The Great Appalachian Cafe Heist

by Tara Gabor

  At the end of the drive Callie looked both ways to be sure no one else was out on such an inhospitable night. She did not expect to see anyone, and she was correct; no other sign of life, either by motor vehicle or hoof, could be seen on the gravel road. She pulled the car out as slowly and quietly as possible, still in first gear. Only after she had left the house several hundred yards behind did she engage the headlights, advancing through the gears.

  She was neither in a hurry nor taking a leisurely spin. She had a mission, a single purpose, which required concentration and caution.

  Three miles down the road from the cabin Callie shared with Daisy, Ruth, and Rose, the gravel road ended, meeting the main, paved road leading down the mountain. A left turn would take her towards May Gayland’s homestead, a right would lead towards Lexington and a local gas station and market, equipped with the nearest telephone.

  Callie hesitated, looking in either direction. The windows of the truck were closed against the cold, and Callie did not hear anything. She jumped when James appeared out of the shadows, tapping the hood in front of her. The headlights gave him a frightening aura, like a lonely apparition in need of a house to haunt.

  “Oh!” Callie exclaimed, “It’s you.” She nodded towards the passenger seat. The door was not locked. It was never locked.

  James crossed in front of the truck, tossing a plastic gas can in the bed before popping into the cab with a grin on his face.

  Chapter 21

  Kyle chewed the last bite of the BLT slowly, enjoying the salty, thick slice of bacon that held the prominent role between paper thin slices of bread and tomato, accented with a layer of arugula from May’s garden, standing in for the more common lettuce he was used to in such a sandwich. He couldn’t complain about his surroundings. He was finally warm, thanks to food, fire, and spiked drink; he was safe, at least at the moment. If only Miz May would talk about something other than birds, especially the parrot, blissfully quiet now.

  “Most birds settle right down at dark. It’s their natural rhythm. Just like it is only natural for people to sleep at night and work during the day. Parrots make the best pets. You should consider taking this one. He could be a right good talker. He already says, ‘What’s Up Doc?’ With proper grooming and training, you could trust him around your children. Of course, the children must know not to poke at him.”

  She continued talking, something about how the tropical hookbill had come to her. Kyle listened with only part of his mind, worried about his pregnant wife. He should have arrived home hours earlier. Bea would be worried. Had she phoned his office at the University? Had they sounded the alarm with authorities already, or was his only hope of rescue dependent on an amateur carrier pigeon system?

  “Perhaps Callie won’t hear Alco1. Then what?” Kyle asked, keeping the skepticism hidden beneath an air of sincerity.

  “Callie is my cousin,” Thomas offered with noticeable pride, his voice deeper and more confident than before. “Her mother and my mother were sisters.” His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “They both died with my Dad when our still exploded. Damn revenuers set a charge to blow up! Three people died. But they didn’t care. They only cared about ruining one more still.”

  There was silence as Kyle looked at the young man. Kyle was touched by the story and would normally ask several questions but for the pain on the youngster’s face. Kyle thought Thomas looked about to cry, but he steeled his jaw and no tears fell.

  “When was this?” Kyle asked softly.

  “A long time ago,” Miz May interjected. “We will never forget them, but life is for the living, isn’t it Thomas?”

  Thomas nodded his head up and down, his mouth set in a straight line.

  “Callie will hear the bird. She’s attuned to many sounds. She never lets us down.”

  That testimony did little to satisfy Kyle. He believed in self-reliance, but in his present situation he had to rely on others. The best he could hope for was the gang hunting him would not find this place, or would pass it by, and the morning would offer more opportunities.

  “Miz May took both Callie and I in after our parents died. Callie moved out a while back to live with other women. She keeps bees and sells honey and beeswax candles. She visits us and brings me candy she buys with some of her own money.”

  “I see,” Kyle said. “What about Callie’s father? Did he die, too?”

  May lifted solemn eyes at Kyle, but she did not interrupt the conversation.

