The Bootlegger’s Legacy

by Ted Clifton

  Joe arrived home about thirty minutes after he’d picked up his bags at the carousel, officially exhausted. As he approached the house, he could see there were no lights. More than likely, no one was home, and he felt a sense of relief—another sure sign that he really had to deal with Liz about their future. His guess was that Liz would be overjoyed to get a divorce as long as she ended up with every last fucking cent Joe had—which was exactly what was likely to happen.

  Entering the house, it became clear that there was no one there. Joe turned on the lights and got the impression that there hadn’t been anyone there for some time. He went into the kitchen and sitting on the kitchen table was a note.

  Joe,

  I have no idea when you will be home so that you can find this note. I thought about trying to track you down to tell you I wanted a divorce but decided I just did not care that much.

  Thanks a lot for keeping me and kids informed about what you are doing. It’s obvious you’re doing something you shouldn’t be—and I will not stand for it. The kids and I have gone to my mother’s in Tulsa. We will stay there until you and I can get the divorce. That’s the only solution to the way you treat me and your children.

  You have become a boorish drunk who cares nothing about his family or their welfare. I have tried every way I know to make a good life for you, but you just keep spitting in my face—and that will not continue.

  I have hired a lawyer who will contact you (if he can find out where the hell you are) and start the process of us ending this so-called marriage. I don’t hate you, but you cannot treat me and your children like we are not even a part of your life. The kids and I will be fine. We have our faith and many good friends—we do not need you.

  Liz

  Joe started to cry. He wasn’t sure why—after all, most of what she said was true. A little biased toward her viewpoint, but Joe had become an asshole. He felt alone and unloved, which he now was. He sat at the kitchen table and cried.

  He went into his home office and collapsed on the sofa, almost immediately asleep—a very familiar pattern.

  The next morning Joe awoke and wasn’t real sure where he was. As it came back to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be there at all. He fixed some coffee and re-read Liz’s note. It made him feel bad. He got dressed and decided he’d have to face the world whether he liked it or not. He drove to his office.

  As he walked in, Lucille handed him a pile of messages. It crossed Joe’s mind that he hadn’t called Lucille either, but she, without question, did not give a shit. His impression was that she was pissed he was back. If he’d taken the time to have a shot of gin for breakfast, he might have just strangled Lucille first thing. Call the cops and confess. Start his new life as a convicted bitch killer. As it was, if he was going to divorce Liz and give up his kids, along with most of his money, he sure the hell was getting rid of Lucille.

  Joe went to his cluttered desk and fell into his chair. The morning has just begun and he was already tired. Most of the messages were from clients wanting one thing or another—nothing critical. There were a couple of messages from Liz. He wasn’t sure that he understood the sequence of the message at the Holiday Inn and these messages—he would think about that later.

  He sorted through the client messages and returned some phone calls on the matters that seemed the most urgent—none of them were. After thirty minutes or so he was all caught up. Great. Go away for a few days and your wife divorces you but no one else really much notices. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, so he simply sat there and waited for something to happen—maybe a sign from God.

  The phone call from God didn’t come, but one from the fucking devil sure did. Liz’s attorney was a real piece of work. Within seconds he had claimed that Joe had had several extramarital affairs and had squandered most of the family’s vast wealth—and, as a professional, had the skills to earn huge amounts in the future, which should all go to his grieving ex-wife and starving children. Someone else to add to the soon-to-be-killed list.

  Surprisingly, Joe was almost calm. He told the man he would have his lawyer contact him and not to call him again, then hung up. Now, of course, he had to hire some goddamn lawyer to exaggerate his side of the deal. Or he could just call the asshole attorney back and say fine, everything was hers—but he would never ever work again so any future earnings would be zero. He honestly wasn’t sure which path to take.

