As the cars turn onto the Coconut Grove road, he signals them to pull over.
Jack watches the sheriff amble over, one hand causally resting on his sidearm. What is it with these small-town sheriffs? All thrust and swagger. Jack had met more than his share playing the honky-tonks and small-town bars before he hooked up with the Mills Brothers and the bigtime circuit in Miami. Most of these local deputies had a mean streak for out-of-towners, especially musicians.
“Afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Afternoon. Where you boys headed?”
“To a place just past Coconut Grove. A little café called Gator Joe’s. We’re the Mills Brothers and we’re playing there this weekend.”
“That so? You wanna give me your permit? I just want to make sure everything’s in order.”
“You mean my driver’s licence?”
“No, son. Your music permit. Coconut Grove has an entertainment tax they charge all out of town bands. You gotta have a permit to play here.”
“I never heard of no permit. Where do we get one of those?”
“You’ll need to make a stop at the town hall. But I wouldn’t bother.”
“Why not?”
“They’re closed.”
“The whole town hall is closed?” Frank Mills had gotten out of the other car and wandered over to find out what was going on.
“Sheriff says we need a permit, and there’s an entertainment tax for out of town bands. And that the place where they sell the permits is closed.”
“Until Monday” Deputy Roy says.
“But it’s only Thursday.”
“Yup. Closed ‘til Monday. It’s a shame but you fellas won’t be playing here this weekend. Not without the permit.”
“Well, I’ll be darned. That’s gotta be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. What do you want to do, Frank?”
“We’ll not get another gig at this late date.”
“Tell you what, boys. I feel real bad that your plans have changed. Obviously, you’re going to be out of pocket.” Deputy Roy pulls out a wad of dollar bills from his pocket. Licking his thumb, he starts counting them off. “How about I make it worth your while to turn around and head back to Miami. A little something for gas and your trouble.”
“For gas and our trouble.” Jake and Frank share a look. “Thanks, Sheriff,” Frank says, holding out his hand.
* * * *
Edith checks the clock—again. “Where the heck are the Mills Brothers? Shouldn’t they be here by now? I thought you said they wanted to rehearse?”
“They said that they’d be here by noon. It’s not that long a drive and this place isn’t that hard to find. But you know musicians,” Mae says, shrugging.
“Okay, we’ll give them until three, but then you’d better call and figure out what’s going on.”
“I have the number for their manager. I’ll call it at three.”
Edith looks over the stage, pleased with the results of Darwin and Leroy’s efforts. Solidly built, there’s no give to the floor. Darwin has rigged up a string of bulbs for stage lights. On the back wall, Edith has hung a bunch of tourist posters from Miami. It looks good, except for the four lonely chairs that sat onstage.
The rest of the tables fit in nicely around a small dance floor. Edith’s made a big chalkboard sign on which she’s listed the bands Mae has booked. Darwin’s hung it behind the bar.
Edith checks the clock—again.
“There’s no answer.” Mae hangs up the telephone.
The calls out continue past three.
“Still no answer.”
“Keep calling. It’s five o’clock” They’ll not have time to do anything else but set up now. I hope this isn’t going to be another Grand Opening disaster.”
At six thirty, the first of the patrons start to wander in. They grab the tables next to the dance floor.
By seven thirty, the place is packed and Edith is pouring a round on the house. It is obvious that the band is a no show. Folks are grumpy, staying for their free drink and then wandering off to another spot that has local music playing.
Edith’s jaw is rigid as she looks at the stage and at the crowd. The crowd she had been dreaming about is here, thanks to a good idea and hard work, and now it’s melting away. So many mouths to spread the word that Gator Joe’s is a bust.
Mae comes up to the bar with a drink order, and Edith slams a glass down so hard it shatters.
By ten-thirty, Edith shuts off the lights and closes the place. “What a lousy night. Word must be out that the band was a no-show. I can’t afford to keep pouring free drinks for disappointed patrons.”
