The Bootlegger’s Legacy

by Ted Clifton

  Pat and Bugs had never had a fight. She was always attentive, and she was pretty damn sexy when she wanted to be. They didn’t talk much about anything except the house and the kid. She never asked him where he was or what he was doing. If he forgot to tell her he wasn’t going to be home, she never got upset. If he showed up for dinner after he’d said he was going to be out, she acted happy to see him. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect person to be his wife and the mother of his child.

  Pat bought Mike a too-expensive gift for his birthday and had it wrapped at John A. Browns, his favorite place to shop. The gift was the largest Erector set they sold. Since his knowledge was a little limited, Pat wasn’t sure if it was something his son would like or not, but it was big and impressive—the perfect gift from a traveling dad, seldom home.

  John A. Browns & Company was the largest department store in Oklahoma and, excluding Dallas, probably in the region. Pat guessed it was 300,000 or 400,000 square feet, on five floors, right in the middle of downtown. There were even rumors that Browns was going to take over the building next door and connect the two, which would almost double the square footage. He couldn’t imagine what they would add to fill that much space. It seemed like they already had everything you could want.

  Pat’s sometime companion worked at the restaurant in the basement, The Colonial Lunch Room. Browns’ somewhat hidden restaurant was a favorite of daytime shoppers for its selection of special sandwiches and cream sodas.

  He thought he might as well drop in and test the waters. You could never tell with Sally exactly what sort of mood she’d be in. If it was bad, he’d quickly move on to calmer waters.

  “Hey Sally, how’s the world treating you?”

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Patrick Allen, world famous asshole. And you know how the world is treating me? Like shit!”

  Sally was about five foot two, blonde, and gorgeous, with a body to die for—and she was used to being treated better by younger, better looking men. Every aspect of Sally attracted attention from men—her looks, her smile, her walk, her laugh—she was what men dreamed about when their wives weren’t around. Pat knew that one of these days she was going to tell him to take a hike.

  “Sally, you should watch your mouth. Browns is a respectable business.”

  Apparently that was not the thing to have said. Pat’s smile didn’t help either. She gave him the finger and went into the kitchen. Fearing that she might be retrieving something sharp, he gathered his bags and quickly headed for the elevator.

  Once on the main floor, Pat exited through a side door into an alley where Browns had valet parking service. He gave his parking ticket to the attendant. Within a few minutes the parking attendant pulled around his pride and joy: a 1952 Cadillac Series 62 Convertible—cream outside, with a burgundy interior. Pat just stood there and stared. Other people in the area also glanced over with admiring looks.

  Of all of the things he’d spent his money on, this was the one that meant the most. He knew it was a little over the top and didn’t fit his “modest means” lifestyle. He just couldn’t help it—he loved this car. He had told Bugs that it was a special bonus from the insurance company because he’d closed a large deal, and said that if she thought they should sell it and spend the money on something else they could. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, saying that he deserved the car, that he’d always taken good care of his cars, and that she was pleased he was so happy. She was easy to manipulate on this kind of stuff, but he felt bad that her reaction was always the same—whatever made him happy made her happy.

  His wife was almost too good. Pat wanted to scream at her “Bugs, honey, I was just down at Browns to see my girlfriend and I decided to buy you a little something.” My goodness, he was such an asshole. He didn’t even know why he did the things he did. He liked to go out and raise hell occasionally with a little drinking and dancing, and it had never seemed right to take his wife—and the mother of his child—to the places he liked to go to. So there was Sally. He was just getting too old to be doing this sort of nonsense.

  Pat lived off of Walker Avenue and 17th. This was an area of nice homes, some pretty large. As a matter of fact, the mayor lived in the neighborhood. Pat and Bugs’s house was one of the smallest in the area, but it was convenient and it felt like home.

  Pat went into the house through the back and stopped in the kitchen to fix himself a bourbon and water. Naturally, only the best bourbon for the number one bootlegger in Oklahoma City: Wild Turkey. It had just been introduced and had become an immediate success. Pat thought it was the best Kentucky bourbon he’d ever tasted—and he had tasted a lot.

  Not hearing any movement in the house, Pat figured Bugs and Mike were out, probably getting something for Mike’s birthday. He went into his office and shut the door. Opening his small safe, he took out the ledger where he kept track of the payoffs to various officials that ensured that his business ran smoothly. He’d made a run to El Reno today and given Sheriff Tubbs a nice little present and wanted to enter it into his book before it slipped his mind. He hated keeping anything in writing, but there was no way he could keep all of the bribes and kickbacks straight if he didn’t have some kind of system. He’d recently hired a new guy in Las Cruces, New Mexico, Emerson, who could maybe take over some of this record-keeping shit—once Pat decided if he could trust him.

  That was one of several reasons to get back to Las Cruces in the next few weeks. His primary source of product was currently in Juarez, Mexico, and Pat had established a base of operation in Las Cruces, a quiet little college town of about 25,000 people. Just perfect for his needs—and it wasn’t in Texas. He had a few employees there and in El Paso, Texas, who helped him manage the shipments coming from Mexico. The operation had just become too big for Pat to keep it all in his head. This was very troubling—he felt like he was becoming too visible.