  It was early mid-morning, and Joe was basically done for the day. Working hard to support Liz, his kids, her attorney, Lucille, the IRS. Well fuck it—he was not going to do it anymore. Joe, in his amateur way, realized that he was having some kind of crisis, and that a sane person would probably seek the help of a professional. A less-than-sane person would seek help of a bartender—Joe headed to Triples for an early lunch.

  Mike took the seat next to Joe at the bar. It was about four in the afternoon. “Hey, little early to be shitfaced isn’t it?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your buddy behind the bar gave me a call—said you might need a ride home.”

  “He’s a wise man.”

  “Yep, he is.” Mike helped Joe to his car. No question, Joe could not drive—but it was also obvious he needed a friend. Mike drove him home and started a pot of coffee—for himself. Joe fixed a drink. He talked for a while about Liz and the mess he’d made of his life. There were no solutions, just a lot of misery. Joe fell asleep on his couch and Mike went home. He left Joe a note in case he needed a reminder in the morning of where his car was.

  The next morning Joe was still not right, but he was no longer thinking about a kill list. Mike’s note was much appreciated since Joe didn’t have a clue where his car was. He called a cab and went to work.

  The next few weeks blurred together for Joe. He worked hard and completed a lot of tasks he needed to get done to assist his clients. He’d even been nicer to Lucille, who had not changed at all.

  Joe hired an attorney—some guy he’d met years ago at some alumni thing. The attorney listened to Joe’s story and said Joe was screwed—as if he didn’t already know that. Joe hadn’t seen or heard from Mike since his friend had rescued him from Triples weeks ago.

  Joe’s life would never be the same—how exactly was that a bad thing? He kept trying to find a silver lining in his problems. What bugged him the most, he realized, was the change. He knew his old life was miserable, but he feared change. He didn’t want Liz back, but he didn’t know what was going to happen without her, and that made him worry. He called Mike.

  “Mike, anything happening?”

  “Joe—glad you called. I was going to call and see if you wanted to meet for a drink later. Got a couple of things I need to go over with you.”

  “Sure. Say five at Triples?”

  “See you then.”

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma / Las Cruces, New Mexico

  Joe’s personal life was in the toilet, but Mike sounded like everything was going great with him. Joe suspected that Mike and Sam were getting along much better, and Joe was pleased. Joe didn’t like Sam much, though he didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it was just that she obviously didn’t like him—real mature.

  Joe was sitting in a booth having a beer when Mike arrived. He was trying to cut back on the hard liquor.

  “Beer? Really?”

  “Yeah, everybody keeps saying I’ve turned into a drunk, so maybe I should listen.”

  “I take it things are still shitty with Liz.”

  “Hired a lawyer—he says I’m pretty much fucked. She will get most everything, and I’ll need to work harder for the rest of my life to support her and the kids in the manner they deserve. Not so sure he isn’t in league with her attorney. But I’m okay. It is, after all, my fault. Liz has always been the person she is now—I think I’m the one who changed. Anyway, I’m sick and tired of thinking about me—what’s your news?”

  “Let me know if I can help in any way with the divorce or whatever—okay?”

  “Sure
.”

  “Got a call from the Sheriff in Las Cruces. He had a strange story to tell me about the cabin. Some guy confessed to taking a shot at us. Turns out the guy was using the outbuilding by the cabin to store drugs. This guy was the son of the man who sold the cabin to my father. Some guy named Max was working with the other Sheriff up there in T or C, moving drugs from the border up into Albuquerque and Denver. He said we should come by the next time we were in Las Cruces and he would tell us the whole story.”

  “Drug dealers in T or C, New Mexico—is there no place that’s safe? What’d he say about buying the cabin?”

  “Oh yeah. He said he had made an offer to Chuck and hoped we could close soon. Said he was sick and tired of the whole sheriff business—just wanted to have some peace and quiet. I really like the guy.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Got another call from Jeff. He said they have all of the approvals in place now for me to access the lock box.”

  “Well, how about that. So when are we going to Las Cruces?”