“What do you think happened?” Mae asks. “I talked to Jake myself at the beginning of the week and everything seemed fine.”
“I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it. Keep trying to find him. This is Thursday. We could still rescue Friday and Saturday if we can track him down.”
* * * *
Mae’s on the telephone at the crack of dawn the next day. Jake’s news is puzzling.
“An entertainment tax and a permit? There’s no such thing, Mae,” Edith says.
“Well, that’s what Jake said. Some sheriff stopped them as they were coming into town. And then slipped them a little something for their inconvenience when they turned around to head back to Miami.”
“I bet it was those damn Wharf Rats. They must have Deputy Purvis on the payroll.”
“Are you sure? I can understand the deputy—paying off cops is just good business. But what would pirates care about Gator’s for? Just pay them the protection money and be done with it.”
“I would be happy to, but they never ask. Just cause trouble, instead. They haven’t given me any other option except to get out of town.”
“That doesn’t sound like pirates. That sounds like somebody with an axe to grind.”
“Regardless, the stage is still dark.”
“Let me make a few more calls,” Mae says. “I’m sure Meyer or Bugsy could spare a couple of guys to ride shotgun. The Mills Brothers were advertised for a weekend engagement and they’re going to deliver.”
* * * *
Meyer’s torpedo sits slouched at the back of the room. Black shirt and tie under a pin-striped suit.
It’s that the fella that was here the first night and then again Opening Night. Why would Lansky be checking up on me? And could he look any more like a big city gangster?
As Edith gets the bar ready for the night, the band sets up and rehearses. Not bad. Not bad at all. Now, all we need is a full house tonight and tomorrow to make up for last night.
By eight the place is hopping, as are Mae and Edith who are scrambling to keep up with thirsty patrons looking for a good time on a Friday night. Darwin and the gangster sit brooding in the corner. An odd addition to the table in the corner is Billy Shaw from the Coast Guard.
He must be gathering stories to share at the base.
The band has the crowd up and dancing. Thursday night is forgotten; everyone’s energized, laughing, talking, shouting, dancing, and drinking. There’s lots of drinking with the weekend ahead.
The trouble starts at eleven when a couple of guys stand up and start throwing punches. It’s not a fair fight; one of the ones that started the fight obviously has some training in the boxing arena, judging from his technique, the cauliflower ear, and the crooked nose.
Nancy gets shoved off her chair. Harley lets out a yell and jumps up with fists flying. Women are screaming, tables get knocked over, beer’s spilled, glasses and bottles break, more punches are thrown. It’s a real brawl.
“Darwin,” Edith shouts. Darwin and the gangster try separating the fighters, but there are too many. The band stops playing and watches the mayhem.
The gangster pulls his gun and fires at the ceiling.
“Joint’s closed,” he bellows into the shocked silence.
Edith locks the deadbolt behind the last customer. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” she says to Mae, a quaver in
her voice. Grabbing a broom, Edith begins to sweep up the broken glass. Mae starts clearing the glasses on the tables still standing. Leroy and Darwin are righting tables and chairs. A few with broken backs or legs are put to one side to be repaired. The band packs up their equipment.
“That was quite the night,” Frank says. “Will it be okay if our instruments stay here? We’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“I hope there’s less excitement then. Thanks for your help getting the crowd calmed down,” she says, nodding to the gangster. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Mr. Lansky said I was to travel with the band both days. In case of trouble.”
“Then we’ll see you all tomorrow,” says Edith, unlatching the door.
“I appreciate your help with the band, Mae. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Mae folds Edith in her arms. An embrace that takes in all the trials and tribulations of getting Gator Joe’s this far. Over Mae’s shoulder, Edith smiles a thank you to Darwin. Leroy, not to be left out, scampers over and tries to stretch his skinny little arms around both women.
