The Rum Runner

by Christine Marciniak

  Shooting fishermen.

  That was the phrase that stuck out at Alice. Who would do that? No one, probably. But it wasn’t unheard of for fishermen to also be rum runners. Rum runners sometimes got shot. Rum runners were also likely to know where speakeasies were. And how to get in.

  Of course, rum runners might not be so keen to spend time with police officers. It bore thinking about.

  The dapper man walked away, and Hank leaned close to her and whispered, “You want to find out who killed Tomas Nagy? Check out that guy. Vince Salerno.”

  Vince Salerno. She’d be sure to do just that.

  And she might do a little checking into Hank Chapman as well.

  Chapter Ten

  The damn thing was he liked her. He liked the way they were able to glance at each other in knowing amusement at Marty and Douglas. He liked the way she didn’t seem desperate for a husband. He liked the pink tinge that came into her cheeks as she sipped more of her cocktail. He liked the way she was willing to have the drink, even though she was a lady cop.

  Maybe she was someone he could spend time with, no strings attached. He maybe could do that. Maybe.

  He wasn’t at all disappointed when Douglas suggested they walk along the waterfront for a while before heading back. It would be a chance to talk to her one on one and see where things might go. He walked slowly, allowing Marty and Douglas to get ahead. Alice kept pace with him. So far so good. Apparently, she didn’t object to spending time alone with him.

  “So tell me about Vince Salerno,” she said when the others were out of earshot.

  Not who he wanted to talk about right now. There was a full moon reflecting on the water. Didn’t that spark romance in most people?

  “Why do you think he killed Tomas Nagy?”

  It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have said anything. By the same token, he’d like to see the man who killed Tomas behind bars.

  “I don’t have any specifics,” he admitted. “Just a hunch. Salerno has been rumored to be involved in some unsavory things. And I think he knows what happened to Tomas.”

  “And you don’t want to say anything else,” Alice said with amazing perception. “That’s fine. I’ll see what I can find out. Trust me, I want to catch whoever killed Tomas Nagy.” He heard her take a breath as if to ask something else, but then she let it out and looked out at the moon. “Quite pretty, isn’t it?”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to answer questions that would surely get awkward quickly. Much better to enjoy the moon.

  “What did Douglas and Marty tell you to make you ask me to dinner tonight?” Alice asked the question so abruptly and so candidly that he actually stopped mid-stride. Maybe he’d be better off talking about rum runners. That might be a less volatile topic of conversation.

  He quickly recovered, continuing to walk beside her, and cleared his throat. The truth was definitely the best option here. She was a cop; she’d probably find out the truth sooner or later anyway. No need to be branded as a liar.

  “Your sister is apparently concerned that you don’t get out enough.”

  In the light of the moon he could see her cringe. She sighed.

  “That’s about what I figured. Thank you for taking pity on me and agreeing to go.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a hardship.” He couldn’t let her go on thinking he’d only agreed because he felt sorry for her. “I had fun dancing with you last night. Maybe we can do that again sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He was pleased to find that the thought did not fill him with dread.

  “I do go out, you know,” she added, conversationally, as they walked.

  “I’m sure you do,” he answered. “Younger siblings can be…well…I guess I don’t have to tell you.”

  “No, you don’t.” She sighed. “They do lay it on rather heavy. Though they are sweet to be concerned. I’m sure you don’t really see yourself as unfit for human companionship, as Marty tried to tell me.”

  Heat rose in his face. Why would Douglas tell that to Marty?

  “No, they weren’t exaggerating on that one.”

  “But why?” Alice turned to face him, and the moon shone in her eyes. “You seem perfectly sociable to me.” She waved the question away as soon as she’d asked it. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s really none of my business. And you hardly have to justify your feelings to me.”

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said, and they walked in silence for a while, listening to the water lap against the shore.

  “You were in France.”

  It was not a question, and he saw no point in denying it.

  “I was.”

  “One of the officers I work with was over there. He doesn’t talk about it much, but sometimes he panics and acts as if he’s reliving part of it. It must have been truly awful.”

  He couldn’t express how grateful he was that she didn’t ask him to tell her what it was like. He couldn’t even begin, even if he had wanted to, which he absolutely didn’t. It was also nice that she understood a little what it was like to have been there.

  “I think I left my humanity over there.” He hadn’t really ever told that to anyone in so many words. Why would he choose to tell Alice?

  “I think that the fact you think so just proves how very human you are. A human isn’t supposed to deal with seeing their friends blown up.”

  Damn. She did understand.

  “I have nightmares. I wake in a cold sweat, flailing around in my bed. I couldn’t ask anyone to ever share my bed with me.”

  “I’m no expert,” Alice said softly, “but I think that the right person might help you move forward. There’s no reason to have to be alone forever.”

  “I like being alone,” he said with a touch too much defiance. It wasn’t strictly true. If he thought he wouldn’t be burdening someone else with his demons, he wouldn’t mind having someone to share his bed, his life. When the wives came to greet the married crew members when they got into dock, there was a part of him that was envious. When he saw his men pick their children up and swing them onto their shoulders, he felt a pang that he wouldn’t have that kind of life to come home to.

