Asylum Heights

by Austin R. Moody

  Glen’s voice hardened, “I didn’t come here to make a fashion statement, Petrous. I am here to get this business going with as little noise as possible. This is a very small town. The tiniest change in the usual way of life of the folks around here can set off an alarm and bring the law down on us in no time. You know that the boss of both of us is still down there in New Orleans. We are going to have to do his business here so that he can take care of the whole show. That also means we have to take care of him and get it done correctly up here so that he won’t have to be worried or lose sleep at night.

  I am going to stay here at the hotel tonight, but you must follow me back to the station so that I can leave my car inside. No one must see this car so long as I am here. You will bring me back here for the night then I am going to move into the back of the maintenance shop tomorrow along with you in the bed right next to me. I don’t know where you are staying now, but you will have to tell them that you won’t be there tomorrow night. Tell them that you won’t be there anymore, and that you have to take care of a fellow that needs you very badly for a while. When this is going right, we’ll see, but now, this is the way that it’s going to be done. Do you understand?”

  Petrous did not change expression. “Yes sir. I’ll have two cots, a little kitchen and a bathroom ready at the shop tomorrow.”

  Glen didn’t change expression, either. He simply said, “Bring a gun, and keep it on you until I leave this place permanently one way or another. Is that clear?” Petrous still didn’t change expression. “Yes sir, Mr. Hailes.” he replied

  The following morning at 4:00 a.m., Glen was waiting at the hotel entrance as the Model A approached. The familiar figure behind the steering wheel leaned over and opened the passenger’s door to allow Glen to climb in beside him.

  “Good Morning, Boss,” Petrous proclaimed.

  Glen responded, “The same to you, Petrous. What time does the cafe open to the service station?”

  Petrous started the engine and pulled out of the exit from the hotel and moved into the street, then he laughed, “Oh, don’t worry about that, boss. I had the cook up an hour ago. He’ll be ready to take your breakfast order as soon as we get there!”

  Glen inquired “Is my place ready?”

  “Absolutely, boss!” Petrous reported.

  Glen was tempted to become more friendly and relaxed but remembered something that Papa Hailes told him that he had learned from his own grandfather, Michael. He had remonstrated, “Distance yourself from those that work for you, no matter how lonely you may be or in need of understanding when you are trying to reach a goal. You will neither find a sister, nor a brother, nor least of all a friend. You pay them to serve your design, but not to share the burden of its architecture and operation.”

  Glen paused, and then replied, “First, I want to take a look at the layout of the shop. Go to the cafe and tell the cook that I want three eggs straight up soft, with thick bacon cooked EXTRA, EXTRA CRISP and with sliced tomatoes.” He continued, “I mean THICK bacon with biscuits, redeye gravy, sweet milk and coffee. If he doesn’t have the right bacon, then a slab of thick ham cooked well will be o.k., and don’t start until I get there.”

  “He’ll take care of it,” Petrous assured.

  Glen smiled to himself, “It’s lonely, but it’s nice to be boss.”

  Three minutes later they arrived at the truck stop and Petrous proceeded to the darkened maintenance shop building in the rear of the property. All was quiet there, and the two men walked to the back of the kitchen of the restaurant. Glen did not disturb the busy man at the stove and entered the dining room. He sat down at a corner table and waited for his breakfast. The cook, now the waiter placed a setup, then the cup of coffee, and finally the breakfast tray on the table before him, stepped back and awaited his new executive’s response.

  The cook had not failed to comply explicitly with his order. Glen ate quietly without comment. Upon completion he nodded his satisfaction to the creator. Petrous had joined him and sat in his place across from Glen. “Was it o.k., Boss?” He queried.

  “Yes, Petrous,” he replied, “But now I want to meet all of the men, everyone that is in any way connected with our job up here so that I can report back to Sal. I am never going back to the hotel.”

  Glen searched the face of Petrous. “Everything that I need is right here. Just get everyone together so that I can look at each one of them and tell them why I am here and what I expect in order to get this business done.”

  Petrous inquired, “I most likely won’t be able to get the road drivers in until tomorrow night, but we can meet with the local men as early as this afternoon or evening. Would you like that?”

  “We will wait until tomorrow night so I can meet with everyone.” Glen instructed. He continued, “I want to spend today looking at everything. I’ll have another cup of coffee with you here at the cafe then we can go back to the shop.” Glen continued, “Go to the first fuel pump and draw out half a glass of your funny gasoline. I want to see if it smells and tastes right and especially see that the system really works.”

  Petrous grinned, “Just wait!”

  Glen went outside into the woods to relieve himself. When he returned, Petrous was sitting at their breakfast table. All of the dishes were removed and a glass, half filled with a clear, pale yellow liquid had been set at Glen’s place at the table.

  Glen sat down, lifted the glass and canted it directly beneath his nose. He mentally compared its odor with that which had been consumed that fateful night that now seemed so long ago at the Owl’s Nest, then tentatively tasted its surface. He consumed no more, and placed the hardly disturbed tumbler back on the table.