“Don’t think nothing of it, sweetie,” whispers Mae. “It looks like you’re in it for the long haul and, like they say, if you want to go fast, go alone. But if you want to go far, go together. The three of us will get this mess sorted.”
With his arms still wrapped around the two women, Leroy pipes up, “The four of us, don’t you mean?” which earns Leroy an especially tight squeeze.
“What are the odds that this was a coincidence?” Edith asks Darwin as they drag another table into place.
“I think you need to deal with the Wharf Rats.”
“Mae and I have a plan. This time tomorrow they won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Two gun molls solving a problem?” Darwin says, chuckling. “I’m not sure I want to be around for that.”
“No shots will be fired, or at least not by us,” Edith says. “There’s a special part of the plan that only you’re going to be able to carry off. Game?”
“My daddy always says not to dig up more snakes than you can kill. I aim somebody’s got to go along to keep you gals from trouble.”
“You know your way around the main pier by now, right?”
Darwin nods.
“Okay, we’re going to be looking for a particular boat.”
Mae joins them. “If you’re right, Edith, and the Wharf Rats did start the trouble tonight, you have a real problem. Nothing worse for business than a reputation as a rough joint. Darwin’s fast boat may have solved part of the pirate problem, but those Rats are on land as well. And they seem to be gunning for you.”
“I’m just talking to Darwin about the last piece of the plan. Are you ready to go tonight?” Edith asks, leaning on her broom and surveying the shattered room.
“Ab-so-lutely. Dawn raids are my specialty. Darwin, are you driving the get-away truck?”
“Ab-so-lutely.”
“Are you going on a road trip? Can I go, too?” Leroy asks, bringing in a box for the broken glass.
“No.” All three bark at once.
“Geez. I never get to go anywhere,” he says, sulking off to the corner with the box to finish cleaning up the broken glass.
The three adults huddle in the other corner, out of earshot.
“The plan is brain over brawn. We’re going to let the Coast Guard do our work for us. If everything goes according to plan, the Wharf Rats will have a shot across their bow on behalf of Gator Joe’s and be out of our hair for a while.”
Darwin and Mae grin. “I like the sounds of this,” Darwin says.
“Darwin’s reconnaissance. You’ll need to know which boats belong to the Wharf Rats down at the main pier.”
“I already know. It’s no secret,” Darwin says, nodding. “But they have somebody keeping watch all the time.”
“Okay. I figured that would be the case. It’s what I’d do. You’re also the distraction, Darwin. I need you to get close enough to the guard to take him out of commission for a while. Maybe an hour. Can you do that?” Edith asks.
“Yes.”
Edith nods. “Good. Here’s what we’re going to do—”
Chapter 56
A thin sliver of pink separates the black ocean from the inky blue sky. Tottering along the marina, in Coconut Grove, a man staggers, singing a ribald song and taking swigs out of the bottle he carries.
He approaches the white-haired man keeping watch at the end of the Wharf Rat pier.
“Mornin’ mishter, I lost my boat. The darn things gone. Have you sheen it?” The drunken man swings his arms wildly, searching the marina.
“Get lost. Your boat’s not here.”
The drunk staggers close, the fumes from spilled whiskey make the white-haired man back up.
“You took it. You stole my boat,” the drunk shouts at the other man, stepping closer and giving him a shove.
“Hey, back off.” He shoves the drunk, who spins as if knocked off balance; his arms are windmills. As the white-haired man laughs, the supposed drunk wheels around, his fist driving home a brutal hook punch on the other man’s jaw. As he crumples, his chin is met with an uppercut. The pale man collapses and is still.
Suddenly erect and sober, the actor nudges the inert man with his foot. Seeing no movement, he signals to two figures to join him on the pier. Their bent silhouettes, each carrying a sack over their shoulder, have the look of mariner Santa Clauses. The lead figure pauses in front of the Revenge and looks left and right. Confident she is alone; she climbs aboard the Wharf Rats’ boat. As she moves, the muffled clink of glass is the only sound beyond the slapping of the waves, the soft groan of rope and lines, and the jangle of the metal shrouds. Santa’s helper moves to the next boats, the Genuine Risk and Black Mariah. Soon, the two figures are back on the dock, their bags empty.
