by B. A. Savage
“I don’t do that kind of work. But you can find private eyes who will do it a lot cheaper than me.”
“I’m sorry, you misunderstand me. It isn’t what you think.”
“Well, why don’t you explain it to me?”
“My husband in trouble, Mister Stone, and I need you to help him.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“We own a bar on West 6th Street, mostly neighborhood customers. Well, six months ago, two men came in and told my husband he was going to start buying liquor from them, and delivered their first shipment, 12 cases of illegal alcohol.”
“So, your husband’s bootlegging?”
“I want you to find out where their alcohol is made and the names of the men who are selling the stuff. Once you got it, I’ll go to the police and shut them down.”
“And what do you think will happen to your husband?”
“I give them the information and they will agree not to arrest him.”
“You know, you could be wrong. Because the local police may not make that kind of deal. Illegal alcohol is the Feds’ job. That’s who you should be talking to, not a private eye.”
“But, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“They will kill him. A few nights ago, when they made their delivery, Paul told them he was out, and if they didn’t leave him alone, he was going to the cops. And they beat the hell out of him. If I had their names, the police could arrest them before they get a chance to hurt my husband again.”
“Well, why don’t you just ask your husband for the names?”
“He won’t give them to me. I don’t know what else to do. You are the only help I have. Mister Stone, please help me.”
“Alright, Mrs. Towne, if I come up with anything, I’ll be back for my retainer.”
“Mister Stone, please don’t tell my husband I hired you.”
“Why would I? You haven’t hired me yet. But, later on, I’m going to have to tell him.”
“Why?”
“Bootlegging is illegal. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Two
As I pull out of the Towne’s residence, I noticed I was being followed. He wasn’t a pro because he stuck out like a first grader. So I decided to play along to see what might happen.
I didn’t know much about bootlegging, so my next stop was to find out what I was getting myself into.
I pulled over across from the police department, crossed the street, and went inside. The guy following me parked down the street and ran to a phone booth.
I took the elevator to the second floor and walked down to the end of the hall to a door with the name ‘Lieutenant Morgan’ on it.
“What can you tell me about bootlegging, Vic?” I asked.
“It depends on what you want to know.”
“Is moonshining big in Central City?”
“Are you kidding, there is more moonshiners out there than drug dealers.”
“Well, that shows what I know.”
“Most illegal alcohol is made down in the southern part of the state but people are still setting up these illegal operations out in the counties.”
“Well, if you can make it, why do you have to buy it?”
“You like Scotch, don’t you?”
“Yes, Vic, you know that’s my drink.”
“How much does a bottle Scotch run?”
“It usually runs me $10.00.”
“Well, Randall, out of $10, $2.50 goes into Federal taxes, and the fact that the bootlegger doesn’t have to buy any bottles, labels, or packing crates means they make a lot of profit on what they sell.”
“How much can they make?”
“Good location, a good operation? Several thousand a week.”
“Vic, as far as you know, is anyone doing it around here?”
“Alright, Randall, what’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on; I’m just asking a few questions. You know, from one professional to another.”
“I know you’re full of shit. Now, come on, pal, why are you asking?”
“I have a client.”
“She must be pretty.”
“She’s not bad.”
“She mixed up in White Lighting?”
“What’s White Lighting?”
“Illegal alcohol, my friend, they call it White Lighting, Moonshine White Mill, there's a hundred names for it. You have a client making it?”
“No, he’s not doing anything like that. He’s just in a little trouble, and I’m trying to help him out.”
“Look, Randall, if I were you, I would contact the Feds and let them handle this. Dealing with illegal alcohol is big time, Randall. Don’t try to handle this alone.”
“I can’t talk to the Feds, Vic.”
“Well, I don’t have your back on this one, Randall. You walk out of here, I’m calling the Feds.”
“Vic, this guy’s in trouble. If I go to the Feds right now, it’s only going to make this worse.”
“Well, if you hold back from the Feds, you are in trouble, too. By not telling the Feds, you could be looking at losing your license and two years in jail. I don’t want to see that, Randall. Why don’t you call the Feds?”
“You’re not listening, Vic. I have a client to protect.”
“Well, I have to do my job.”
“Give me 48 hours. If I can’t clear this up, I’ll be back.”
“I can’t do that. You call them now, or I will.”
“You do what you have to do. I will be back in 48 hours.”
Chapter Three
The Towne’s bar is just like their home, neat and clean. It was the first time in years I have drunk from a glass without the soap scum.
