"Not till tomorrow. Didn't Leitner tell you?"
"No, Mr. Leitner didn't say anything about staying overnight. I didn't even pack anything in the case. My mother will be worried sick. I've got to be home tonight."
"Well, nothing we can do about your mama, and nothing we can do about getting you back tonight. We've still got a lot of work to do before morning. No use fretting about it now." Cappie handed Joe a can of white paint and a paint brush.
Easy for you to say, Joe thought, as he started painting over the words Pioneer Distillery. He knew his mother would be uneasy already. He'd been home for dinner every night since he'd started working for the Sugar House, and now he wasn't going to be coming home at all.
Joe painted in silence for the next two hours. Well, he was silent. Cappie talked and talked about rum running and boats and Prohibition and cops on the take and dirty politicians and anything else to do with bootlegging. Joe learned that Cappie had been making daily runs down to Ohio since the temperance law first passed in Michigan. Ohio wasn't going dry until the federal government passed the Volstead Act, which was scheduled for the following year. Cappie told him that there'd been so many bootleggers traveling back and forth on Dixie Highway (or the Avenue de Booze as people called it) between Ohio and Detroit, he'd actually gotten caught in traffic jams in the middle of the countryside. The last time he'd driven down, the state cops pulled him over. Although he wasn't arrested, the incident had cost him thirty bucks in bribes. So he quit the land route and opted for the water several months ago and was having an easier time of it.
"Course, working for big cheeses like Leitner and Shorr don't do no harm either," he added. "They's smart men, those two… making contacts over in Canada while the other boobs keep trucking down to Ohio."
They finished painting the boxes and Cappie produced a large stencil with the words Braymen's Specialty Candy cut out. He gave Joe a can of black paint and a smaller brush and showed him how to paint the words on top of the boxes. The stenciling took a lot less time, and they finished quickly. Joe noted that Cappie had only opened one of the boxes to inspect its contents but hadn't taken out any whisky and had nailed the box shut.
"Time to tuck in for the night, Joe. I'll throw some more wood in the stove so we don't get too cold." They walked back up to the front of the cottage. "Wind's died down. Should be a quiet night. We'll be up early tomorrow to move the hooch, so I suggest you get some shuteye." Cappie told Joe he could sleep in the metal bed and he'd prop himself up on two chairs. He said he didn't sleep much anyway and Joe could use the rest from the looks of him.
Joe lay down on the lumpy mattress and pulled the thin blanket up over his clothing. The only items he removed were his hat and shoes. The island was as silent as a funeral service, and Joe felt uncomfortable in the quiet. He was used to falling asleep to the sounds of the city: cars, trucks, trains, people in nearby houses shutting doors and banging pots, and the occasional drunk staggering and singing down the alley behind his room. Joe turned toward Cappie and watched him throw a couple of logs into the stove. "Why'd you say we were going to Mexico, Cappie?" he asked. "That guy with the clipboard couldn't have thought we were going all the way to Mexico in your speedboat."
"No, he doesn't think that." Cappie sat down in one of the wooden chairs and propped his feet up on the table. "Our government's angry that Canada won't stop the brewers and distillers, because they think the whole world should participate in Prohibition. The Canadians said they are their own country and the U.S can't tell them what laws they should and shouldn't pass. But instead of having a big old fight about it, the Canadian government is trying to appease the U.S. by declaring that liquor and beer can't be bought for distribution over here. But they really don't care, so if I say I'm taking their whisky to Mexico or Cuba, they just write it down on their list. And when I show back up from my two thousand mile journey two days later, or even the next day, they don't blink an eye."
"The whole thing seems pretty dumb to me," Joe said. "My father drank beer every day and never missed a day of work. So do my uncles and lots of people I know." Joe's heart caught in his chest with the mention of his father. He thought about his mother, who was probably sitting at home worried to death and not sure what to do. She knew better than to go to the police, and he hoped she wouldn't go to the Sugar House and make a scene.
"Yeah, well, I agree with you Joe. But it looks like the whole country is gonna be in it now, and I think any smart man with access to a boat will be making a lotta money if he wants to take a little risk." Cappie turned off the kerosene lamp and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Joe." He leaned back in his chair.
