The Rum Runner

by Christine Marciniak

  It was over.

  It had been over a long time, Douglas was right.

  Why couldn’t he put it behind him?

  Would it help if he had someone to share his life with? But who would want to share his terrors with him? Or would the terrors go away? It was impossible to know. He’d felt safe when Alice had been in his arms. He’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back. And then they’d fought. It was almost like he’d held the chance for a real future, a happy future, in his hands and he had thrown it away.

  Douglas would probably say that’s what he’d been doing ever since he got back from the war.

  Maybe it was true.

  Maybe it was time to try to live again.

  It had been almost ten years.

  He looked back over at his brother, sitting, waiting, as he always was. Waiting for him to finally come home from the war. It was time to move forward.

  “How are we going to get me out of this deal with Jiggy without getting you or Mother or Alice shot?”

  Douglas didn’t seem to mind the shift in conversation. “I’ve been thinking about that. The most obvious thing seems to be to turn him in and have him arrested.”

  “On what grounds? I don’t have proof he set up Tomas’s murder.”

  “On smuggling.”

  Hank finished the rest of his drink and put the glass down.

  “I’d have to implicate myself.”

  Douglas nodded. “Probably true.”

  “I could go to jail.”

  Douglas, annoyingly calm, nodded again. “Possibly. Or you could cut a deal. What do they say? Turn state’s evidence?”

  “I can’t take that chance. I don’t want to go to jail. I couldn’t survive it.” It would be worse than being in the trenches. No open space. He might as well just shoot himself now.

  “We could fake your drowning and you could start over somewhere new.”

  Clearly his brother spent too much of his free time reading pulp fiction.

  “I suppose it would get Jiggy off my case, but I’m not sure I want to go to that length.”

  “There’s got to be a way.” Douglas tapped his chin in contemplation. After a few minutes of silence, he shrugged and said, “Well, we have almost two weeks to think of it.”

  Right. Everyone was safe for at least two weeks, because Jiggy wouldn’t expect him back before then anyway. That gave them time to come up with a plan.

  The put-putting of a motor made Hank look up. He cocked his head to get a better idea where the noise was coming from.

  “Sounds like a boat.” Douglas was also listening to the foreign sound.

  “It does.” It did not sound like a fishing boat, and no one would come that close to another working boat anyway. Then with a sinking feeling he realized what it must be. “Pirates.”

  “But you don’t have anything to steal,” Douglas protested.

  “They don’t know that.” He looked out the surrounding windows until he spotted the boat, a sharp looking runabout with a small cabin on the deck. And then he spotted Jiggy.

  “What the hell?”

  Douglas stood up to look as well.

  “Who is that?”

  “Jiggy Malone.”

  “Then I guess we don’t have two weeks, do we,” Douglas said with maddening calmness.

  “No. I guess we don’t.”

  Damn. What was Jiggy doing here? There was only one way to find out, and that was to go down and confront him. Hank cut the motor and let the boat drift. Time to find out what was going on. He got his pistol from its hiding place.

  “There are rifles in the crew quarters. Go see that the men are armed.”

  “Will do,” Douglas answered.

  By the time he got to the working deck, Jiggy had already climbed a rope from his boat to theirs and was standing on the deck.

  “What are you doing here?” Hank asked, making sure that Jiggy could see the pistol in his hand.

  “I need to protect what’s mine.”

  “Nothing of yours on the Mary B,” he answered.

  “We’ll just see about that. Get rid of the gun,” he said, showing that he had his own, which he now pointed at Douglas, who was still standing beside Hank. “Or I shoot him.”

  Hank didn’t hesitate, he dropped the gun to the floor.

  “What’s all this about, Jiggy?” Hank asked, arms folded, shoulders tense. His only hope was that some of the men would remember the rifles and take Jiggy by surprise.

  “I’ve come to get what’s mine.”

  “As I said before, I have nothing of yours on board.”

  “I don’t believe you, Chapman.” He kept his gun trained on Douglas and ordered the men he’d brought with him to search. “Keep your crew where I can see them.”

  Hank shrugged. “There’s not much place to hide here. A couple of my men are sleeping in the crew quarters.”

  “Wake them up.”

  “I will not. They’ve earned their rest, and there is nothing they can do for you except get in the way.”

  Jiggy didn’t seem inclined to argue with that.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got in the hold.”

  “Scallops.” Hank said, while his mind raced. What was Jiggy trying to prove? Why hadn’t he waited for him to come in?

  “Stay where I can see you,” Jiggy ordered, and since he was holding a gun, Hank and Douglas preceded him down the steps to the fish hold.

  Jiggy’s men wasted no time. They started with the holds that didn’t have any fish in them yet, dumping the ice indiscriminately to the floor until they found the secret compartments. But, as Hank had tried to tell them, each compartment was empty. Finally, they dumped the bagged scallops on the floor as well and shoveled out the ice in that hold.

  “You must have other hiding places. We’ll find the stuff. I know it’s here,” Jiggy said, turning on Hank. “I know you wouldn’t risk not making the pickup.”