  “No, sir. Callie’s father is in prison for killing one of the revenuers. They say he is a really bad man, but he says he heard ‘em a-laughing at the explosion, proud of it. He could not allow it to stand, he said. He would o’ killed ‘em all, but they got the drop on him. They probably wanted to shoot him straightaway, but there were witnesses, so they took him to prison. I went to see him once with Callie, but she can’t get there very often.”

  Kyle did not doubt a word of the story, but his mouth hung open in disbelief just the same. He deliberately closed his lips. What Kyle knew of moonshine, moonshiners, and revenuers could be summed up by a movie, Thunder Road with Robert Mitchum and Gene Barry, that he watched on late night TV while on a 24-hour shift as an intern. Thomas couldn’t be more than ten or twelve years old. The story sounded like events from a distant past, not the modern sixties, where sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll defined the generation.

  “Callie is very protective. She won’t want you to be scared,” Thomas assured Kyle, looking at his grandmother for validation. She nodded agreement.

  “Callie is a resourceful young woman. She has a good head on her shoulders. She wants to be a teacher and plans to go to college, down in town.” May said.

  “Uh-huh,” Kyle nodded, not yet convinced that the woman May and Thomas described was his best hope to bring the help he needed. He wanted Bea to know he was safe and on his way home, albeit much later than normal. He had never trekked down a mountain after dark, but surely, if the police arrived soon, they could make the trip tonight. He regretted missing Bea’s dinner, always ready at 6, served with the proper accompanying wine.

  The sound of a bump interrupted the tranquility of the cabin. Kyle bolted upright. May quit talking about parrots, and Thomas looked towards the crackling fire. The sound seemed to have come from behind the fireplace.

  A bell tinkled.

  “Mail call,” the parrot said, stirring slightly on his perch.

  “Oh, Alco1 is back already!” May exclaimed, rising from her chair and going to the window. She collected the pigeon, holding the bird around the middle with both hands. Thomas opened the little tube and removed the paper. May motioned towards Kyle with her head, turning her attention to settling Alco1 in for the night. Thomas handed Kyle the miniature missive.

  “Help is on the way,” Kyle read. The words brought solace and immediate relief.

  There came a rustling noise from the back of the house, more vague than the earlier bump, easily mistaken for the movement of the wind.

  Chapter 22

  “I’m glad you decided to come a-calling,” Callie said to James. Since climbing into the truck James had grinned helplessly, unable to form a thought, let alone a sentence.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. Callie was the prettiest girl he had ever gone “a-calling” to.

  “A friend of mine owns the auto shop and store where we are a-headin’,” she began again.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you’re good with cars. Ever think of moving out on your own?”

  The question snapped James out of his trance, and he pondered her query.

  “Where would I go?” he asked.

  Callie considered his innocence. She had sensed his attraction to her, felt his bulge against her when they danced to the radio at her house. Her own experience was limited, but she had the idea James could be devoted to her if she played her sex right.

  “I’m going to Lexington,” she began.

  “All the way there? Why?”

  “I’
m going to college. I want to be a teacher. I need to save more money and get a job, too, but I’ve been accepted to Bluegrass Community with a scholarship. When I graduate from there, I’ll teach and work on my BS degree, that’s Bachelor’s of Science,” she added the last explanation in response to James’ wide-eyed expression.

  “Oh.”

  “Then maybe I’ll work on a Master’s degree. But I don’t know about that,” she admitted.

  “I could tell you were really smart.”

  Callie’s mouth curled into a smile, a blush began at her throat but didn’t reach her cheeks. She knew she was smart, and she knew why. She worked at it.

  “I can tell you are a nice man. A college woman, such as myself, would be lucky to have a nice man, such as yourself, with her in a big city,” she said frankly.

  “Oh.”

  “Do you think you might like that?”

  “Like living with you?” he asked, hardly daring to believe he had heard the question correctly. “In Lexington?”

