The Fiercest Enemy

by Rick Reed

  Shaunda said, “We do hoop houses in Sullivan County.”

  “Hoop houses?” Jack asked.

  Liddell said, “You’ve never heard of a hoop house? And you live in Indiana, the corn belt of the nation. Shame on you.”

  “My life doesn’t revolve around food like some people,” Jack answered.

  Shaunda leaned forward and pointed out the front windshield. “See those over there.” She pointed to several of the ‘hoop houses’. “They grow lettuce, asparagus, lima beans, snap beans, carrots and other things all winter in those places. If it snows a couple of feet the sun can get through and the snow acts like insulation. I made a small one, about the size of a school desktop, for science class in my sophomore year.”

  Liddell said, “We’re getting close. The place should be right up…I guess we’re here.” He stopped, backed up and turned down a gravel drive. A split rail fence ran down both sides. The front acreage was used for pasture. A sign at the entrance to the road said, “Rockin’ Round the Clock Horse Boarding”.

  “Angelina said it’s a horse farm. Boarding, riding lessons, and they have a veterinarian living on the grounds. It’s huge,” Jack said.

  Instead of the massive house Jack expected, the main house was a one story sprawling ranch with wood siding and a cinder block foundation. Behind the house were two barns, both twice or three times as large as the main house. Both had a hayloft above them. Unpainted wood rail fencing surrounded at least a hundred acres where a dozen or more horses paid no attention to the newcomers.

  Liddell stopped in front of the house and they got out. Liddell walked toward the barns while Jack knocked at the door. Shaunda stayed near the car looking disinterested. There was no answer at the door, Jack stepped off the porch to see if Liddell was having any better luck. He was.

  Liddell was with an attractive woman walking back towards them. She pulled off a pair of leather work gloves and dusted hay from the front of her plaid shirt and blue jeans. Her bright red hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that ran halfway down her back.

  “C’mon,” Jack said to Shaunda.

  “This is your gig, but okay,” Shaunda said and walked with him.

  Liddell made introductions. “This is Stacy Bronson. Stacy this is Jack Murphy and Shaunda Lynch. Jack is FBI like me and Shaunda is with Dugger, Indiana police.”

  Jack could see a smattering of freckles on Stacy’s cheeks and nose. Her skin was smooth, her eyes ocean green and cautious but not afraid. Friendly, but businesslike.

  Stacy wiped her hand on her shirt and shook hands with Jack and Shaunda. “I’m flattered to have a visit from the law, but Tommy, that’s our vet, is checking the stock and I’m needed inside. What is this about?”

  Chapter 36

  Shaunda walked toward one of the rail fences facing out over the near pasture. “I count twenty-five.”

  Stacy Bronson turned her attention to Shaunda and walked to the fence. She leaned on the rail and gazed proudly at the horses in the pasture. “Twenty-six. One is out for a ride with its owner. I don’t breed here unless it’s a special request. We mostly board for people and provide care, of course. Do you ride?”

  “When I was eight my aunt took me to a stable for my birthday. I got to ride, groom, clean the stables. I wore myself out. It’s not all fun but I loved being around them. They were like people, you know? Only better.”

  Stacy looked at Shaunda and her features softened.

  Shaunda said, “You need at least an acre a horse. I’m betting that pasture is thirty acres or more. How many acres is your ranch?”

  Warming to the subject Stacy said, “Good eye. That pasture is the thirty acres we started with. Eli, that’s my husband, inherited most of this land and the house from his family. Other family members owned farms around us and little by little we bought more. We have close to a thousand acres now. Some we lease to farmers. Some we lease cheap in exchange for feed for the horses.”

  “Wow,” Shaunda said and whistled. “You farm any of it yourself?”

  Stacy laughed. “I have my hands full with what I’m doing. I’m a working owner. I hire temporary workers, of course, but I learned to shoe the horses and help the vet. That’s what I’m doing this morning.”