  After he’d outgrown his original supplier he’d started dealing with an Italian Texas family, headed by John Giovanni. He knew almost from the moment the deal was set up that this was probably a mistake. The Giovanni Texas group made him nervous—very nervous. He was sure they knew he was buying from the Mexicans and no doubt didn’t like it. The Texas guys were different. Pat realized a little late that he should have stayed away from them. While most of his dealings were casual and friendly, these guys were really bad people. If it hadn’t been for the network of county, state, and city officials who would only deal with him, he was sure those crooks would have buried him a long time ago. His operation ran smoothly, with little interference from the feds or the state cops, all because he greased a lot of wheels. As a matter of fact, Pat’s business was probably one of the biggest contributors to government corruption—right after the oil industry.

  His Texas connection was the reason he was starting to plan a way to get out. Those hoods seemed more like New Yorkers than Texans, and it was making Pat really nervous. The Mexican guys, by contrast, seemed like gentlemen. They were always very gracious and they seemed to genuinely care that everything was going the way he wanted. He’d been to the homes of the two main owners, down in Juarez, and met their families. He thoroughly enjoyed their company.

  As it turned out, the kid was nine and the birthday party was—well, a birthday party. Cake and ice cream, gifts—Mike liked the Erector set—relatives, neighbors and a bunch of other kids being annoying. Bugs was in her element, as excited as the kids were. Pat snuck off into his office and poured another Wild Turkey, straight up. Much better way to enjoy a kid’s birthday party.

  While sitting and enjoying his drink Pat decided that he would go to Las Cruces the following week. He had his own plane—a Beech Twin Bonanza, a model that had just been introduced the year before. After World War II, it had taken some time for the domestic aircraft industry to come back to life. Pat had learned to fly in the early thirties and seemed to have a knack for it. The plane was something of a secret—Bugs knew nothing about it. It was registered in the name of his company, Blue Devils Deve
lopment, and it was kept in a hangar at Wiley Post Airport, just a little northwest of the city.

  On his business trips, he always told Bugs he was flying out of Will Rogers Field on Braniff. She never questioned this and had no idea he was flying himself in his own plane—she would have worried herself sick. The plane also usually held some special cargo on the return trip for some of his more discerning customers.

  The next few days were uneventful for Pat—boring, really. He made some rounds to be sure all of his big customers were getting timely shipments and everyone was happy. He called Sally and begged forgiveness for whatever he’d done wrong. He suggested they should go out on the town that night and visit some nightclubs. Sally played hard to get, but eventually relented and said she would meet him at the Lincoln Club—her favorite club and one of his top customers. It was located a couple of blocks from the state capital, and there was always a big delegation of politicians and celebrities.

  Pat pulled his big Cadillac into the Lincoln’s parking lot. Passing up the valet service, he parked the car himself. He wanted to make sure the idiot kid who parked at the Lincoln didn’t dent his pride and joy. Entering the Lincoln, he headed toward the bar. While Oklahoma was dry and selling liquor was illegal, the bar at the Lincoln couldn’t have been more out in the open. It always amazed Pat that there wasn’t more scandal about this than there was. Cops, politicians, and rich businessmen—especially the oil industry tycoons—openly flouted the law without suffering any consequences.

  There were probably more liquor-selling clubs in Oklahoma City per capita than in Vegas or New York City. The newspaper people didn’t care and never reported on this double standard. The bulk of the population was religious, with a strong belief that alcohol was evil and ruined the lives of good people. Many of them were shocked when Look Magazine listed the twenty-four worst cities in the nation for “vice and sin” and included Oklahoma City on the list. It was as if two entirely separate worlds existed in the same place, ignoring one another.

  He immediately spotted Sally. My, oh my, that was one good lookin’ woman. As he got closer, she turned and gave him a smile that sent chills down his old body. Sally had only been in the city a short while when Pat had met her at this bar. She was a knockout. One night they started talking and she told him that she had come to OKC to have some fun. Said she was working at the John A. Brown’s basement restaurant while she looked for something better. Pat was not real sure if he was being conned or not—she had all of the appearance of a hustler looking to have a good time with wealthy gentlemen. In their first chat Pat had told her he was married, but did a lot of business in the clubs and was usually alone. That first night they had talked for hours, and Pat began to realize he was not only attracted to her beauty, he actually liked her.

  After that they’d met a few more times and always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. On their third “date,” Pat had offered Sally some money. Well, all hell broke loose. “What do you think I am—some kind of whore? Listen you dumb son-of-a-bitch, I don’t want your money and I don’t want your company.” She had stomped off to the ladies room, leaving Pat embarrassed and humiliated. He’d figured that was that, and that he wouldn’t see her again given that he’d been so vile. But after about fifteen minutes she’d returned to the booth where Pat was soothing his wounds. After some time she said she was sorry for her outburst and began to be friendlier. Pat was confused. He’d understood her earlier anger. Now he didn’t know what was happening at all. Sally said, “Look, Pat, I care about you a lot. I know you’re married and I don’t expect this to be anything but two people enjoying each other’s company and having some fun. I also know you think you’re too old for me and the only reason I go out with you is money—well, that’s not true. I like you, okay? I enjoy going out—and it makes it a lot easier for me if you’re buying—is that so horrible? I’m not taking money from you—that would make me something I’m not. I know this is a fling and it won’t last, but I say, hey, let’s enjoy it while we can.” Pat thought, wow what a woman. “And Pat, I want to make it clear I won’t take money from you—but dinners and drinks are just fine, and an occasional gift wouldn’t be frowned upon.” The rules of the game had been laid out. The only remaining question was whether he wanted to play—he did.