  “Mm-mh. I would go to school part-time and work part-time, and you would work, and we would be together. We would watch our money, but we could still have fun and explore the city. College students get lots of special discounts.”

  There was a long pause. James could not speak; he did not have words for the flood of thoughts and emotions pulsing through him. Callie let him think. She wasn’t worried, growing more confident every moment that James was the man she had waited for, prayed for. If she were not passionately in love with him was no matter to her. She found him acceptably attractive. If he was the honest, hard-working man she thought he was, she sanguinely believed she could make him happy in and out of bed. Together they could build a life together; she would dream and plan; he would follow and implement.

  “I knew I would leave home one day,” James began slowly, as if this was the first time he had actually considered the day he might leave his family’s home.

  Callie smiled knowingly.

  “Maybe you can come visit again and we can talk more about it,” Callie offered. “I have to deliver an important message to Franklin. My adopted mom needs help. I can’t let her down.”

  James nodded.

  “You’re adopted? I never met anyone adopted before.”

  “Well, Mother May took me and Thomas in when our mothers died. They were sisters and died together in an explosion. They were Cherokee. Our fathers were not, though. But it doesn’t matter, being half Cherokee helped get me a partial scholarship to Bluegrass Community.”

  “Your Pa run off?” James asked, his voice soft with sympathy; his mother often lamented the number of families missing a patriarch due to untimely death in the mines or a selfish decision to leave family and responsibilities behind. Whatever failings his father might have, he stuck by his family, his mother would say.

  “My father is in prison for killing one of the cowards what created the explosion that killed my mother and aunt.”

  “Oh.”

  Callie spoke straightforwardly, as was her habit. James sounded impressed. Explosions and prisons were not everyday subjects.

  “I suppose my circumstance has made me independent,” Callie remarked, in uncommon self-reflection. “And determined to go to school. My mom would like that.”

  “Yeah, moms like that. My mom talks about how great ‘higher learning’ is, whatever that is. My cousin, Guy, says higher learning means getting high at college.” He paused, glancing at Callie. “Do you know what that is?”

  “Yes,” Callie said with a laugh, “I have heard of it on TV. I have never ‘gotten high’, but I get it. I won’t waste my time in college doing that.”

  “Oh, no, I know, of course not,” James mumbled.

  A building came into view as the truck rounded a small curve. The one-room wooden structure was faded red with time. Wooden cutouts of a cow and bull decorated the building’s windowless wall facing the road. Stenciled letters proclaimed “Neighborhood Store” above the painted cutouts; its offerings included milk and eggs from local farmers, hard candy, licorice, home made baked items and canned goods trucked in monthly from Lexington.

  Callie pulled into the drive. The front of the building was adorned with a long, narrow porch, two rocking chairs and a bench that sat empty in the cold, but a light was still on inside. A few hundred yards separated the automotive garage from the store. A nine-foot chain link fence secured the garage and a small lot. The gate was open, the garage lighted.

  Callie parked in front of the front door of the store.

  “Now you go take care o’ what you need. I have to talk to Franklin.”

  She leaned closer to him. Before James realized what she was about, Callie kissed him full on the mouth, her eyes closed while his remained wide opened. When she opened her eyes, James stared at her, the pressure of her lips against his burning an impression on his mouth.

  “I hope you’ll consider my proposal,” Callie said in a whisper.

  “Oh, I will. I really will, Callie.”

  James fumbled out of the door. He took a few faltering steps towards the store, then returned to the bed of the truck. He retrieved the red plastic can and started towards the buildings leaving Callie in the cab.

  Callie’s attention was in front of her. Her arm moved to the doorknob. James saw where she was looking. A man walked towards them. He had dark hair secured under a lined cap, pulled down and covering his ears with large earflaps. As he came closer, James judged his height to be just about six foot. He had broad shoulders emphasized by the wool jacket. The man did not take his eyes from the truck. As he passed James, he reached out an arm and grabbed the gas can.