When they’re clear of the dock, the figures hug each other, and one is swung right off the ground. There are suppressed giggles and guffaws with shushing and hushing. Arms around each other’s shoulders, they make their way back to a beat-up old truck parked by the entrance to the pier.
* * * *
Darwin follows the directions of the guard at the front gate of the Coast Guard’s Dinner Key station to find the ship maintenance area. Even this early in the morning, it’s a hive of activity. Inside the large hanger next to the dry dock, he finds Ensign Billy Shaw.
“I hardly recognize ya in the blues, Billy,” he says, coming into the cool, dark building from the bright sun outside.
“This is a surprise. Darwin, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Well, I have a tip that I thought I’d ask you to pass along to the powers that be.
* * * *
“Lt. Commander Saunders, sir,” Billy says, saluting smartly. “Could I have a moment, sir?”
Saunders, who has been talking with Bosun Hardy, returns the salute. “Yes, Ensign. Is it about the Liberty engines you were looking for?”
“Yes sir. There are three pirate vessels that we should have under surveillance, sir. Two of them at least have a pair of Liberty engines, not sure about the third. I have it on excellent authority that the Revenge, the Genuine Risk, and the Black Mariah are loaded with liquor and docked at the main pier. We could do a search and seizure there or wait until they’re in Biscayne Bay and nab the smugglers, as well. That would give us four engines.”
“The Revenge and Genuine Risk? Aren’t those Wharf Rats’ boats?”
“The same, sir. The Black Mariah is smaller and they sometimes use it as decoy.”
“I’ve been keeping my eye out for a reason to bring them in. Word is out that they’re smuggling illegal immigrants. I’d love to be able to put them out of commission. Excellent work, Ensign. We’ll board them once they’re out on the Bay. That way we can catch them in the act. Hardy, post a watch just before sunset and have the pickets ready. Put them just at the mouth of the pier, out of sight. We don’t want to alert the smugglers to our plans.
If we’re lucky, the head boss will be aboard and we can scoop them all up at once.”
* * * *
At dusk, Everett and Jackson wander down the dock, swapping tales of the epic battle at Gator Joe’s the night before.
“You musta been something when you was still in the ring, Jackson. I saw the swing you took at that big fella.”
Jackson blushes and mumbles. “Twern’t nuthin.”
Everett roars with laughter, slapping his friend on the back. And there was more laughter when Whitey shows up a few moments later with a black eye.
“You been scrapping with the missus again, Whitey?” Coarse laughter as Whitey flinches, trying to hide his eye.
“Sun was just coming up and some drunk jumped me,” he says, mumbling into his shoulder. He’d lost a couple of teeth as well.
Across the dock, Buford pulls away on the Revenge with the Genuine Risk following a few moments later. Whitey brings up the rear in the decoy boat. They’re going to meet up with the Reemplazo to pick up their smuggled human cargo and take them to the drop off point. The Boss is anxious that it go smoothly; human trafficking is the most lucrative part of their business.
They’re still within sight of the main pier when Everett is blinded by search lights.
“What?”
“Attention Genuine Risk. This is the US Coast Guard. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.” The orders blare over the loudspeaker.
“Jackson, we clean?”
“Yup. I have no idea what this is about.”
“Bored Coast Guard? Training, maybe?” Everett cuts the engines and the Coast Guard comes alongside.
“Evening, officer. What seems to be the trouble?”
“We have a report that you’re smuggling illegal liquor. We’re going to search.”
Everett and Jackson stand aside. They share a quick glance when bottles clink.
“We’ve got a dozen bottles, sir. Even mix of whiskey and gin.”
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