  The taste was identifiable upon his tongue compared with the previous liquor. There was no hint of gasoline. Glen mused, “All we have to do is move it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MOVING IT

  The wind from the north began to increase as they stepped outside and returned to the shop. The pre-dawn mist had begun to dissipate and the outlines of the buildings had become visible in the early morning light. Glen entered and inspected the area that was now to be his new home. He found a metal cot that was fully made with a footlocker at its end and a nightstand with a tiny lamp beside the head of the bed. Another bed that belonged to Petrous stood not ten paces away.

  A writing desk and a gooseneck lamp with an intense light had been placed against an adjacent wall. A chair was beneath the table and a writing pad and pencils were found in the desk drawer. Glen sat down, and began to develop a schedule of activities for the day, and an outline for the plan to be executed in the coming days and weeks. He had full authority and autonomy as Sal’s agent here. He intended to exercise all of it. This was money, it was power; it was his future.

  He was practical enough to know that he could never have Sybil again. That, plus the knowledge of the dead man sleeping beneath the waters of Souinlovey Creek, had hurt him very deeply. It would never depart from him completely, and life didn’t mean as much to him as before, but the new job and all of its prospects afforded hope and a measure of relief. He had to inventory, to learn the costs in every detail to cover his expenses, and how much of the yellow liquid had to be sent to New Orleans in order to pay for it. At least he didn’t need help to figure the taxes.

  Petrous returned to the cafe and awaited the arrival of the morning shift. Following Glen’s instructions, he began to list all of the restaurant equipment, furniture and supplies. This did not require an extended time, and thereafter, he collected all of the invoices, receipt books, bank statements, and correspondence for Glen’s inspection.

  In the meantime, Glen busied himself with the inventory of all the shop equipment, supplies, and books to gain a complete understanding of the maintenance shop activities and its overhead. He continued throughout the morning, stopping once to take a break for a drink of water. He sipped the cool liquid slowly, thought a bit and wondered about the source of the liquor that he had tasted fr
om the fuel pump at the gas station. He searched the back of the shop and found the pipeline leading in from the woods and began to walk along its recently covered trench. At the rear of the open area behind the shop he climbed over the perimeter fence, looked into the low vegetation to find the trench again and continued the trail to its origin.

  The wind was quiet as Glen penetrated the low brush. He scratched his hands as he parted the briar-laden way to the line once more. The earth was covered with leaves, and was moist from a recent rain. He sank into the rich humus, and he became slightly short of breath while attempting to extract his shoe soles from the rich, black topsoil of the ground beneath his feet.

  Finally, he stepped out on a clearing circle of empty ground. A low wooden platform had been constructed at the terminus of the covered trench. Glen noticed that a new trail made up of two parallel ruts entered from the far side of the clearing. The ruts bore recent, deep tire tracks from an obviously heavily laden vehicle.

  Glen climbed up the stairs of the platform and discovered that the top of the concrete cylinder of the drainpipe was covered with a heavy, hinged lid shaped like a cap. It was made of cast iron and was attached to a steel cable and pulley, then to a counterweight to facilitate lifting of the lid. A hasp had been drilled into the concrete pipe and a large padlock held the lid securely to prevent movement.

  The lid was very tightly locked, and could not be elevated more than half an inch. This was sufficient for Glen to look into the darkened space and see a cap stem and a valve situated upon the end of the pipeline. He could not detect any odor of the homemade whiskey emanating from the pipe. Glen climbed down from the platform, smiled, and spoke to himself aloud, “Sal, you really know how to do things right, but I have one more question.” With that he turned, proceeded to one of the ruts and followed the path to discover its origin.

  The distance was much greater than he had anticipated, but he finally came out onto an asphalt farm to market road. There was no traffic on the tiny highway. The ruts merged with the tar, both inbound into the woods, and departing back in the opposite direction.

  “Petrous and I will take a little drive down this highway tomorrow,” Glen mused then he turned back again to the ruts into the woods and the remaining day’s work at the truck stop.

  They took a brief lunch, and the remainder of the afternoon was devoted to the inventory and accounting for the business. By the end of the day, both Glen and Petrous returned to their places in the maintenance shop, took a shower, and stretched out on their neighboring cots for the night.

  Glen thought of Sybil as he had during every quiet moment of their separation, closed his eyes, and began to drowse. Suddenly, her face appeared. She smiled and bent down to kiss his lips. He reached up and pulled her down to him, feeling a growing excitement, just as an intervening shrill noise caused him to stop and open his eyes. Her image quickly dissipated, and he awakened to find that he was alone once more, and reached to turn off his alarm clock’s dutiful, piercing announcement that the dream was over.

  Glen sat on the edge of the cot, stood up and retrieved socks and a shirt from the footlocker. He selected a pair of trousers from an armoire, pulled on a pair of shoes, and completed dressing.

  Petrous had stirred when the alarm clock sounded, but he quickly settled back into sleep after the room became silent once more. Glen didn’t disturb him until he was fully attired, then gently but firmly called his name.

  “Petrous, the time has come. Get up and get dressed. We have another busy day ahead of us.”

  Petrous was galvanized immediately, and was completely ready to go to the cafe within minutes. “I’m packing if you need anything,” Petrous assured.

