The Bootlegger’s Legacy

by Ted Clifton

  Sally spent most of the last month in bed. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she knew something was—and she was scared. Molly seemed more attentive. She stayed with Sally all she could and only left to go to work. She and Sally became close again.

  “Sally, how are you, can you hear me?” This was from a doctor that Molly had called after she couldn’t get Sally to respond to her. Molly was terrified. The doctor examined Sally.

  “She’s not in good shape. She needs to go to a hospital. I’m going to call an ambulance and she’ll be taken to St. Joseph.” He went to the phone and, in a very businesslike manner, called for an ambulance.

  “What’s wrong—is she going to lose the baby?” Molly was almost hysterical.

  “I really don’t know what’s wrong with her at this point. They’ll have to do some tests at the hospital, but she’s very sick. I’m very concerned for her life and the life of the baby.”

  About that time they heard the ambulance siren. Sally was rushed to the hospital and immediately placed in intensive care—out of concern for the baby, the nurses told Molly.

  Molly stayed at the hospital for three days, never leaving. She slept on benches and chairs in the waiting room, almost mad with worry. The nurses were very kind to her and kept her informed about Sally—the doctors just seemed to ignore her. She was told that Sally had some kind of an infection and that the baby would need to be delivered soon or it might not live.

  On the third night, the baby was born. Surprisingly, the doctors and nurses reported that the baby was by all accounts a very healthy girl. Whatever was ravaging Sally seemed not to have affected the little girl’s health.

  Sally went into a coma.

  Molly continued to live at the hospital. She thought about the things she and Sally had talked about over the last few months. They had talked about their names and wondered how their mom had come up with them. Sally had told Molly that if her baby was a girl she was going to name her Michelle, and if a boy Patrick. They had giggled about how Michelle sounded so much more “sophisticated” than their own names. They didn’t discuss the boy’s name much. Sally had also told Molly that she hoped it was a girl since she wasn’t sure she knew how to raise a boy.

  The baby was well taken care of by the nurses, with help from Molly, and after two weeks Molly took the child back to the apartment. She was doing her best every day to do what she thought Sally would want her to do. She had matured years in a matter of months.

  Sally stayed in a coma for almost two months and then she died. Everyone at the hospital was immensely affected by the untimely death of this beautiful woman—it made no sense at all. The tears were real.

  Molly did the best she could for a few months, but when the money Sally had left was almost gone she had no choice but to take baby Michelle to their brother in Dallas. She was sorry, and hoped Sally would forgive her, because she loved Sally and she loved Michelle.

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

  It had been almost a year since Pat had purchased the hardware store. It was a different kind of life. There was a routine to the operation of the store that was comforting to him. He would open the store by seven every morning, Monday through Friday, and immediately have a few customers, often regulars from the immediate neighborhood.

  Pat would have coffee made, and the regulars would stand and sit around the store discussing the topics of the day—usually politics and weather. They were all elderly men and most of them lived alone, and these morning sessions in the store were the most important part of their day. They’d also been the source of most of his knowledge about how to operate the store. As a group they’d been observing the ebb and flow of the business for many years. If Pat had a question, this was his resource team.

  He hadn’t had any contact with the Martinez operation. They continued to send crates of supplies like clockwork, but they hadn’t needed him to handle any business matters. While Pat was pleased that the transition had apparently been smooth, he was actually a little disappointed that he hadn’t been needed to solve some sort of problem. But he would never complain about the Martinez brothers—they were honoring every aspect of their agreement with him.

  Pat stayed in the store most days. He had a few employees who helped run things and, of course, his son Mike was a big help. The store closed every day at five, just as it had for years. Pat knew he’d have a lot more business if he stayed opened longer hours, but he didn’t want to. Maybe the next owner would have to, but Pat was fine with closing and going home for dinner.

  Since retiring from his bootlegging business, there had been only a few days that Pat hadn’t been in the store. On one of those occasions he’d flown himself to Dallas to meet with some new attorneys he was hiring.

  When he got in the plane, he thought he could still smell Sally’s scent. He sat in the cockpit for some time and felt a huge sadness overcome him. Most days he didn’t think about her, or at least not much. It had been over a year since he’d last seen her, and the pain was still strong. It seemed to Pat an odd thing for an old man to have such strong feelings—that was something for young people. But he hurt and he missed her greatly.

  During most of his working days at the store he stayed busy with customers and stocking, and didn’t have much time to dwell on what had happened. Sitting in the plane, it snuck up on him and for a moment it overwhelmed him. He got out and went through the pre-flight check list. He knew this would be his last time flying the plane. While he loved it, he was getting close to the age where it would be difficult to get his license renewed, so he’d listed it with an aircraft broker. He’d received two offers and was going to take one of them as soon as he came back from Dallas. Plus, it just wasn’t that easy to be gone anymore—he was now expected to be home every day.

  One of the ground crew helped him pull the plane out of the hangar. He finished his checklist and taxied out to a warm up area. He was cleared for takeoff almost immediately. Powering the plane down the runway gave him a thrill that had been absent from his life for a while. The plane jumped into the air with tremendous power, and in that moment Pat didn’t feel old at all.