  “I don’t.” She said it softly, as if to even say it out loud was shameful.

  The answer surprised him. He kept his tone light as he responded. “I thought you were a happy bachelor girl. A modern career woman.”

  “Oh yes. That’s me,” she said a little too brightly. “And I do enjoy my job. But I can’t help but notice that the male officers are all married. There doesn’t seem to be a reason you have to be alone if you have a job.”

  She had a good point there.

  “So it’s not your job keeping you from settling down.”

  “Actually, it is.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold, and he wondered if he should offer his jacket, or put his arm around her. He decided, under the circumstances, to do nothing. “Men seem to have the idea that the woman they are married to will not work outside the house. I don’t really want to quit.”

  “I always got the impression that taking care of house and children was a fulltime job.” He didn’t want to sound like one of those men she’d had to deal with in the past, but at the same time, there was reality to consider.

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. And I’m very lucky that my mother takes care of me, really. I suppose it’s rather like having a wife at home.” She stooped and picked a pebble up from the beach and tossed it into the bay. “It’s not how I thought my life would be.”

  “No? What did you envision for yourself?”

  “Something like Trudy, I suppose. I figured I’d get married and have a houseful of kids. I’d keep the house spotless, of course, and cook wonderful nutritious meals every night, and have a loving husband to share my life with me.”

  “And what happened to that dream?” He knew what happened to his. When he was young, he’d had a similar dream. And then he’d been sent to
France.

  “My father was killed.” She said it baldly, without emotion. That was different than passed away, which is what she had told him yesterday. Killed implied a crime and a culprit. He wanted to know more but didn’t want to interrupt her. “And the department offered me a job in order to help Mama out. And slowly my other dreams kind of melted away.”

  “So what are you dreams now?” he asked.

  “I want to be a detective. I want to do more than just pick up drunks and stick them in the holding cell, or comfort women who have been hit by their husbands. Not that those things don’t matter. I’d like to really get a chance to solve a crime. To put the clues together and find the answer where no one else could.” She had become quite impassioned, but now she paused. When she continued, her tone was softer, almost wistful. “I want to find out who killed Tomas Nagy. And why.”

  “I hope you do,” he answered sincerely. “I want to know that as well.” Partly because he didn’t want to be the next victim, but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “Do you think it was more than just a random robbery?”

  He had to be careful how he answered this. He might have information that would help her, but on the other hand he didn’t want her poking around into what he did. Would she make the connection on her own? People don’t just shoot fishermen, so the odds were that Nagy was involved in something else. It was no secret that fishermen doubled as rum runners. He was friends with Nagy and was a fisherman. Not too much of a leap to suppose he also smuggled. And then there was the fact that they had stupidly taken her to a speakeasy. Involved in one illegal activity, likely to be involved in more.

  “I have no idea,” he answered. “But you said it wasn’t your case anyway, right?”

  She sighed. “It’s not. But if they gave me a chance, I’m sure I could show them I was just as capable as any of them. I’m good at clues. Heck, I even do the crossword puzzle in pen.”

  He grinned. Crossword puzzles were one of his weaknesses. “I love crosswords! I save up all the puzzles when I’m ashore and bring them with me when we go out to sea. They are great for the downtime.”

  “I like doing them when I get home from work. Something different to think about.”

  “Though some of the clues are kind of ridiculous.” He was glad the conversation had moved away from criminal activity.

  “That’s what makes them fun.”

  A commotion rang out from the direction of the marina. A boat was coming in, and the crew was shouting something as people rushed in their direction.

  “It sounds like they need a doctor.” Alice started to walk in that direction.

  Hank took hold of her arm to stop her. “You’re not a doctor.”

  “No, but I do have some emergency training. I need to see if I can help.” She shook free of his arm and headed toward the marina. Hank did the only thing he could—he followed her.

  As they got closer, the crowd grew and so did the sense of urgency.

  “Stan’s been shot!” A hoarse voice shouted above the din.

  The story became clearer as he drew near the boat. They’d been beset by pirates. When the crew put up resistance, they’d opened fire. One man had been shot, and the pirates took what they wanted and went on their way.

  Hank grabbed hold of a young man, his work shirt stained and damp from days at sea, as he ran past. “Who was it? Who boarded them?”

  “No idea. Let go! I need to find a doctor.”

  Could it have been the work of Salerno? Was the meeting in the restaurant a ruse to secure his alibi while he had his thugs targeting fishermen?

  Several Perth Amboy police officers came on the run and parted the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea. He saw them confer with Alice, who had managed to make her way on board.

  His natural instinct when it came to police being involved with rum runners was to scram, but he couldn’t just leave Alice here. With a heavy heart and stiff back, he walked toward the boat. The police were trying to keep everyone back and out of the way, so he waited at the perimeter until Alice noticed him. It went against the grain, waiting here, while the woman was in the thick of the action. He should be there protecting her. Wasn’t that what a man did? But right now, she didn’t need his protection, and he didn’t need to be associated with smugglers. He stayed where he was.

  Douglas and Marty joined him.

  “What’s going on?” Marty asked. “Is Alice playing lady cop again?”