  Glen noticed the bulky firearm beneath Petrous’ coat, but made no acknowledgement of its presence. He opened the shop door and stated simply, “Let’s just hope no one else is doing the same later tonight.”

  Petrous watched Glen precede him, and grinned when he noticed the pistol handle protruding from the holster beneath his superior’s belt as well.

  That evening, soon after they had arrived at the cafe and completed their dinner, the entire crew of the operation began to arrive.

  Glen went to the entrance to the room that had been prepared for the evening’s meeting. He was waiting as the first man arrived, then another and in pairs. He looked steadily at each, exploring their eyes and body movements. He said simply to every one of them, “My name is Glen Hailes, what is yours?”

  After each responded, providing their own name, Glen added, “I will tell you who and what I am when everyone arrives, and what we are going to do while we are here.” If one of them extended his hand, then Glen took it, but he did not offer his own.

  Petrous had a roster with every person’s name upon it. He signaled to Glen when the last name was confirmed. Glen retired to the bathroom. When he returned the room was generating a steady hum of people talking, wondering what would happen next.

  A small dais had been placed at the head of the room. Glen approached from the rear, walking steadily along the left periphery of the seating and stepped up to the podium. He had no notes, no outline or text. The room immediately silenced.

  Glen stood still after the quiet had been gained and remained silent for more than a minute, looking at every face in the audience, then he spoke. “I have met every man in this room and each of you knows my name. Before we have finished here, you may know or call me a number of other names, and I will be disappointed if any of them suggest affection.” He paused again, hearing a ripple of suppressed laughter, watching the reaction of the faces then continued, “Simply stated, I was commissioned by the man that conceived all that we are about to do to come here with full authority to accomplish everything that is necessary to carry out his plan. He believed in it enough to put a great deal of money into it and he wants his money back with interest.”

  He moved closer, his face projecting from the lectern and lowering his voice, “He revealed the plan to me and told me he had sufficient faith in me to give me all I need to make it work. He convinced me, and, after negotiations, entered into a contract with me. I will not disappoint him.” A small glass of water had been placed upon the second shelf of the podium. He paused again, raised the glass to his lips, and took a deep draught of the cold water. “You men have already been retained and have taken part in the first phase. I have seen and checked every piece of the plan, including the physical plant of the service station, the distribution system, and the books.” He paused again, studying the effect of the message then continued, “At this point I want you to know that the compensation for your work will be increased. The level of risk and the secrecy that you must maintain will justify your additional pay.”

  He pressed on, “With regards to the increased risk, you are sitting right now in one of the most conservative places on earth. Every person in Dothan, Alabama, or in any city within a dry state in the Deep South for that matter, is considered to be a devout, coffee and iced tea drinking Christian, or to be a sinner. There are no shades or degrees of gray, only black and white.

  If any sinner is the consumer of alcohol then the offender is looked upon as the devils spawn to be discovered, arrested, thrown into prison and incarcerated until Lucifer can come and take him to more eternal accommodations. God help the conniving bootlegger that sold it to him.

  You will all be walking on a very tight wire. If you feel that you don’t wish to pursue this occupation any further then all you need to do is to get up and go to the exit of the room. You must sign an agreement that you will not, under the penalty of death, divulge anything that you have learned, seen or heard here, nor render the name of any of your fellow workers or the management. You will receive your pay in full, and then you may leave, but we will always know where to find you. I will provide five minutes of time for you to make your decision. If you stay you will not be allowed to quit the organization without my written authorization, and no one is to accept your word that I have agreed without
my signed release. God help you also if you forge or modify the release.” Glen pulled out his pocket watch and said, “The time begins now.”

  The subdued, rolling undertones of discussion amongst the workers resumed. After three minutes one of the men, obviously incensed at Glen’s directive stood up and spoke out, “This is a free country. I will do anything I want, and no one is going to make me sign a paper saying that I will or won’t say anything that I please. I don’t need this job. I am going to leave.”

  Glen stared at the protestor. The room silenced immediately, every eye upon Glen to measure his response to this new confrontation. After a time, Glen spoke. “What is your name?”

  The objector, realizing that he had within a moment become the focus of every man’s attention within the room developed a feeling of embarrassment, but stood his ground and replied, “My name is Potter, William Potter.”

  Glen stood his ground as well, and waited, watching the man’s growing discomfort. After at least two minutes, Glen spoke to him, “Well, William, I like a man with conviction, one that is willing to stand up for himself when he thinks his rights are being violated.” Glen waited again for an inordinate period, and then continued, “Under usual circumstances I would join everyone here to applaud your conviction and your courage to speak so boldly, but this is a very special time and circumstance. I am sure that you were told before you came up here from New Orleans that this was a very special project. I am sure, also, that you were hired to work here for more money than you have ever been paid in your entire life. I am confident, in addition, that you knew that you weren’t being sent here to clean toilets at a Boy Scout camp. You knew that you would be breaking the law, isn’t that correct?”

  A crimson flush of humiliation crept across William’s face, and he mumbled. “Yes.”