"Goodnight, Vic," Joe replied.
Cappie jumped up out of his chair exclaiming, "I thought you was him! You're the kid who was going to Boblo with your folks. Devil's pitchfork! You didn't say nothing all day."
"Didn't want to be accused of putting my nose where it didn't belong." Joe smiled and tried to drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty Four
The smell of coffee woke Joe the next morning. He rolled over in bed and reached for the robe that always hung on the end of his bed. He sat up and remembered where he was. Searing panic shot into his chest. He knew his mother would be in an absolute state of terror. Maybe she thought he was dead. How could Leiter not tell him that he wouldn't be going home last night?
He looked around the room for Cappie and, not seeing him, got his shoes and cap and walked outside. The air was frosty, and a low fog hung over the canal. Joe walked behind the house to the cellar and saw that it was still bolted shut from the night before. Where's Cappie, he wondered. Joe's anxiety decreased as anger began to roil up inside.
He couldn't think about eating, so he wandered down to the small dock and sat down, trying to figure out his next move. He could walk back to the train station and try to hitch a ride back to the city, but he didn't have a cent in his pocket. He'd been so worried about carrying the liquor money he had neglected to think of bringing any extra for himself. He could try walking back over the tracks and hop a streetcar. Or maybe someone driving north would give him a ride. But finding the ideal situation could take hours, and Cappie would most likely return before that. And if he left now, Joe knew he'd be canned from his lucrative job and his family would be back in poverty in a week. No, he'd just have to wait for Cappie to return.
The sun warmed the dock, and the fog quickly dissipated. The animals around him sounded their approval of the new day. Cardinals and blue jays flew from tree to tree, singing and calling to each other. A fish jumped in the water below Joe's feet and startled him out of his thoughts. Well, if he had no choice but to wait he might as well try fishing. He retrieved the rod from the boat and went about looking for some bait. He wasn't familiar with lures and wanted to try something that might look more appealing to a fish.
Grabbing a spoon from the cottage he walked around to the side of the cottage where he had noticed moss growing near a large ash tree. If memory served him right from his time in the Upper Peninsula, a treasure trove of night crawlers would be digging tunnels underneath. Within just a few minutes he had two fat worms that he shoved deep in his pocket; the same pocket that had held so much money the day before. Dark guts squirted onto his hand when he pierced the wiggling worm onto the hook and he wiped his hand off on the bottom of his pants. He threw the line as far as he could and sat back to wait. An hour later, the sun warming the dock and the sound of crickets and birds lulling him into a peaceful reverie, he heard a voice from behind him.
"Catch anything?" Joe turned his head and saw Cappie walking up from around the back of the cottage.
"Where've you been?" Joe dropped his pole onto the dock and stood to face him. "Why'd you leave me and not tell me where you were going or when you'd be back!" he demanded. His cheeks were flushed with anger and windburn from the day before.
"Don't get your hose all twisted, Joe. I had to go get the truck. How'd you think we were going take the boxes out of here?"
"Why didn't you tell me last night? You're all treating me like a stooge and I don't like it. I might be a kid but I've got the right to know what's going on, same as everyone else. My mother is probably sick to death worrying about me and—la de dah—you just head off all morning and don't give me a clue!" Joe was furious now, walking toward Cappie with his hands clenched into fists.
"Whoa, hold on Joe. I forgot Leiter didn't tell you all the details. I had to walk back to the train station and over the tracks to Trenton. We hide the car there in a garage so if the cops come by nosing around here it looks to them like this is just a vacant fishing cottage. I give you my word that I'll let you in on everything I know from here on out. OK?" Cappie looked apologetic.
"All right, if you give me your word," Joe replied. Cappie nodded and Joe walked back to pick the pole off the dock. "I caught two fish, but I don't know what they are." He pulled a stringer out of the water to show Cappie the squirming fish.
