T
hey didn’t have any visitors on Monday. Good news. It was unlikely the explosions went unnoticed so that meant nobody was in a hurry to get in the middle of Gerard’s business. Best ‘to let sleeping dogs lie.’
Tuesday morning Mr. Mac stopped by. He was riding his pet Appaloosa, Teddy, named for former President Theodore Roosevelt. Mr. Mac hadn’t been a Rough Rider, but he did fight the Spanish in Cuba in 1898 as an activated private in the Kentucky National Guard. President Roosevelt was his hero. He asked, “How you boys doin’?”
Gerard responded, “We’re hangin’ in there like a hair in a biscuit. How ‘bout yourself?”
“Fair to middlin’. I seen a couple of blowed up automobiles on my property up near the woods road. You fellers wouldn’t know nothin’ about that, would you?”
“Maybe. Can’t say for sure. Saw ‘em myself the other day. Must’ve happened whilst I was in church. Wouldn’t want the law to come snoopin’ around blamin’ me since my cabin is the closest one to where they got blowed up. Any idea who they belong to?”
“I ‘spect they belong to them Yankees who been nosin’ around tryin’ to corner the liquor market. I figure they crossed the wrong fellers and got what was comin’ to ‘em.”
“I bet that’s it, then. They shouldn’t ‘ave been trespassin’ wheres they don’t belong an’ tryin’ to muscle honest, peace-lovin’ folks. I say good riddance to ‘em. What say you?”
“Agreed. If they was the fellers from Cincinnati, my guess is their outfit will be comin’ around lookin’ to even the score. Bein’ that some folks claim you all got the nearest still ‘round these here parts, they’ll probably fix the blame on you. Wouldn’t surprise me none at all if they come around next time with three or four machines jam-packed with gun thugs. Burn you out. Leave you and Jack laid out like you was a giant-sized pair of dead mackerel used for target practice.”
“Wouldn’t surprise us neither, if’n they tried. ‘Course, me and Jack ain’t goin’ down without a fight. It’ll cost ‘em dearly if’n they do come.”
“Heck, I know that, but you all is good neighbors. The best. I’d hate it if’n somethin’ bad happened to you all.”
“We’d hate it, too. Sheriff Harned come to see you yet?”
“Nope. My guess is he don’t know nothin’ about it. I doubt those peckerwoods would ‘ave said anything to him. What do you reckon?”
“What I reckon is, there’s a songbird in cahoots with ‘em who might be singin’ like a yellow-bellied warbler. One of our own, who’d show these gangsters where our rig is if’n he could find it. A tall skinny feller with a long beard who lives ‘bout two miles north of us. Ya see, Jack here, he had a dream ‘bout it. In his dream, this feller got shot in his backside when he was trespassin’ on another man’s property. He was leadin’ some city slickers to where he thought a still was located. If’n it was the low-down cur dog I suspect Jack was dreamin’ about, and if’n the dream come true, this miserable snake-in-the-grass just might be inclined to concoct some story and run to the sheriff expectin’ some kind of satisfaction.”
“Gerard, I got a good idea who that skinny feller is. He ain’t nothin’ but no account white trash. He’d sell out his mother for a dollar. No, a half dollar. I doubt he’d run his mouth though, that is, assuming Jack’s dream did turn out to be true. Squealin’ like a bitch in heat would have serious repercussions for him and his whole dern family. They’d have to skedaddle acrost the river to West Virginny or Ohio or someplace else. I wouldn’t lose no sleep over him.”
“Prob’ly so. Mr. Mac, you got any idea where them Yankees lay their heads at night?”
“Well, how far up the totem pole you wanna go?”
“All the way up to the tip top. If’n the owners of them burnt up cars was after me, I’d like to know a little more about ‘em. See how much trouble I could be facin’. I figure since you get around a lot more than I do with all your business connections and whatnot, you might have a better idea than me.”
“Well, the really big dog is this pharmacist feller who also happens to be a big shot lawyer. His name is Mr. George Remus, Esquire. You might ‘ave read about him in the newspaper. He lives in Cincinnati. I heared he figured out a way to beat the government at its own game. This part of the story is kind of funny. Listen to how he done it.