  “I’ll get this. How much gas ya want?”

  “Huh? Oh, a gallon, please…”

  “Sure. Local calls free, inside the store.”

  James transferred the can to Franklin without ever making eye contact. Callie closed the truck door.

  “Hey, Beautiful! Where you been? Your Franklin’s been missing you.”

  James’ mouth puckered at the blithe words, but he didn’t look back.

  “Franklin, you aren’t mine and you know it.”

  “Say’s who?”

  “Say’s your wife! Now behave; I need your help.”

  James entered the store. Callie’s words made him smile. Boy, she was a strong one, full of plans and gumption, enough for both of them he figured.

  He replayed Callie’s kiss on his lips as his finger selected the digits on the rotary to dial the number he needed.

  “Hello,” his mother answered the call on the first ring.

  “Hello,” James said softly.

  “James. You sound like a lovesick cow. Is everything okay?”

  “Oh. Sure, I guess, I mean I don’t know really.”

  James stammered and shifted his weight nervously. Where should be begin?

  “There’s a girl,” he started.

  Elizabeth laughed, three light notes tinkling through the phone lines.

  “A girl? I thought you were on a hunting trip.”

  “Right.” James started talking and didn’t stop until he had emptied his heart with all the questions he wanted answered.

  Chapter 23

  Guy grew impatient. They were waiting for James to return with the gas in order to threaten the people inside and force the dentist to come out. Then they could “persuade” him to admit he was on his way to turn them in. He didn’t think beyond that, what their next move would be. He knew one thing; he was bored, tired of lurking near the woodpile, freezing his ass off while David stood nearby with his head hung down, as if only he had worries. No point in moping about when there was trouble, Guy thought. A man had to plan. If the world wasn’t treating him right, then by God, he had to change his world. Robbing the cafe had been a rush. He felt like a modern day Butch Cassidy.

  Guy paced back and forth under the moonlight. He was anxious to see action. Turning once again to pace, he noticed a glint near the woodpile. An unlit lantern hung mo
tionless, and Guy wondered if it was broken, sending a shard of glass to the ground. He stopped to examine the area, with nothing better to do. The jug of moonshine was matte brown, providing only an occasional glint, but Guy saw the shape now, the rounded surface of the body and the handle jutting out in variance to the stacked chords of firewood.

  Guy hopefully lifted the jug, his index finger through the handle, judging the weight as he lifted. It felt full! Guy had heard there were still some moonshiners in the area, though their product was private stock and not widely distributed. You had to know someone to get the good stuff. Among the stories told about Miz May, Guy thought there was a moonshine connection, and perhaps home-made shine was not as crazy as the story some told about a chivalrous bear. Made more sense, he thought, to fabricate the bear story to protect the location of a still.

  “What’s that?” his cousin asked. Guy hadn’t heard Jed approach and jumped at the sound.

  “Shhh,” David cautioned, keeping his attention on the road and his own thoughts.

  “Might be whiskey,” Guy whispered.

  He twisted the cork free and tentatively lifted the jug to his lips, tilting it back with his other hand slowly, until a trickle of liquid slid down his throat.

  He lowered the jug and looked at Jed.

  “Well? What is it?”

  “Oh, it’s smooth, is what it is, real smooth. Good shine.”

  Guy lifted the jug again, this time taking a longer drink. The liquor warmed him. He graciously handed the bottle to Jed. They each had several gulps before David took notice and joined in.

  Chapter 24

  Kyle nodded off in spite of the blue and gold macaw nestled in the crook of his arm. Kyle’s head dropped towards his chest, waking him back up. His eyes darted open, and he jerked his head back up, but the bird remained still. Thomas snored softly from his chair. May worked on a sweater she was knitting. Kyle blinked drowsily, feeling both out-of-place and cozy. His eyes focused on May, and she met his glance.

  “What time is it?” he asked.