  “This must be a whole different world from when you were married to Clint?” Shaunda asked.

  Stacy’s face froze. “Is that what you’re here about?” She backed away from the rail and seemed to notice Jack and Liddell again. “Of course it is,” she said. “At first, I thought it might have something to do with the fight in town. Some of my clients want to play at being rodeo cowboys and like to go to the western bars and mix it up.” She looked at Jack and said, “You look like you’re in charge. Ask your questions and let me get back to work.”

  Jack asked the easy questions as tactfully as he was capable of doing and with each one Stacy became more reticent to answer. They learned that she had been married to Clint at a young age—she was seventeen and he was twenty-nine. They were married for two years before his death. She refused to talk about the drugs. One of Jack’s last questions was, “We know he was let go by Union High School where he was a substitute teacher. Do you know about that?”

  An irate Stacy answered, “The principal had it in for him. That’s what that was all about. That and those stupid, immature little bitches who needed to get attention. Clint never touched any of them. He was a kind man.”

  Jack’s last question was, “What happened to the job at Hutsonville High School?”

  It went unanswered and they were ordered off of her property. Stacy, red-faced with anger, turned and stomped off toward the barn.

  “That went well,” Shaunda said when they got back in the car. “She’s a lying bitch. She knew what he was doing. They always know. I don’t understand why she’s protecting him. It’s been seven years. He’s dead.”

  “Feel better?” Liddell asked her.

  “No.” She was about to say something else but sat back and shut up.

  Liddell still had Jack’s phone. “Want it back or are we going somewhere else, pod’na?”

  “Moonshine Pub,” Jack answered.

  “Is that where the call came from?” Shaunda asked.

  “That’s where the anonymous call came from,” Jack said.

  Driving east toward downtown Hutsonville, Jack watched the farm fields recede as they neared city limits. The houses encroached on the fields, first becoming streets, then small blocks of homes built in the 30s, 40s and 50s. Most of the homes were in mint condition despite the warping eighty-year-old wood siding and trim. One home sat behind a chain link fence with just a mustache of grass in front. Most of the homes had brick fireplace chimneys. Homes that old generally had poor to no insulation and used the fireplace to keep the home warm in the cold, cold winters here.

  Following the GPS, he watched as the homes turned into small businesses that turned into block long lengths of storefront of brick and glass and Bedford stone. All the businesses were of the flat roof design. He slowed and watched the windows for signs of the Moonshine Pub. Just like in Dugger many of the businesses had been multipurposed or were closed and for lease. A Yoga studio was in what was once a bank. Some sported apartments on the second floor of the building. Even these had ‘for rent’ signs on the doors. Just like every other small town there was a problem keeping or attracting residents and workers. Kids graduate and can’t wait to go away to college. Most never come back. Businesses are vacant because there is little need for a small clothing store, grocery store, or even a gas station/garage on a corner when you can drive five miles outside the city and go to a super Walmart, or a JCPenney, or cineplex, or get gas ten cents cheaper than what the little guy can afford to charge for it.

  Liddell must have been reading Jack’s thoughts. He said, “In fifty years these businesses will all become yuppie apartment/condos with roof gardens a
nd pubs and art galleries.”

  Shaunda said, “If it doesn’t turn into tattoo parlors, vape shops, massage parlors, Quick Cash, liquor stores and a church on every corner to save their misguided souls.”

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Jack said.

  “I’m not very old,” Shaunda said, “but I’ve heard all the old stories about Dugger. It was a booming town once, and blind tigers were all the rage. Then the state legislature made blind tigers illegal and then came Prohibition and the Depression and everything went down the toilet.”

  “Blind whats?” Liddell asked.

  “Blind tiger. It’s an illegal liquor establishment. They predated the speakeasies of the Prohibition Era. In 1907 the Indiana legislature outlawed unlicensed liquor sales. A blind tiger was operated out of a closed up bar or store. They would take some bricks out of the wall and you could walk down an alley, reach inside the hole, give them ten cents, and get a beer.”