"Those are nice size perch. Let's cook them up for some lunch, and then we'll head out. I'll cook this time. You know how to scale a fish?" Cappie walked onto the dock, pulled a knife out of his boot, and taught Joe how to scale and gut the perch. They ate a delicious lunch of fried fish and canned pears and loaded up the truck with the boxes. Once the Model T truck was loaded, Cappie locked the cellar door and front door of the cottage. Joe threw a tarp over the boat to protect it from the elements. Cappie drove the truck down a small dirt road Joe hadn't noticed the night before and stopped the truck a few yards further. They climbed back out of the truck and carried a couple dead trees to the opening, where they set them as if they had fallen there. Then they grabbed a pile of brush lying nearby and threw it on top to disguise the entrance to the cottage.
Cappie drove out to the main road toward the north end of the island. They drove onto a small bridge that spanned the river and stopped in the middle at a booth to pay their five cent toll. Cappie turned the truck onto Jefferson Avenue when they reached land and headed north. The truck couldn't go faster than twenty-three miles an hour. Stopping for traffic, streetcars, and pedestrians they made their way back to Detroit in two hours.
Cappie pulled into the large Sugar House garage around three o'clock. Leiter was there to greet them as they climbed down from the truck.
"There you are, boys. Any trouble?" Already three men had walked over to the truck and begun unloading the boxes of Braymen's Specialty Candy.
"No pigs or Coast Guard for the whole two days. Fantastic idea, Charlie, to send the boy. Hatch was a little jealous of your little brainstorm here. Just forgot one thing."
"Forgot what? He brought the whole five to you, didn't he?" Leiter scowled down at Joe, thinking he had pocketed some of the money.
"He brought all the dough, Charlie. You forgot to let him in on the fact that he wouldn't be home till today. The boy still lives with his mama, you know." Cappie smiled and tousled Joe's cap.
"Didn't even think about it. Sorry, Joe. I bet you're in for some real trouble at home. Come up to the office and let me see if I can help you with that." Joe climbed the wooden stairs up to the office, following Leiter. He waved goodbye to Cappie as he went in the door and Cappie winked back at him.
"My mother had pretty much given up on me by your age, Joe," Charlie began. "If I stayed out all night she just cuffed me on the side of the head and I was on my way. How bout I throw you a twenty and you can bring home some nice steaks for your trouble. That should soften her up a little."
"Thanks, Mr. Leiter," he replied, stuffing the money into the same pocket that had held his worms only a few hours before. "Any errands you need me to do before I go?"
"No Joe… I'd be heading home straight away. I've seen those Polish women get angry before. I'd rather face two cops carrying long nightsticks in a dark alley than be in your shoes right now. You done good work, Joe. We'll talk tomorrow—that is if you can sit down in that chair and talk to me!" Leiter laughed and waved Joe out the door.
Joe hurried to Eastern Market to buy four steaks before the butcher went home for the day. He quickly found the butcher his mother always bought her meat from and, after grabbing the wrapped meat and pocketing almost eighteen dollars in change, he ran to a streetcar, hopped on, and headed home at last.
His mother greeted him at the door, wrapping him in her arms and squeezed him so tight he lost his breath. When she released him she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Joe dropped the steaks as his hand went instinctively to his cheek. "I'm sorry, Matka. I had no idea I would be gone all night. Please don't be angry. I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to tell you by the time I did."
"I was so worried about you," Matka replied, reverting to Polish. "I thought you were dead! And that boss of yours sending over all those flowers a half hour ago doesn't change anything. She pointed to a huge arrangement of lilies, roses, and carnations that sat in a vase on a side table in the living room. Leiter had tried to pave the way for Joe's return. Joe smiled inwardly.
"I'm sorry, Matka. Here, Mr. Leiter gave me some money to buy steaks for dinner to apologize, and I have enough left to buy ice cream with. I'll send Frank to the store to get some for after dinner. I know it doesn't make up for you worrying all night. I guess things are going to change from here on out. I promise to let you know that I'm not coming home if I know, OK? But you'll have to promise me that if I don't… that you won't worry. Nothing's going to happen to me, Matka. I promise I'll come home."
