen stared at
him impassively and said, “I’m in a hurry. Fill it up, clean the windshield, check the oil, water and the tires, and give me a ticket right away. I’m going to the restroom. Have a big orange drink waiting for me for the road.” He turned toward the cafe but felt a touch on his arm, turned, and looked into the attendant’s questioning face.
The face inquired, “Are you Mister Glen Hailes?”
“Yes,” Glen replied, “What is your name?”
“Petrous Porter, boss.”
“Where are you from?” Glen asked.
“New Orleans.” He answered. “Mr. Sal sent me to watch after you and see you get everything you need.”
“How long have you been here?” Glen asked.
“Three weeks,” Petrous replied.
“I’ll need a place to stay.” Glen said.
“C’mon, boss, it’s all fixed.” Petrous smiled.
Glen watched as his new associate climbed into an early Model A Ford sedan. He started the Studebaker and followed the old car as it moved onto the street and into town. It didn’t take long to realize that the kind of action to which he had become accustomed in New Orleans was, like Hale, Pachuta and the rest of the Southeast, a distant dream to anticipate in the coming lonely nights. The car ahead suddenly turned into an entrance on the northwest side of the city and proceeded up a narrow driveway along an overhanging canopy of pine tree branches and stopped beneath the porte cochere of a small, apparently very exclusive hotel.
Petrous had exited the Ford and was at Glen’s car before he had turned off the ignition switch. Petrous opened the car door and helped Glen out of the driver’s seat then quickly moved to the trunk and extracted the old, tiny leather grip. He grinned, “Boss, you sure travel light!”
Glen smiled back and kidded him back, “My steamer trunk with the rest of my stuff will be up from New Orleans tomorrow.” Momentarily, his new servant noticed that Glen’s countenance had suddenly changed.
Asylum Heights Page 21