  The flight to Dallas was smooth for the first half of the way and bumpy the last half. His landing was textbook, although there was no one to see how well he did. He parked the plane at the FBO and took a taxi to his meeting with the attorneys.

  Pat was making some arrangements for a variety of things that would need to be handled once he was gone. He had a plan but he didn’t know if it would work. The law firm had a reputation for being discreet and knowledgeable, and they had drafted the necessary paperwork for his signature with practiced ease, as well as providing him with funding instructions. Pat had great confidence that they would carry out his wishes as instructed, but it still felt odd relying on someone to do something after you were dead.

  The flight back to Oklahoma City was smooth, and the plane was running great—he was definitely going to miss it. About half way to OKC he started thinking about the time he and Sally had made the spin maneuver through the hole in the clouds in Las Cruces. Now, all alone and thousands of feet above the ground, he started laughing. He laughed until he cried, and then he just cried.

  Pat made an okay landing at Wiley Post—definitely not one of his best. He parked the plane in the FBO parking and left instructions with them to clean it up, service it, and then turn it over to the broker, who had an office in their building. He wasn’t going to be flying anymore.

  Sitting alone that night in his home office, sipping a little Wild Turkey, Pat wondered if he had done the right thing. He knew he was right to have gotten out of the bootlegging racket before he got killed, and he knew spending more time with Bugs and Mike was right, but he wasn’t sure about Sally. He didn’t want to be old and he didn’t want to not be with Sally.

  In a crazy moment, maybe fueled by the Wild Turkey, he thought he had to see her again. Tomorrow he would find out where she was and he would go see her. He felt elated just thinking about
it. In the middle of the night, he sat alone, grinning at the thought. Why couldn’t he be with Sally? He loved her so much.

  The moment passed. He knew why—it would ruin her. He had to be strong for her. And he was.

  The routine of that first year at Allen’s Hardware became the routine for every year thereafter. Not much changed in the hardware business. His regulars changed occasionally, usually because one died, but it always seemed that there was someone new to come in and gossip.

  Pat became such an institution, he heard people say he had run the business since the thirties—how old did they think he was? He enjoyed his life at the store and at home with his family. The sadness grew less.

  “Didn’t you used to be Pat Allen?” This question was from an elderly man who’d been in the store for a few minutes and had glanced at Pat several times.

  “Well I guess I still am.” Pat chuckled a bit.

  “Well I’ll be dammed. I sure thought you were dead.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hey, I used to see you when you visited my uncle, Sheriff Tubbs in El Reno.”

  “Well yeah, I remember Sheriff Tubbs. How is he doing?”

  “Oh my uncle died many years ago. I can’t believe you’re working at this hardware store. That’s really something. You know my uncle was shocked when you sold out to them Mexican people—but that worked out great for everybody. I helped my uncle as he got older, so I knew all about that shit.”

  Pat was real sure he didn’t want to have this conversation. He steered the guy away from the regulars and just nodded his head as he talked.

  “Yeah, I tell you those were sure some nice gangsters—it was like they really cared if everything was working out. We need those damn people running the telephone company—they sure the shit knew what they were doing. Of course you probably know about them pulling out.”

  “I wasn’t aware.”

  “Yeah, must have been seven, eight years after you retired—they just up and quit. Of course that was about the time the state started their own liquor stores. Guess you can’t compete with the goddamn state, even if you’re a gangster. Anyway, we heard that they were having trouble in Mexico with gangs and bandits and that they moved their whole operation to Miami. Man, how would you like to live like that—go from one foreign place to another at the drop of a hat?”

  Pat found the part that the guy had come in for and shooed him out the door. What a blowhard. But Pat thought that sounded like the Martinez brothers—once it got too ugly they moved on to something else. Those guys sure did treat him right. There was never another sighting of Giovanni—the Mexicans must have done the world a favor and ended his vile existence. If Pat had been a little bit younger he sure would have liked to go to Miami and visit Juan and Francisco Martinez, two of the nicest gangsters he had ever met.

  Pat woke up one day and everything seemed different. He’d always been a strong man—sick occasionally, but never really ill. But this time something was wrong. He had trouble rising, and could only sit on the edge of the bed. Bugs had already gone downstairs, so he just sat there for a while. It crossed his mind that he should talk to Mike about the money—but then it seemed to leave his mind. He knew he would never be the same.

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma / El Paso, Texas / Las Cruces, New Mexico—July 1987

  Joe was to meet Mike at the check-in counter for Continental Airlines. A little excited and somewhat apprehensive about their planned trip to Las Cruces, Joe was uncertain of what they would find, and therefore not entirely comfortable. Joe wasn’t the adventuresome sort, and liked to know in advance where things were headed. Mike, on the other hand, seemed more carefree and was willing to step into a situation without a clue as to what would happen.

  They had a direct flight to El Paso, where they would rent a car and drive to Las Cruces. Joe had looked up information about El Paso and Las Cruces and was intrigued by the history of the area, and the connection to Mike’s dad only made it more fascinating.