  “Why did they call them ‘Blind Tiger’?”

  “There was a sign on the wall outside of the one in Dugger that read: 10 cents for a peek at the blind tiger. Everyone knew what was going on, but no one was going to stop it. Even the cops were in on it back then,” Shaunda said.

  “Where did you get all that?” Jack asked her.

  “Rosie. She’s a history buff. I guess you noticed all the coal mining stuff she’s collected. She’s given a bunch of it to the Coal Miner Museum or the upstairs of her place would be full of it.”

  “Coal Miner Museum,” Jack said. “Is that in Dugger?”

  “You need to see it sometime. I’ve taken Pen there a bunch of times. I saw how little I knew about Dugger’s history. Rosie’s helping me teach Pen at home. One reason I don’t want her in high school is I don’t want her to graduate with her only knowledge being what drug to take or how to party down. She’s going to have a better life than me.”

  Jack thought that was every parent’s wish for their kids. Somewhere along the way money and work interfered and the kids were taught values by each other and hormones lit the way. No more did you hear of families sitting together at the dinner table or going to church as a family or believing in a power higher than the dollar.

  Jack’s mom had stayed home, his dad worked long hours, but they spent every dinner together, talking, discussing school, plans, good or bad things that happened. He didn’t understand how he’d let his career as a cop take over his life, but it had happened. That obsession had kept him away from home when Katie was pregnant last time. When she had really needed him, he was gone. When Katie had lost the baby, he’d drawn away from her rather than closer. They should have comforted each other. He would always feel guilt for her losing their daughter and he would feel guilty for abandoning Katie emotionally.

  Katie was pregnant again, they were back together, planning to get married. He’d do it right this time. He’d loosen up and not treat every case as if it was the world. Instead he’d try living in the world and enjoying it with his wife and child. Maybe a son this time. Jake, after his father. Or Jackie if it was a girl. He thought he was getting obsessed with these cases. Not a good sign.

  He was pulled out of his reverie by Liddell saying, “Whoa, pod’na! Pull over.”

  His thoughts had put him on autopilot and he had driven right past the Moonshine Pub. He turned around, went back and almost drove past it again. It was easy to miss. Whoever made the 911 call from here must have known of its existence. Any stranger would have driven right by like Jack had done.

  The pub was squeezed between a vacant store and an antique store. A green shingle awning protected the entrance. Wrought iron rails were in place on each side of the two concrete steps to give the pub the appearance of complying with handicap regulations. There was a sign on the door glass, white print on a black background:

  IF YOU NEED HELP

  GETTIN’ IN

  OR GETTIN’ OUT

  GIVE A SHOUT

  So much for ADA compliance.

  “I’ll wait in the car,” Shaunda said.

  “We need you,” Jack said. To her questioning look he said, “Show of force. Never go in a bar except in numbers.”

  She grunted, got out and went with them.

  Jack pulled the thick oak door open and they all entered the shotgun style pub. It was a 1930s building that still had all the furniture from the period. Heavy wooden tables with wooden chairs ran down the left wall. A well-worn pathway ran down the middle of the scuffed plank floor. A wooden bar ran at least twenty feet down the right side of the room. Behind the bar were the customary displays of hard liquors, no wines, and big jars of pickled eggs and pig feet. Beer taps were at the front by the register.

  A scrawny man with a wrinkled face, prominent brown teeth and dressed in gray Dickie pants and long sleeve Dickies shirt was wiping down the already spotless bar top with a dishtowel. He looked over the newcomers through the thick lenses of gray plastic-framed glasses. Seeing Shaunda in uniform gave him a start.

  Jack guessed the bartender was in his 50s but he gave off the vibes of someone that had lived a long, hard life. Jack asked, “Have you got a phone I can use?”