  Hank leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “It’s not that big a boat. There is no other hiding place. There’s nothing to find. Now, would you mind putting my cargo back?”

  “Screw you,” Jiggy said and pushed past him. “Do it yourself. We’ll search the galley and the crew’s quarters.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend you wake sleeping fishermen,” Hank called after him.

  Jiggy made a rude gesture, but other than that didn’t answer him.

  Hank straightened up and addressed the crew members who had followed him to the hold. “Better get that cleaned up, or the fish will spoil. Leave the false bottoms out. We won’t be needing them.”

  To Douglas, whom Jiggy seemed to have forgotten, he said, “Better see if you can get to those rifles.”

  In the galley, Jiggy and his men were wreaking havoc.

  “Enough,” Hank demanded. “There’s nothing there.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Hank sighed. “You’re wrecking the place. You found my hiding place. It was empty. Why can’t you accept that?”

  “Because I don’t trust you,” Jiggy said.

  Hank let out a snort. “Nothing like the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Jiggy stopped rooting around in a barrel of coffee beans.

  “Okay. So if the stuff isn’t here, it’s because you haven’t picked it up yet. That’s troublesome, because you told me you always pick up the order on the first night out. Planning on skipping out?”

  “My routine varies,” Hank answered, though honestly, he almost always made the run the first night. Much easier to pack it away before the holds were full of fish. “Why couldn’t you have just waited until I got in to port?” This was the sticking point.

  “Because when you got into port you were going to sell to Salerno.”

  Hank didn’t even have to fake his surprise.

  “I was?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. I have my sources.”

  “Your sources fed you faulty information.”

  “We’ll see about t
hat. Let’s go.” Jiggy headed back out onto the working deck and Hank followed him.

  “Go where?”

  Once again Jiggy had his gun in his hand and pointing at Hank.

  “To rum row.”

  Where was Douglas with those rifles?

  “I can’t go there with your skiff tied to mine like a barnacle.”

  “That is no skiff.”

  “I don’t care if it’s the bloody Mauretania,” Hank countered. “I can’t sail with it dragging behind.”

  Just then the distinct roaring of a boat moving at high speed became clear to them.

  “Weren’t going to sell to Salerno, huh?” Jiggy sneered.

  “No.”

  “Then why is he coming this way?”

  And here he had thought things couldn’t get worse.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alice held tight to the edge of the seat as the runabout sped out into the open waters, jumping waves and generally behaving much more like a thrill ride at an amusement park than she had expected. The saltwater spray chilled her, and she was glad she had on a jacket.

  “You okay?” Sal sat next to her. “Warm enough?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered through chattering teeth.

  “You can go into the cabin if you would be more comfortable.”

  That would be a good idea. She probably would be more comfortable in the cabin, if she had started out there. Right now, she was afraid to move.

  “I’m fine where I am,” she insisted.

  Sal grinned as if he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t argue.

  They were out of sight of land now, and behind them the last of the sunset spread warm pinks and oranges across the sky. If her heart weren’t pounding, both in anticipation and fear that she might fall overboard, she’d almost want to stop and paint a picture.

  Soon the colors in the sky faded to gray, and the moon and stars were their only illumination. Without any of the town lights to compete with them, they were surprisingly bright, but it was still too dark to see much around them.

  “How will we find anyone in this vast ocean?” she asked. “It seems worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

  “Not as hard as all that. The fishing boats go where they have the best luck. They tend to frequent the same general areas time after time. Evans knows where that is. He will find them.”

  But would they find them in time?

  And what exactly had Jiggy meant that he needed to protect his investment? He didn’t own the Mary B. He didn’t deal in scallops. He was a smuggler and his investment would be illegal goods. That meant Hank was smuggling goods for Jiggy. But if he brought them in, then why would Jiggy go after him? Unless, he thought, like Tomas, that Hank had found a new buyer and he was going to get to him before he could sell his goods to someone else.

  Tomas had ended up dead.

  She wished the boat would go faster. She needed to get to Hank.

  On the horizon she spotted some lights. At first, she thought it was just an extra bright star, but then she realized it was too low for that.

  “There they are!” George Evans yelled back from the wheel.

  “Can you be sure it’s them?” Alice asked.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Sal answered and hollered back to Evans, “Get us there as fast as you can!”

  “Can’t go much faster than this!”

  In one way, as Alice clung to the seat, she was glad they couldn’t go any faster; on the other hand, she really wanted to get there.

  As they got closer, Sal lit a spotlight which clearly showed that it was the Mary B they were approaching. There was a smaller boat close beside it, as if tied there.

  “Damn it!” Sal slapped a hand against the cushioned seat. “Looks like Jiggy beat us here.”

  Everything went fuzzy for a moment while the blood rushed from her head. Jiggy was already there. They were too late.

  “You okay? You look a little pale.”

  Alice forced her eyes to focus on Sal, who was looking at her like a concerned uncle. She reached in and removed her service gun from its holster. She wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  “I’m fine.” She nodded firmly. “Let’s get them.”

  Sal handed her binoculars, and she was able to make out the fisherman aboard the ship. There was Hank and Douglas. And Jiggy. Holding a gun.