  Joe had said goodbye to Liz that morning after one of her lengthy diatribes about his faults and overall lack of character. Either she was becoming increasingly harsh or he was becoming more thin-skinned. He knew she didn’t love him, but he was beginning to realize that she didn’t like him much either. The look in her eyes when she was berating him was one of disgust. She wanted a husband who would provide for her and the kids, but she also wanted a husband who would participate in her social activities. Most of these centered on her church, the Church of Christ. Joe was a reasonable provider, but he just couldn’t participate in her social life, and was definitely not interested in church functions, which had made him an outsider in his own family.

  Joe hated the unknown, so it had been easier to just put up with Liz than to move out and venture into a new life with no assurances as to what it might be like. It was becoming clear to Joe that he didn’t like himself much either.

  Mike came into the waiting area as the plane was boarding. Joe was punctual to a fault—Mike was perpetually late to everything.

  “Sorry, I’m so late. Sam’s the world’s worst driver. She drives five miles per hour, pissing off everybody on the road, and claims she’s the safest driver in the state. I thought we’d never get here. We’ll probably be in El Paso before she gets back home.” Mike smiled through most of his outburst. For reasons that maybe only Mike could understand, ever since the phone call about the cabin in New Mexico he’d been upbeat. An old cabin in T or C couldn’t be worth enough to solve his financial problems, but it was a connection with his father, and that seemed to cheer him up.

  “She’s probably trying to compensate for the way you drive.” Joe had been with Mike many times when it seemed like they’d soon be dead on the highway. The man knew only one speed: faster. Not always paying attention, and always going full tilt.

  They boarded the plane and took an aisle and window seat, hoping no one would take the middle one. It wasn’t a problem—the plane was only about half full. Continental had been having some financial problems lately, and that probably compounded the problem of attracting customers. But they were the only airline that had a direct flight to El Paso and they were cheap—all of which were good things as long as they didn’t crash.

  They pushed back from the gate and were airborne within minutes. Financial problems or not, the flight was excellent. The service couldn’t have been better—having a half-empty plane helped with that—and the flight was smooth all the way. As they approached El Paso the air became choppy, and the pilot came on to ask the passengers to buckle up. He said it was always bumpy coming into El Paso.

  The contrast was striking. Oklahoma had lots of green trees and beautiful blue lakes. El Paso was brown. Everything seemed dead. Even the mountains looked stark. The land gave off a message of hardness—not a place for the weak.

  Peering out the window, Joe said, “This is one of the ugliest places I’ve ever seen.”

  “Maybe it looks better close up?” Mike’s earlier enthusiasm wavered a little.

  As they descended, they could see that they were in the middle of a desert. Of course they had known that this part of the country was desert-like, but it was still a surprise to see the vastness of this barren landscape. The landing was smooth, and there was brief applause for the pilot.

  Being in the El Paso terminal felt like being in another country. The contrast with the Oklahoma City terminal was striking, and Joe felt like he had landed in Mexico. As he looked around, he was aware of the way that bright colors had been used to make the terminal feel vibrant and alive. The people were different, too, browner, and there were also more smiles—everyone seemed happier. He thought it must be his imagination. Why would you be happier living in this barren land? Maybe they were leaving.

  They had no hassles at the car rental booth and were quickly settled into their vehicle. Always frugal, Joe had rented a compact car that would likely be comfortable for the first ten minutes or so on their hour-plus trip to Las Cruces. He’d als
o rented it in his own name, without adding Mike—he didn’t want to die on the highway in a foreign land. Of course, he knew it wasn’t really a foreign land, but it sounded more dramatic that way when he explained it to Mike.

  Everything was hot. They didn’t know what the temperature was, but there was no question that it was hot, and the compact’s air conditioning was clearly not adequate. Mike gave Joe some dirty looks. “Next time, at least try to get something that has decent AC.”

  Probably wouldn’t be a next time, although Joe had to agree that the heat was uncomfortable. It took about fifteen minutes for the car to finally begin to cool, at which point they began to relax.

  The scenery was still dominated by brown. But at ground level there was more contrast and color than they’d been able to see from the plane. The area had many mountains, which were rocky, with a minimum of vegetation, but that were also very interesting to look at, with dramatic angles. Their drive took them north toward Las Cruces, and they began to pass large agricultural areas—huge areas of green in what seemed a tree farm, as well as large dairy farms lining the highway. Obviously water was coming from somewhere, either wells or reservoirs. While still very different from Oklahoma, the land was more interesting and varied on the ground than it had appeared from the air.

  Enjoying and commenting on the new things they were seeing made the time pass quickly. They got off the highway at the exit they needed and were almost immediately at the Holiday Inn. The hotel had been described as one of the nicest Holiday Inns in the country—although Mike suspected that Joe had made reservations here just because it was cheap—they were pleasantly surprised to find that it had a unique hacienda feel. As they entered the colorful lobby, they could see an enticing combination bar and restaurant, as well as an outdoor pool. The overall effect was nothing like you would expect from a Holiday Inn.

  They checked in, found their rooms, then made plans to meet in thirty minutes and have a drink or two before dinner.