  The bartender hitched a thumb towards the gloomy back of the business where sunlight seemed afraid to penetrate. The law had changed disallowing smoking in most places, but this place smelled like it was made from second hand smoke. Jack started to walk to the back.

  Without taking his eyes off Shaunda, the bartender said, “Paying customers only.” He wiped his hands on the now dirty rag. “You buying something?”

  “We’ll all have canned Cokes to go,” Jack said.

  “That’ll do,” the man said, and motioned with his head at the back of the room.

  “You’re buying,” Jack said to Liddell and walked to the back. A hallway led down the right wall to an exit sign that glowed red over a door. The door was propped open with a brick. There were two doors on the left of that hall. One door was marked “PRIVATE” the other “NECESSARY ROOM”. On the wall next to the exit was an old-fashioned pay phone. Jack dug around for a quarter, lifted the handset, slid the quarter into the slot and heard a dial tone. He dialed Angelina’s number and she answered with “Jack?”

  “How did you know it was me?” he asked.

  “You’re at the Moonshine Pub and no one else would be calling me from that number.”

  “This is a pay phone hanging on the wall,” he told her.

  “It’s the same number as the bar’s business line. Did you put money in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hang up and try calling me again without money this time,” she said.

  He did. The call went through easily.

  Angelina said, “You may be able to get your quarter back if you ask the bartender.”

  “It’s a small amount to pay to hear your lovely sarcastic voice.”

  “You romantic dog,” she said. “Do you need something?”

  “Yeah. You told me Shaunda had an aunt. Can you find out if the aunt is still alive? If she is, see if she still lives at the address you gave me.” Angelina said she would and they disconnected.

  He looked inside the bathroom. It was a one-seater and empty. He tried the door marked PRIVATE. It was locked. He walked back to the front where Liddell was waiting with two canned drinks and several packages of Fritos. Shaunda had gone back outside.

  Jack leaned on the bar and held his FBI credentials open. The bartender deliberately ignored him.

  “I’m here on federal business,” Jack said in a not too threatening voice and got the man’s attention.

  “I’m trying to locate some witnesses. I figure if they live within fifty miles of this fine place they would spend time in here. I know I would.”

  Liddell pulled up the photos of all the victims and handed his phone to the bartender. Without asking what the witnesses
had witnessed, the man disinterestedly flipped through the pictures. He paused at the picture of Clint Baker, eyes sharpening, before going on. He flipped quickly backward through the pictures and handed the phone back.

  “Did you recognize any of them?” Jack asked.

  “A lot of people come through here,” the man said.

  “I’m sure they do,” Jack said. “You stopped on one picture. Do you know him?”

  “I don’t know any of them.”

  Jack could see he wasn’t going to get an identification from this guy. He asked, “Do you remember a guy’s body being found down by the Wabash about seven years ago?”

  “My memory ain’t as good anymore,” the man said. “But come to think of it, I do remember hearing something about a man drowning himself. Long time ago.”

  “Did the police come in here asking about that?” Jack asked.

  “You mean today?”

  “Not today. Seven years ago. Did they police come in and talk to anyone about the guy you thought drowned himself?”

  “I don’t recall that.”

  “Do policemen come in here?”

  “No need. Never any trouble here. We keep ourselves to ourselves,” the old man said and smiled, showing only gums and rotted brown teeth.

  Jack thanked him for being open and honest and they went outside. Shaunda was already in the back seat of the Crown Vic.

  “He tell you anything?” Shaunda asked.

  “He was lying but he seemed to recognize Clint Baker,” Liddell said, starting the engine.

  “Maybe he wasn’t working here back then?” Shaunda suggested.

  “He’s been at the Moonshine Pub since God said ‘let there be light.’ If you’d have stayed with us you would know all this,” Jack said to her.

  “I thought my uniform was intimidating him,” she said.

  “He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, that’s for sure,” Liddell said, and pulled a bag of Fritos open.

  “You’re going to get my steering wheel all greasy,” Jack complained.