“When the legal distilleries went bust ‘cause of the Volstead Act, Mr. Remus bought up many as he could for a dime on a dollar. They’s a loophole in the law what allows doctors to write prescriptions for folks to buy alcohol for medicinal purposes but the catch is, you can only buy one pint a week. Being this Mr. Remus is a druggist, he knowed all these doctors who would write prescriptions for a small profit without askin’ no questions so he was off and runnin’.
“I heared he owns fully operational breweries which is all strictly illegal now. He’s also got registered distilleries makin’ bonded whiskey for medicinal purposes, which is legal, assumin’ it’s only sold to pharmacists; howsomever, he also owns distilleries which ain’t registered no more what are makin’ illegal whiskey on the sly. On top of all that, now he’s decided to corner the moonshine market.
“Man thinks he’s bigger than the Chicago mob boss, Johnny Torrio. I ‘spect he’ll learn otherwise someday that he’s more like Big Jim Colosimo, who got too big for his britches and just got hisself whacked by somebody in Johnny Torrio’s outfit. Greedy swine wants it all! The whole shebang! In just a few months, Mr. Remus become one of the richest men in America, right up there with the Rockefellers and the Carnegies. The law can’t touch him, or so it seems.
“I also heared he’s smarter and a more crookeder lawyer than any prosecutor ever thought of bein’. Smarter, anyway. Maybe not crookeder. When Mr. Remus was practicin’ law, he specialized in gettin’ cold-blooded killers off who was charged with murder. Done a lot of them cases for free or next to nothin’. Now them killers is beholden to him. Snaps his finger and they come a runnin’. Got a small army of ‘em at his command. Anyone gets in his way, that’s it! They wind up bumped off. No witnesses or at least none what’s willin’ to testify. Charges get dropped if’n anyone was even charged to begin with, which ain’t often. Simple as that! Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am!
“You know, they always was a bunch of thievin’ inbreds up there in Northern Kentucky. A regular Sodom and Gomorrah and now they’s all in cahoots with Mr. George Remus. He’s got Newport and Covington and Kenton County and Campbell County sewed up. They all works for him - judges, prosecutors, sheriffs, police chiefs, speakeasies, casinos, you name it. He’s got his fingers in every pot which makes easy money but mostly in alcohol.
“Recently he started spreadin’ his reach south and east. Ever’one knows the best whiskey in America is made right here in Kentucky. Mr. Remus has someone on his payroll callin’ the shots ever’where he’s set up business, plus enforcers to keep ever’one in line. The crooked politicians answer to these Yankee bosses who set up shop in their counties. I don’t know who all these bosses are, but the one in our county is this smooth-talkin’ weasel named Mr. Elgin LaRue, a crooked, washed-up boxing promoter who brung in a bunch of thugs with him. He prob’ly works for someone higher up in Ashland, who prob’ly works for somebody even higher up in Newport, who answers directly to Mr. Remus, hisself. Catch the drift?”
“Yep. So do you reckon Sheriff Harned or Judge Durham or the Commonwealth Attorney, Mr. Livingood, kowtow to Mr. LaRue?”
“Mebbe, but I don’t think so. Not yet anyways. Can’t say for sure about any other county exceptin’ for the ones up close to Cincinnati. Of course, Mr. LaRue’s henchmen claim they got ever’ county up and down the line all sewed up in their hip pockets. No doubt they got some but I question if’n they really do control all the counties surroundin’ us like they says; however, they prob’ly will in time if’n someone don’t run ‘em off first.”
“So do you know where Mr. LaRue set up shop?”
“Well that’s an interestin’ question. When Mr. LaRue first showed his face in Lawrence County, him and his whole crew was stayin’ at the Dixie House Hotel on Main Street in Louisa. You know where that is. It’s the swankiest place there is from Covington to Ashland to Pikeville, if’n you’re goin’ that far.