When I stepped up to the bar, I caught the eye of a beautiful blonde sitting in a corner of the bar. She was doing everything to get me to come over and join her, but I only had 48 hours to close this case. So she would have to wait for another day.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?”
“I’ll take a Scotch, on the rocks. Bartender, has there been someone here looking for me?”
“I don’t know, what is your name?”
“I’m Randall Stone.”
“No, Mister Stone, not here.”
“He is supposed to meet me here around one. You care if I wait for him?”
“As long as you keep liquor in your glass, you can sit here all day.”
“What happened to your face? It looks like someone knocked the shit out of you.”
“I had too much to drink last night and fell down some stairs.”
“I always wanted to own a bar like this, small local clients. From the look at the crowd, you must do pretty well.”
“I pay the bills.”
“Neighborhood bar like this, no overhead. I bet you’re doing very well.”
“Okay, Mister Stone. Who are you? Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m not a cop.”
“Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Hey, pal, calm down. I am just talking, I don’t mean any harm.”
“Why don’t you go talk someplace else?”
“Okay,” I said, downing my Scotch and standing up.
“Stone, tell your friends twice a month is enough. I don’t need any spies watching me.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s all I need to say.”
“Look, pal. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“If you don’t know what I’m talking about, get the hell out of here.”
As I walked to the door, the blonde called my name.
“Hey, Stone, you need some company?”
“Not today, sweetheart, I’m a little busy.”
“Too bad, Stone, your loss.”
She was a looker, too bad I couldn’t stay.
Chapter Four
I stepped out of the bar in the Central City June heat and walked around the back on the building. As I step to the car, someone called my name.
“Mister Stone.”
“Who are you? What are you doing in a bar?”
“Having a drink, why?”
“What were you talking to him about?”
“Who are you, his mother?”
“I’m Ryan. What do you have to do with him?”
“Look, pal, why are you asking me these questions?”
“Stay away from him and stay away from his wife.”
“So, you were the one following me this morning. Let me give you a little warning, dirt bag. I’m not Rick Towne, I hit back.”
“Well, you’re a tough guy, aren’t you?”
“What are you going to do if I say the hell with you?”
He must not have liked what I said, because he sucker punched me in the jaw. And I’m out like a light.
“Stay away from the Towne punk. Or next time, I won’t be so nice.”
Chapter Five
“The guy’s name is Randall Stone; it was on his car registration.” Ryan said.
“But you didn’t find out who he was?” a voice asked over the phone.
“He was a smart ass, so I smacked him around a little.”
“You should have found out who we are dealing with first.”
“But you told me−”
“Shut up, what do you think this is some penny-pinching operation? I want this guy, what’s his name, Rick. I want you to bring him down here. I don’t care if you have to beat the hell out of him. Bring him to my office. I want to know who’s helping him. If he’s trying to bring in outside help, I want it stopped. If you don’t take care of him, I will take care of you.”
Chapter Six
After I had scraped my ass off the sidewalk, I staggered to the car and drove to the Towne’s home.
“Mister Stone, please come in,” Sherry said, holding the pit bull with her free hand. He displayed his teeth when we shook hands.
“Well, I thought I’ll come back to tell you I won’t be able to take your case.”
“Why?”
“Well, this morning, when I talked to you, I didn’t know how big this operation was. The Federal Government maybe in on it now. As a matter of fact, I could lose my license for not reporting your husband. When I leave here, I’m going to go down there and tell them everything I know.”
“Please don’t do that, Mister Stone.”
”If you want to help your husband, tell him to let the Feds handle it.”
“These guys will kill him. I know they will.”
“Your husband is already in trouble. If the Feds find out what he’s doing, he is looking at serving time.”
“So, you won’t help us?”
“I’m going to the Feds.”
“I was told you could help.”
“I wish I could.”
The front door opens.
“Sherry, are you home?” It was her husband. He sees me and a frown cross his face. “What are you doing here?”
“Wait a minute, Rick.” Sherry said.
“No, I want an answer.”
“I had to speak with your wife.”
“Why? What’s going on here, Sherry?”
“I hired him, Rick.”
“Why?”
“I want him to help you.”
“You are a private detective?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s why you were at the bar this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“I wish you didn’t leave.”
“What’s wrong, Rick?” his wife asked.
“I’m in trouble and I don’t know what to do. You remember the blonde who followed you out of the bar, Stone?”
“How could I forget her?”
“She’s dead.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“She was just sitting there and grabbed her stomach and start screaming, falling to the floor.”
“What was wrong with her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I thought she was drunk. I took her to the office to let her get some rest. I went to get her some coffee, and when I come back, she’s dead. It was the illegal alcohol, it must have been. I got all the customers out of the bar and locked up.”