Matka looked sadly at Joe and replied, "Those were the last words Ojciec said to me." She picked up the package of meat and walked slowly into the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty Five
1920
"Push it! They're gaining on us!" Joe yelled into the wind. Cappie was pushing the boat to the limit. The Coast Guard boat was gaining on them. Suddenly, Cappie cut the engine and the boat coasted to a stop.
"Throw out your line, Joe!" he whispered fiercely. Joe scrambled to the back, grabbed his fishing pole, and threw out his line with a lure on the end. His heart was pounding. Almost every day that autumn, he and Cappie made a liquor run to Canada. The bosses sent a man to the island every morning to load the liquor into the truck and drive it back to Detroit. Cappie had outfitted the boat with a light, and they waited in Amherstburg till dusk to return to the cottage. The boat was still loud, but they had only been stopped once by the Coast Guard.
"Gave us quite a chase," the officer yelled as they sidled up to their boat. The officer shined a flashlight at Cappie and then swung it around toward Joe.
"Wasn't racing you, sir," Cappie replied. "Didn't know we were being followed. My boy here wanted to see how fast I could push her. Kids, ya know." Cappie was calm and jovial.
"Yeah, I got a boy his age," the lieutenant replied, eyeing Joe. Just then Joe felt a pull on his line and started to reel it in. The rod bent in a graceful curve and Joe pulled hard. Reeling fast, he brought the fish to the side of the boat.
"Sirs?" Cappie looked inquisitively at the Coast Guard men. The lieutenant nodded yes and Cappie crossed over to help Joe bring the fish into the boat.
"Nice catch, boy!" the officer congratulated him. "That's a nice bullhead you got there." Joe held the fish up so Cappie could pull the hook from its mouth. Soon they were all swapping fish stories.
Joe's hands were shaking so hard that he had to sit on them, but the Coast Guard didn't even bother to climb aboard. The lieutenant sent Cappie and Joe off with a "Thanks for the fish, Joe! Have a good night boys!"
A month later ice started flowing down the river. Joe thought they'd be packing it in for the winter, but Cappie (or was it the bosses at the Sugar House?) had other ideas. The Coast Guard had put their small fleet in dry dock for the winter, giving the bootleggers free rein on the lake. Cappie and Joe would set off in the boat after first light and slowly make their way toward Canada. Joe would stand next to Cappie and watch for blocks of ice floating towards them, and Cappie would skillfully avoid the obstacles. It was cold
work, and Leiter had sent his pickup man with thick fur coats for them to wear. The cold air would sometimes catch in Joe's lung. He'd cough ferociously for a few minutes trying to catch his breath. Despite the cold weather, the work wasn't hard except for the fact that Joe was sick and tired of painting boxes every night.
Several times he thought they'd go down with the boat when severe weather struck. Without warning, the sky would turn a greenish black and the wind would roar up, causing the boat to toss and bounce in five-foot waves. Joe would hold onto the sides of the boat and say Hail Mary's and Our Fathers under his breath; the pelting rain hit his cheeks and back like daggers. But Cappie, true to his alias, was a good captain. They always made it safely back to the cottage.
Saturday afternoons, Joe and Cappie would climb into the truck with the pickup man and head back to the city for the night. Joe would head home from the Sugar House with his weekly pay—now fifty dollars a week—eat a home cooked meal for supper, pass out in his bed at eight o'clock, and get up and go to church in the morning with the family. Marya was jealous of her cousin's new wealth but disguised it in an aura of moral superiority, sliding snide comments into conversations over Sunday dinners after church.
"Leaving to go fishing again after dinner, Joe?" she whispered as the two families were finishing their dinner of rolled roast beef and mushrooms. Her bright blue eyes narrowed, and the she arched one perfect eyebrow.
"Enjoy the roast beef, Marya?" he replied, knowing his pay had bought the food she'd just eaten.
When the river froze solid after Christmas, Leiter told Joe and Cappie to make two runs a day over the ice. The fishing ruse all but forgotten for the time, Joe rode next to Cappie over the thick ice in a Packard outfitted with a false floorboard and with the back seat ripped out. They avoided Lake Erie. They drove a mile over the ice, straight across the river, and traveled down a back road to the distillery. This route was shorter but much more dangerous.
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