“In the beginnin’, these sidewinders tried to impress folks with their fancy duds, expensive machines, fat wallets, and phony big city manners but it didn’t last for long. ‘A leopard don’t change his spots.’ Them hoods started runnin’ roughshod over folks unchecked and wide open. They was loud, rude, boisterous, flauntin’ their flasks of bonded whiskey and their sidearms, swearin’ somethin’ awful in public, escortin’ drunk floozies throughout town in broad daylight and such as that. They even had their hands on the bottoms of some of ‘em whilst they was paradin’ ‘em up and down on the sidewalks.
“The sheriff started gettin’ complaints from the onliest ones who could complain without gettin’ kilt - the old, dried-up, blue-haired, self-righteous church biddies. You know who I’m talkin’ about - the Women’s Christian Temperance Union and such as that. Not even the preachers spoke up. Too scairt. Tucked their heads and kept on walkin’. These hellfire, always complainin’, teetotalin’ old biddies ain’t the kind of folks the gangsters could buy off, nor the kind they could beat up, nor bump off without creating a storm they couldn’t weather. Mr. LaRue and his entourage was just about to get run outta town by the sheriff and some silent, influential, dangerous fellers in his inner circle afore they could set up permanent shop.”
“What influential dangerous fellers?”
“You know I’d tell you if’n I could, but I can’t so don’t ask. If’n you really want to know, find out who the big donors are for his election. Think about who’s done been accused of killin’ someone but nothin’ never come of it ‘cause the person kilt had it comin’. Go back a few years. That’s all I’m gonna say. And they’s more’n one. They’s all quiet, in the shadows, and dangerous. One of ‘em even done time in West Virginny for shootin’ a feller but that was years and years ago and ain’t many folks what knows about it. If’n I had a life-threatenin’ situation, these is the kind of fellers I’d want on my side.
“Now I don’t know if’n the sheriff’s crooked, but if’n he is or he ain’t, he couldn’t survive for very long if’n he let hooligans get away with runnin’ roughshod over ever’body and the law itself, ‘specially where folks can see it for theirselves plain as the nose on your face. Sheriff Harned’s job was on the line. Somethin’ had to give and it did.
“Mr. LaRue wised up real quick after he had to bail a couple of his palookas outta jail. That cost him a hunnert bucks. Then he had to pony up two hunnert more in fines. They was convicted of drunk and disorderly, simple assault, and indecent exposure.”
“What on Earth?”
“Oh, yeah. These wise guys started a ruckus in the hotel lobby with a scaredy-cat, thumb-suckin’, fancy pants, confectionary drummer from Louisville name of Delmar Doolittle right in front of God and ever’body. Called him all kind of foul names, slapped him upside the face several times, pulled his hair, th’owed his hat on the floor and stomped on it, poured whiskey all over him, but the worst thing they done was when they stripped off his trousers and drawers and all his duds and exposed his private parts to ever’one present. I’m surprised ain’t no one mentioned that to you.”
“Oh my gosh! I can’t even imagine it. People must ‘ave been embarrassed to death for him and scairt to death for theirselves to keep quiet about it.”
“You’re dern right they was. Bet Mr. Doolittle don’t never come back here again! Right after that episode, Mr. LaRue and his gang up and moved outta the Louisa city limits and rented Sawyer’s Roadhouse on the pike like you was goin’ to take the ferry over to Fort Gay in West Virginny.”
“Yep. I know exactly where that’s at.”
“Yeah, well due to Volstead, Sawyer’s was just about out of business. Folks dance and kick their heels up a lot more if’n they’s well-lubricated. Sawyer’s always had a little prostitution goin’ on as a sideline but you can’t mask it when the booze, food, dancin’ and ever’thing else dries up. Then it’s just a bawdy house, no longer a restaurant with a saloon.
“The church ladies was all up in arms raisin’ Cain, wantin’ all them hussies run outta town, actin’ like they had a whole dern harem. Heck! It was only six or seven and not ever’ night. Sheriff Harned didn’t have no choice. This was before the Delmar Doolittle incident, too. He couldn’t let things ride. He had to raid Sawyer’s to silence waggin’ tongues if’n he wanted to get hisself re-elected, ‘specially now that women can vote in the next election due to the 19th Amendment. God Almighty! What’s become of this world?