  “She’s not really playing, though, is she?” Hank answered. “I mean, it’s what she does.”

  “I know,” Marty said, sounding only slightly chastised.

  “Someone on the boat was shot.” Even as he said it his mind reeled. Was this connected to what happened to Tomas? Was there a way to find out without somehow implicating himself?

  “Dirty rum runners shot by pirates trying to steal their booze.” Spat out a man in a bowler hat, standing nearby. “They got what they deserved. They’re all a bunch of dirty criminals.”

  “Hmph,” Douglas said, low enough that only he could hear him. “That guy was at the table next to us in Mulberry House. Where does he think the booze comes from? The rum fairy?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Hank murmured in response.

  “We should get out of here,” Douglas said.

  “We need to get Alice back first.” He wished she would hurry. Being here and unable to take charge of the situation was making him uncomfortable.

  “She’s coming,” Marty said, and he saw it was true. Alice was walking down the gang plank and back toward them.

  “He’s still alive,” Alice said, and Hank could see that her hands were shaking. “It’s a belly wound, and the crew was able to stanch the bleeding. If they get him into surgery quickly, he may be okay. I hope so.”

  Hank gently touched her elbow and steered her toward Douglas’s car.

  “The crew said it had something to do with pirates,” she said as they climbed into the car. “Do you think that was what happened to Nagy? Was it the man who came up to us in the restaurant?”

  “Yes.” How much should he tell her? How much was she going to figure out on her own?

  “Of course, Salerno couldn’t have shot the man, he was in the restaurant with us. Does he have a large syndicate?” She looked directly at Hank with her clear brown eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Obviously he has people working for him. People like that don’t do their own dirty work.” He could see the wheels in her mind turning. “Keep your distance. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “I’m a police officer. I’m paid to deal with dangerous people.”

  “I’m not kidding.” He liked this young woman; he didn’t want to see her entangled with pirates.

  “Neither am I,” she answered.

  Douglas cranked the motor, and they drove away from the waterfront and back toward home.

  “Does this happen often?” Marty asked, her voice sounding young and innocent. “These pirates attacking fishermen?”

  “I doubt they were after the fish,” Alice said, and Hank rather wished she weren’t that astute.

  “What then?” Marty asked. “Rum? Like that fellow said? Were they rum runners?” Her voice rose in almost childlike excitement.

  “Most likely,” Alice said, clipping the words. She stared out the window. What was she putting together in her head? He never should have mentioned Salerno in connection to Nagy; now she’d begin to wonder if Nagy had been a rum runner. And how long before she cast her net wider and caught him in a web of suspicion?

  Douglas parked in front of the house on Green Street, and they escorted the women to the door.

  They stood on the porch, under the pale illumination of the porch light. “I had a very pleasant time.” Hank hated how stiff and formal he sounded. He had to loosen up a little, let her know this was not a pity date. “I’m glad Douglas suggested it. Next time it will be my own idea.”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “I’d like that. Thank
you.”

  Douglas and Marty looked to be involved in a slightly more intimate goodbye. Hank cleared his throat and Douglas let go of Marty and the girls went inside.

  “Drop me off at the Mary B,” Hank said to Douglas as they got back in the car.

  “Why? What are you going to do on it tonight?”

  “I need to check on it. That’s all. I’ll be home before long.”

  Douglas didn’t argue with him but dropped him where requested.

  “Oh,” Hank said as he was getting out of the car, “next time, don’t bring a police officer to a speakeasy, you dunderhead.”

  “She’s said she wouldn’t squeal.”

  “You better hope not.”

  Douglas drove off and Hank climbed aboard. He didn’t really have anything he needed to check here. He just felt better being on his boat. He took a lantern from the storage room and lit it, bringing it down into the hold. The fake bottoms he used for hiding the liquor, when he had a shipment, were ingenious and couldn’t be discovered by the untrained eye. But it was an open secret that the Mary B was a rum runner. Was it worth the risk? Should he go out on a fishing run and not detour out to rum row? Should he simply fill up with scallops and leave the liquor to others? At least for a little while?

  Nagy was dead. Stan might die. The rum running was lucrative, but it wasn’t worth it if he lost crew members. If he were boarded, could they convince the pirates they had nothing? What if he changed the holding area? Could he make it more secure?

  But if Salerno’s people were convinced he had something on board, would they stop at anything until they uncovered it? And what would that mean for them if they truly were running empty? The only solution was to make sure they weren’t boarded. Maybe he should do some target practice before heading back out to sea again.

  He made his way up the newly painted stairs to the bridge and took his pistol out of the drawer he kept it in. If someone was shooting at fishermen, he wanted to be prepared to shoot back. Then he headed down to the working deck, where he sat and just let the moon and the lapping of the water and the sea air relax him. He closed his eyes and thought of the delightful pink of Alice’s cheeks when she sipped her cocktail. He thought of the way she ran toward trouble instead of away from it. He thought of the way she understood about his demons and didn’t make him explain. He’d like to spend more time with her. Too bad; if he did she was likely to find out he was a rum runner, and that would certainly be awkward for both of them. She’d feel compelled to arrest him, and that would put quite a damper on a budding romance.