  After that, Pat had rented an apartment and Sally moved in. He bought her a car, and he bought her clothes and jewelry—but she kept her job and didn’t take money from him. This logic worked for Sally and Pat never complained.

  Pat never took Sally for granted. He knew she had options and he always tried to treat her like a lady. There were times when Sally could make that difficult, but they quickly passed. She was funny and he loved being with her. For an old man she was like a fountain of youth. He dressed better. His clothes became more stylish and he paid three times what he had before for his haircuts. He thought he was looking pretty good.

  “You’re looking lovelier than ever.” Pat still felt a little funny saying these kinds of things, but he sure meant it.

  “Thanks, Pat. Look, I’m sorry about my little fit at Browns. You know, I haven’t seen you much lately and I guess it was starting to feel like you were losing interest. Well, I don’t know, I just lost it.”

  Pat was impressed at how well Sally handled herself. She was very young, but she seemed so mature. It occurred to him that some people were just older than others, no matter their age. Sally had a mature wisdom, but also a little girl’s joy in life. He was finding that he wanted more and more to be with her. Fully recognizing the folly in this, he still found he couldn’t help himself.

  “Sally, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with my business customers I haven’t had much time. That’s going to change. Why don’t you come with me on a trip to New Mexico? We can see each other more and have a lot of fun drinking margaritas and eating enchiladas. Maybe we can even find a place to go dancing—what do you say?”

  Sally let out a scream of joy that got everyone’s attention, and after some enthusiastic hugs and a few kisses she said, “Yes!”

  Dallas, Texas / Oklahoma City, Oklahoma—Some Years Earlier

  Sally Thompson had to get away from her brother, Hank. Because either Hank was going to make her permanently crazy or she was going to kill him. Her brother thought he knew everything, and since their mother had died he’d taken it on as his personal responsibility, as the head of the family, to make Sally miserable.

  Sally lived in a rather shabby part of Dallas with her brother and sister in the apartment once occupied by their mother. Things had been different when her mother was alive. Her mother had loved all of her children, although she’d seemed to favor the girls. She’d fussed with them and hugged them—she’d been wonderful. Every day she’d made them feel special and loved. But then she had become ill—they’d said it was the flu—and in a matter of a few weeks she had died.

  The sadness Sally felt was physically painful. She had trouble just getting out of bed. Soon her brother started acting like he was in charge. He would yell at Sally that she had to find another job. He made her miserable. She had been fired from her previous job because she’d stayed home with her mom while she was sick. Her sister had helped, but she was still in school and said she couldn’t miss any more classes or their brother would kill her.

  Sally was an extremely attractive young woman. She had just turned twenty-three when her mother died. Her best years had been in high school, when it seemed every boy in school was attracted to her. She felt like she was a queen or something, with all of that attention. But even with all the adulation, Sally had remained aloof. She felt she was destined for something very special. After high school, Sally had no option but to find work to help support her family. She had never known her father, who apparently had left when Sally was very young. Her mother never discussed him.

  During the years after high school, Sally had been a waitress at several restaurants in her neighborhood. She gave most of her money to her mother, who would waste it
on her big, useless brother. Sally always thought her mother seemed intimated by her brother—he had a meanness about him. Sally didn’t mind the work, even though she got tired of all the men making a play for her. There were many days when she deliberately didn’t make any effort to look good, just so maybe those lugs would leave her alone—it didn’t help.

  To appease her brother, she decided to go out and see if she could get another job. She thought she might go back to the last place and explain why she hadn’t been able to work and they might hire her back—but for some reason that felt like begging, and she didn’t beg.

  Sally knew she was beautiful. What most people didn’t realize, although Sally knew it, was that she was also smart. In the illogic of the times, people simply thought that a good looking woman couldn’t be smart. Sally knew that she wanted something better for herself than just marrying some guy and becoming a household slave, cooking, cleaning, and putting up with the sexual advances of some ape, just to have a place to live. She thought that with her looks and brains she should be able to do anything she wanted. Although the world seemed ready to disagree.

  Sally got a waitressing job at another greasy spoon diner close to her apartment. Same job, same grabby boss, same foul-mouthed cook—and, it would appear, the same goddamn customers. It was more than she could deal with. She lasted two weeks at the new job, told her boss to go to hell, and walked out.

  She went home, fell onto her bed, and cried. Why was everything so hard? She knew she had options—men were always making lewd propositions to her—but her own moral code wouldn’t let her take them up on it. There were times when she didn’t understand why she said no.