“One night the sheriff hauled both Matilda Sawyer and Belinda Jenkins off to the hoosegow when he knowed for certain they both was in the act of doin’ what they do best - satisfyin’ their customers. Ha! Charged ‘em with lewd behavior - that sort of thing. Made ‘em pay a fine and scairt off two of their best customers who was afraid of gettin’ exposed, no pun intended. A couple of staunch Baptists so I heared. One of ‘em a deacon, too. Business dropped off to a trickle.
“So, when Mr. LaRue and his bunch showed up, Matilda was more’n happy to rent him the whole shootin’ match. Course, she and Belinda stayed on to clean and cook and handle private matters for a little extra on the side I’m sure. Folks still has to get their ashes hauled. Not only that, Mr. LaRue has access to bonded whiskey and I know the ladies appreciate that. They can get away with it too, so long as they stay private and don’t take in no outside customers.”
“That sounds like someone’s always there day or night.”
“I’d ‘spect so. How’s come you to ask?”
“Just wonderin’ that’s all. You know how many men and machines he’s got?”
“Well, I know they was at least four machines but two of ‘em is all blowed up now. Plus they got a utility truck for haulin’ product. They’s at least ten, mebbe a dozen strangers workin’ for him in Lawrence County. I don’t have no idea if’n he has men in any other county.”
“How you know all this? Nobody I ever talked to has this much knowledge about Mr. LaRue or his thugs.”
“Well let’s just say I am well acquainted with one or two of the fallen angels who’s been affiliated with Sawyer’s Roadhouse off and on over the years. Get my drift?”
“I do. I’ve been at a loss of consortium myself ever since Francine passed away, and I thunk about makin’ a pass over thataway onecet or twicet. I surely do miss female companionship but I ain’t ready to get hitched again. Heck, I ain’t met a female since Francine that strikes my fancy. She prob’ly set the bar too high. Besides that, then I’d hafta kick old Jack out and he’s a good worker and a fine companion.”
“I certainly understand. At my age, a visitation ever’ other week suits me to a T. Boys your age is usually more randy than a gentleman such as meself.”
Jack interjected, “Mr. Mac, do you know when Mr. LaRue delivers a load up north or where he takes it?”
“I heared he goes oncet a week, usually on Wednesday and always late at night. They’s a clever bunch. They drive it to Ashland and load it on a boat. Less likely to get hijacked than takin’ it overland.”
“You think they store it in the barn at Sawyers?”
“Can’t say for sure. Prob’ly. I do know they always have two fellers at or inside the barn. Wherever the stash is, you can be assured it ain’t settin’ in plain sight unattended. What’s on your mind, Jack? I can see your wheels a turnin’.”
“Well, it’s been two days now since their automobiles got blown up. Wouldn’t surprise me none to hear that some of their hired killers got kilt themselves whilst they were sneaking around. I’m thinking they might be short-handed right now.
“Also, I do believe you’re right. They blame Cousin Gerard and me. They gotta make an example outta us to get everyone else in line. Me? I’d rather play offense instead of defense. Got more options that way. Wonder what they’d do if they lost a load. Suppose it got hijacked or blown up. What you reckon would be their response?”
“My guess is they’d show up right here at Rabbit Bluff with a whole platoon of hired guns. Besides that, they always have one car followin’ the load and most of the time another one leadin’ it like an Army convoy, only smaller, with at least four gangsters riding shotgun.
“Jack, these guys is hired to fight. They’s all itchin’ to pull a trigger. You ain’t gonna buffalo ‘em into surrenderin’. Sheriff Harned would come down on you like the Wrath of God if he thunk you was goin’ all Hatfields and McCoys on him.”
Gerard jumped back in. He said, “Mr. Mac, Cousin Jack is right. If ‘n we don’t take the fight to them, they’ll show up here in the middle of the night with more guns than we could fend off. We’d be ‘deader than a doornail’ and nothin’ would ever come of it. You know that.