“Are you sure she’s dead?” I asked.
“Yes, believe me, she dead.”
“Who are the people you’re getting the liquor from?” I asked.
“I don’t know their names.”
“If you need to purchase more liquor, how do you contact them?”
“I don’t. Every two weeks, they show up, drop off a few cases, and drive off.”
“What if you sell out and need more, how do you contact them?”
“They left a card with a phone number on it. It’s in the bar.”
“We better go there and get this card.”
Chapter Seven
We drove down Keystone Road, all the way to Western Avenue. When I turned onto Armstrong Mill, I pulled out my cell phone.
“Lieutenant Morgan, please.”
“Hello, Lieutenant Morgan.”
“Vic, this is Randall. It’s what I was talking about earlier.”
“The Feds have already have a warrant out for your arrest. You better get down here and take care of it.”
“I would, but I can’t right now. I would owe you if you gave me a few hours. There’s been a death from the alcohol.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the time to explain it. Just get over to 430 West Sixth Street as soon as possible.”
“Where are you?”
“A few blocks from Sixth Street.”
“Now wait a minute, Randall. What did you say about a death?”
“I’ll explain it when I see you, bye.”
Chapter Eight
Rick called the number several times while we waited for the police, but got no answer.
“Give me their number, Rick.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll see if I can get a trace run on the number and have the police check the address.”
“Maybe I should go, before the police show up.”
“I’m not going to stop you.”
“Come on, Sherry. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not going, Rick.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not running.”
“What’s wrong with you, are you crazy? Do you know what will happen to me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not leaving.”
Rick walked to the back door, opened it, and two thugs walk in.
“Hello, Mister Towne. Hey, that’s the guy from the bar.” the guy said, pointing at me.
“Hey, Stone, put that cell phone down.” the other guy said, pointing a pistol at me.
The pit bull starts to growl, displaying his teeth. “Shut that fucking dog up before I shoot him in the head.” the big one said.
“You must have liked that ass beating outside the bar, because you didn’t listen.” the short guy said.
“Why, don’t you try it again, punk, but this time while I’m looking?” I told him.
“Why are you here?” the big guy asked.
“Mister Towne hired me to take care of what’s going on here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a body in the office and your alcohol killed her.”
“How do you know? She could have died from a heart attack or something,” he replied.
“You know your alcohol killed her. Now what are you going to do about it?” I asked him.
The big guy smiled. “Why should we do anything about it?”
“Your liquor killed her, and now you are facing murder charges, not me,” Rick said.
“So, what, you want your money back? Look, Towne. You’re in this shit as deep as we are. If we go down, you go down.”
“Well, pal, we’ll see about that,” I told him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mister Towne was forced to sell that alcohol
by you.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to, the video cameras caught everything. And it’s on the way to the D.A.’s office right now. This whole fucking shakedown is on tape. By six o’clock this evening, your faces will be all over the news.”
“He’s full of shit, Thorne, there’s no video in this dump. I’ve looked.” said the little guy.
“I wasn’t talking about this place. Look around, pal. There’s a check cashing place across the street, a bank two doors down, and a government building on the corner. A few days ago, you beat Mister Towne up out back, and the building on the left caught you on tape and when this punk sucker punched me earlier, his face was recorded.”
“Enough talk; let’s take them down to see the boss. Now that Stone’s here, we can make this a clean sweep.”
“Look, sir, Sherry has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t even know what’s going on here, why don’t you just let her go?” Rick asked.
“The bitch has seen our face, no witnesses, now let’s go.”
The big guy reaches for Sherry, and the pit bull attacks, tearing at his arm with such force, he loses his grip on the pistol, which goes flying across the floor. The short punk and I must have had the same idea because we both go after the gun.
He slams his shoulder into my chest, knocking me back. He dives for the gun, and I jump on top of him. We wrestle around on the floor like two school kids. The pit bull sees us fighting and runs over and attacks my leg.
The tall guy tries to get to his feet and Rick attacks him. The dog turns and attacks the tall man again.
The short punk throws a right at my face. I block him and shove my elbow into his ribs. He screams out in pain but delivers another punch to my stomach that connected. I drive my knee into his balls. He opens his mouth to scream again and I punch him in the jaw, knocking him out.
I turn to see the big man standing over Rick, delivering punch after punch into Rick’s face while the dog stands back and watches. I run over and break a beer bottle across his head.
“Is everything alright, Randall?” Vic said, walking in the door.
“There are the guys selling the illegal alcohol, Lieutenant,” I said, pointing at the thugs.