  “How about next Thursday? Flight number 321 leaves at 10:30 am and arrives about 2:30 pm. I’ve rented a car. A bigger one this time, and I’m on the rental as a driver whether you like it or not.”

  Mike had developed a new smugness that was both annoying and intriguing.

  “Count me in. Can’t wait to see what’s inside the mystery lock box.”

  The trip to Las Cruces was a duplicate of the trip a few weeks ago except that Mike drove the rental, a full-size Buick. Mike had been in an upbeat mood since they’d met at the Continental check-in counter. Joe was subdued, which seemed to be his default mode lately.

  Staying again at the Holiday Inn for both convenience and familiarity, they quickly checked in and got settled. There was nothing scheduled for the day, so they agreed to meet later for dinner. Joe took a nap and Mike talked to his wife.

  “Well, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Joe inquired of Mike once they met up. Joe was having a beer and Mike was having an iced tea—change was in the winds.

  “First, we’ll go see Jeff. I was hoping that if everything was in place we could go to the bank and look in the lock box. Then the closing on the cabin is set for 2:00 pm at a title company in the same building as Jeff’s office. Maybe squeeze in some time to spend with the Sheriff and hear more about the cabin drug dealers—but that’s not actually scheduled. So really, we could be done today and have tomorrow morning open. We’re scheduled to fly back to OKC at 4:00 tomorrow afternoon and be back in Oklahoma late in the day.”

  “Sounds very efficient.”

  “Yeah, need to get back home so Sam and I can go to a special revival going on at the church.”

  “You guys seem to be more involved with the church lately.”

  “Yeah. Sam and I are really getting along great and a lot of it is the church and the people there. Kind of hard to describe, Joe, but I think all of this stuff with my dad, learning about his background and things, have made me more aware of who I am and how I want people to think about me. You know it’s still inevitable that I’ll be closing the store and Sam and I are going to take a hit financially—something about all of that has made me closer to God.”

  Oops, there went their friendship.

  “Sam told me about the money she got from her brother’s estate. She wants it to go toward rebuilding our lives. We’ve just never been closer—and I’ve never been happier. I know this isn’t the conversation we normally have, and I know everything in your world is all screwed up, but I tell you, Joe, I could not be any happier right now.”

  Joe ordered a gin and tonic. Screw the beer. “Mike, I couldn’t be more pleased for you. You and Sam make a great team—maybe the financial hardship was what was needed to get you two pulling together.” Jeez, did he just say that?

  “Joe, I want you to know our deal is still on. If there are millions in the lock box, we’re going to share. You’ll always be my best friend.”

  Joe suspected that Mike really didn’t believe what he was saying, but felt that he should say it anyway. Joe knew that the friendship was over and he also knew that there was no way in hell there were millions in the stupid lock box. Loneliness and depression, his old friends, had found Joe in Las Cruces.

  “This may come as a shock to you, Joe, but Sam and I are looking into starting our own church. We’re calling it Legacy Chapel. It’ll be a non-denominational church based on the teachings of the Bible. I have a lot to learn, but I’ve never felt more alive. And I want you to become a member of our church.”

  Holy crap. Not only had he lost a friend, but now he’d have to avoid Mike or put up with sermons and recruitment speeches.

  “Wow, Mike—you, a preacher? This is quite a turn-around. I’m really impressed. I’m not sure what to say.”

  Of course Joe was absolutely sure what to say. What the hell are you thinking? Have you lost your mind? But neither one seemed like an appropriate response. Joe suddenly realized that this was why Mike’s driving had been so normal—he’d found religion and given up speeding. Amazing.

  They chatted for a while, but it wasn’t the same. They were becoming different people. At least, Mike was. They had a sensible dinner and agreed to meet in the morning for coffee before they headed out to the attorney’s office. Mike left for his room. Joe lingered, but only for a short while. He was very tired.

  The next morning, they met in the lobby of the hotel and had coffee, but there didn’t seem to be much to talk about. They left for the attorney’s office—they were going to be a little early, but they needed someone to talk to.