“We gotta come up with a way to turn the tables on ‘em. It’s the onliest way to protect ourselves. Plus, we gotta run ‘em outta the county. Do the sheriff’s job for him since it don’t look like he’s up to it. As it is, dangerous friends or not (and I bet they’re all long in the tooth) he’s only got two deputies. Bevis Bottoms is a complete screwball even if’n he is the sheriff’s son-in-law, and Dwayne Turley is eighty years old if’n he’s a day. The sheriff’s on his own. These mobsters is way outta his league.”
“What do you propose? Whatever you do will have to be all or nothin’.”
Jack responded, “We need a dozen men, more if we can get ‘em. They have to have a ‘dog in the fight’ and ‘grit in their bellies.’ If they don’t have everything to lose, they won’t be motivated to see it through to the end. They might chicken out or squeal on us.
“This is how we do it. We find a desolate stretch of the road that ain’t too close to a house. We topple a tree and use it as a roadblock. If they get that far, the gunmen in the first unit will have to get out of their machine to move the tree. Problem is, the other thugs may not get out and we wan’t ‘em all out, even the men in the truck.
The roadblock is just a back-up because we get us a couple of buckets of roofing nails and scatter ‘em in the road a quarter-mile or so before they get that far. Hopefully, each car will get a flat or two before they get to the roadblock and have to stop anyway.
“We all come a horseback so we can travel through back trails and the woods so as not to get seen going or coming back home. All of us wear masks during the assault and take long guns. Pistols would just be for back up. The idea is, we want to be beyond their effective range so none of us gets hurt. We split up into two groups, one on either side of the road. We tether or hobble our mounts inside the tree line well out of sight and harm’s way. Otherwise, it’s a long walk back home but at least we don’t get any flat tires.
“When they stop and get out of their vehicles, we pick ‘em off. Nobody gets away. Nobody. Absolutely so mercy. Black flag. That’s why each man’s gotta have real grit. When the fight’s over, we blow the truck hauling the shine. Then we fade into the woods and every man goes home. We all keep our mouths shut; otherwise, our gooses are cooked. We don’t want anyone on the ambush if he can’t do this without going all soft in the head. Who we pick is the most important part of the plan if we want to be successful.
“This is Tuesday. We need to do this tomorrow night. Mr. Mac, you don’t need to go with us, but we sure could use your help recruiting trustworthy men.”
Gerard said, “Jack, you sound like you done this afore.”
“Let’s just say I learnt how to do a lot of things in the Army that I didn’t ever do before I was in the war. Didn’t think I’d ever have to do ‘em again, but I never encountered a passel of thieving, murdering, hoodlums trying to take over our livelihoods either.”
Mr. Mac said, “Count me in. Ever’thing you all said is true. This here is a good plan. I’ll go talk to Lige Bostick and Adrian Pullman. Lige has four growed sons. I’ll also talk to Rufus Claiborne. He’s a tough old coot. Him and his son and son-in-law also operate a still. I’ll also bring the nails.”
Gerard said, “I’ve got the dynamite. We’ll also bring axes. I’ll talk to Reuben Clark and T.R. (He goes by T. Rex) Tapp. Also Bloody Gene Whalen and his sidekick, the Duke of Hazard, Herschel Wilson, hisself. They’s all in the business. T. Rex has a ten-barrel rig which he operates with his son and nephew. Ever’ one of ‘em will stand and fight.”
Jack asked, “Where do we set the ambush? Also, where and what time do we meet tomorrow night? What do you all want me to do while you all are out recruitin’?”
Gerard replied, “You hold the fort down here. God forbid they come back today.”
Mr. Mac also replied, “There’s a burnt-out house on the east side of the Ashland Road about four miles north of Louisa. We’ll meet there. I don’t think LaRue’s crew leaves Sawyer’s Roadhouse afore midnight and prob’ly not until one or two. Just to be safe, we should meet there at ten to give us time to cut down a tree, pick teams, and set up. Tomorrow will be a long day and night. I’ll stop by this evenin’ to confirm we’re still good to go. Talk to you all later.”
“See ya.”