  She tossed the binoculars back to Sal. “He’s got a gun. Get us as close as you can!”

  She could fire at him from the moving runabout, but that was a sure recipe for disaster. The boat was moving too much to be sure she could get anything like a clear shot at him. She would be just as likely to hit Hank or any of the other men on board. She couldn’t take that chance.

  The runabout came within yards of the Mary B and Alice sat down and hung on tight, afraid they were going to collide. But Evans cut the engine and threw it into reverse, and they came to a stop several yards from the fishing boat.

  Alice could clearly see the men on board. Jiggy had spotted them. He looked over into the runabout and aimed his gun straight at her. She aimed back, only slightly intimidated, and then he turned abruptly and fired at one of the fishermen.

  She didn’t hesitate but got him in her sights and pulled the trigger. By the time she lowered her weapon Jiggy had already fallen.

  “Good shot, Grady,” Sal said. “Let’s board her and see what’s going on.”

  Her hand shook as she re-holstered her weapon. Who had Jiggy shot? Was it Hank? Was he okay?

  Without her even realizing it, the runabout had pulled in next to Jiggy’s small boat and tied up to the Mary B. A rope ladder was dropped and soon Sal was instructing her to climb it.

  She looked uncertainly at the flimsy ladder and then down to the churning blackness of the sea beneath it. But if she wanted to see this through, she had to get onto the Mary B, and this seemed to be the only way. She put her hands on the rope ladder and took a deep breath. The wood of the step was slick beneath her palms. Or maybe it was her palms that were sweaty. She held tighter and put one foot on a lower rung. So far so good. But when she put the other foot on, the ladder swayed and turned. Her heart beat double time and her stomach clenched. Then Sal was there steadying the ladder.

  “Go on, now,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

  Hand over hand, foot over foot, she made her way up the ladder, not looking down at the dark, swirling waters of the ocean below her. As she neared the top, hands reached down to help her on board. She looked up into Hank’s eyes.

  “You’re alive!”

  “I am.”

  She let herself be enveloped in his arms for a brief moment. “Who did Jiggy shoot?”

  “Doug.” The answer was curt. Behind her, Sal had boarded the Mary B, and she could feel Hank tense up when he saw him. “Why are you with this pirate?”

  Sal pulled out his badge and opened it at the same time that Alice answered.

  “He’s not a pirate, he’s with the Feds. Now, let me see Doug. I have medical training.”

  “I’ll take care of Malone,” Sal said.

  She glanced over to see him sitting against the side of the boat clutching his arm. She’d never shot a man before and couldn’t say she was sorry she hadn’t killed him. She had winged him, though. Not bad for being on a moving boat.

  Doug was on the other side of the working deck, surrounded by the other fisherman.

  “He got hit in the leg.”

  “Do you have a first-aid kit?” Alice asked, as the men made room for her.

  “Right here,” someone answered. They were already stanching the bleeding and cleaning the wound.

  Alice knelt down beside him and brushed his hair out of his face. He was grimacing in pain, and there were tear tracks on his cheek.

  “You’ll be fine,” she assured him. “You’re in good hands.”

  “You know…” Hank squatted beside her and held his brother’s hand. “I spent over a year in France and never got s
hot.”

  “It hurts like hell,” Doug muttered through gritted teeth.

  Alice looked up at Hank. “Maybe some medicinal brandy?”

  Hank shot a glance at Sal and Alice shrugged.

  “I don’t think he’ll give you a hard time about that.”

  “Come with me,” he said and took her hand as he stood up.

  She didn’t even hesitate. As soon as they got to the galley, he took her in his arms and kissed her hard and long. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, but she thought Douglas needed the brandy more than she needed the kisses. Gently she pushed back from him.

  “We should bring the brandy to your brother.”

  “Of course.”

  Hank looked alarmingly pale.

  “You haven’t been injured too, have you?” She asked, unable to keep the note of concern out of her voice.

  “No. I’m fine. I just…”

  She took the brandy bottle off the shelf where she’d seen him hide it the other day and poured some into a glass and handed it to him. “That’s for you,” she said and poured another glass for Douglas.

  He drank it without argument.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked when he’d drained the glass.

  “I’ll tell you everything, but first get this to Douglas.”

  She sent him out of the galley and poured some brandy into the glass he’d left behind. She drank it down before hiding the bottle away again and putting the glass in the sink to be washed.

  Damn this prohibition. She could really get used to a touch of medicinal brandy from time to time.

  When she walked back out to the working deck she nearly collided with Sal. “You got Jiggy right above the elbow. No serious damage, but enough to stop him shooting anyone else. Good work.” Alice looked past him to where Hank was helping Douglas drink the brandy. “I’ve placed Jiggy Malone and his cohorts under arrest,” Sal continued.

  “What about Hank?”

  “What about him?” Sal looked sincerely confused.

  “You’re not going to place him under arrest, are you?”

  “No cause,” Sal answered with a shrug. “I’ve been assured he has no contraband on board…and I will do my own search shortly to confirm that.”

  “So he’s not a rum runner?” Her heart soared. She’d never been so happy to be wrong.