  “Good morning, Joe, Mike. How was your flight?” Jeff seemed in a much better mood than the last time Joe had seen him.

  “Just fine, Jeff.”

  “Well, why don’t we head over to the bank? Rick’ll be waiting for us. Once we got a judge involved everything was corrected real fast. Still don’t know why they took the position they took, but I get the idea from Rick that it probably had something to do with Emerson—you know he owns the bank. I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as you have access now. Ready to go?”

  It was a quick walk over to Citizen’s Bank. Rick was literally waiting at the door when they arrived. He greeted Jeff, and told Mike how sorry he was about the last time they’d met. With a quick glance at Jeff, he said that sometimes lawyers just get in the way.

  “Look, no problem. I know this was a little unusual, so it’s understandable that there were some issues that needed clarification. But, I guess we’re ready to get the lock box now?”

  “Absolutely. Right down these stairs.” Rick pointed to a flight of stairs going into the basement.

  At the bottom they found a large safe with its door standing open and a woman sitting at a table next to the safe door. “This is Ms. Sanchez, who’ll get the lock box for you and show you into a private room. If you need anything more from me, please let her know. Thanks again, Mr. Allen.”

  Ms. Sanchez took the key Mike handed her and examined the number and the back. She returned the key to Mike and entered the safe. She came out with a bank box about the size of a large shoe box. She guided them into a small conference room and set the box on the table. She instructed Mike to insert his key into one of the two openings, then pulled a key from her pocket and inserted it into the other slot. They both turned their keys, and the box unlocked. She told Mike to let her know when he was finished and she left.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone, Mike?” Jeff was still in the conference room.

  “No, I think maybe you should stay.” Joe wasn’t so sure, but said nothing.

  Mike lifted the lid of the box. Inside there was a wrapped package addressed to Sally Thompson, labeled private and confidential. Below that were certificates of some kind, bearing the name Blue Devils Development. Finally, there was a small slip of paper with a series of numbers written on it. That was it.

  “Well, so much for millions.” Mike looked a little disappointed.

  Je
ff looked at the certificates. “These are stock certificates for a company called Blue Devils Development made out to your dad. Kind of interesting—they’re signed by your dad as president and Jim Emerson as vice president. There are two certificates for five-hundred shares each out of a total of a thousand shares in the company. So this means that whatever Blue Devil is, your father owned all of it. Any idea what that means?”

  “None. Strange Emerson didn’t say anything about that company when we talked to him.” Joe had already been pretty sure that Emerson wasn’t trustworthy, and this seemed to confirm that he’d been deliberately evasive.

  “Well, I guess I’ll take this stuff with me—no reason to leave it here.” Mike stuffed everything into a briefcase he’d brought for the purpose. They left the room, thanking Ms. Sanchez as they went.

  Back in Jeff’s office, they gathered around a small conference table in a private room. They were joined by Bill Bates.

  “Maybe I should have told you this earlier, but before this I wasn’t sure it was pertinent. I helped your father establish BDD, Blue Devils Development. These are the original stock certificates for the company. While you were at the bank, I called a friend of mine at the Secretary of State’s Office and he looked the company up in their records. It still exists and it’s still active. My guess is that Emerson has kept the company alive—no doubt, because it benefited him in some way.”

  “Mr. Bates, do you know who Sally Thompson is?” This was from Mike.

  “I had limited dealings with your dad, Mike. So I didn’t know everything that went on in his life. Frankly, it was none of my business. But there were rumors, and some of them involved a very beautiful young woman who accompanied your dad on some of his trips to Las Cruces. I’m not sure I ever heard a name, but for some reason Sally rings a bell. My guess would be she was the girl who was with your dad.”

  Mike didn’t look pleased with this morsel of news. It was one thing to have a father who was a bootlegger—it was something else to have a father who was “accompanied by a young woman.” That just didn’t fit into the image in Mike’s head at all.