During Aino’s lost years in Chicago, the Bachelor Boys had moved from subsisting on elk whistlers to thriving in the liquor business. Jens, Yrjö, and Heppu sent a lot of money to their families. They were all content with using one of the trucks for personal affairs, but they rarely needed transportation for personal affairs because the Bachelor Boys as a group had all chipped in on a deep-burgundy, four-door 1923 Oldsmobile Sports Touring car with black trim, solid burgundy wheels, and black leather seats. Being behind its steering wheel was sheer exhilarating joy and being in the back seat with no control was sometimes sheer exhilarating terror. There was no road in Pacific and Nordland Counties that tested its maximum speed. Police departments didn’t have the budgets to buy vehicles that could compete.
Because Aksel was the leader, he drove the Oldsmobile most often, using it on a regular basis to drive to Nordland to make deposits in the Nordland Bank. Just another year or two, he figured, and he’d have the finest gill net boat on the Columbia, made to his specifications with a four-cylinder gasoline engine. Matti was investing in the stock market and that looked like a smart thing to do, but Aksel wasn’t interested in getting rich. Even though the stock market seemed to do nothing but go up, he didn’t want to risk the boat. He wanted money in the bank.
He, however, had a problem: income tax, which could lead to other charges, confiscation, and even jail time. He couldn’t show large deposits in his name.
Louhi used Al Drummond to launder her earnings for the same reason, so Aksel went to Drummond. Aksel knew Drummond was slippery, but anyone who laundered money was slippery by definition. In addition, Drummond was the only game in town. He and the sheriff kept out all the competition. Aksel figured that along with his connection with Louhi, better the devil he knew.
Al was only too happy to set up a savings account under a false name for him, for a mere 2 percent per year on the balance, paid directly to the bank every three months. The account would yield no interest. Another cost of doing business—illegally.
The account grew and one night at their camp Aksel asked the Bachelor Boys to sit with him by the cook fire. When Aksel opened a bottle of scotch, they knew the meeting was serious. They never drank inventory.
In the twilight that still lingered even though it was after ten, they passed the bottle around like a peace pipe, saying nothing until everyone had taken a sip. When it returned to Aksel he placed it carefully in front of him and took a deep breath.
“I’ve decided to quit,” he said. “I’ve got more than enough for my boat.”
Everyone took it in.
Jens motioned toward the scotch. He took a swig and said, “Maybe you should wait a bit.”
He passed the bottle to Heppu, who said, “That’ll only leave four of us. Holding the turf with four is going to be harder.” He passed the bottle to Yrjö.
Yrjö took a drink, said nothing, and passed it back to Aksel.
“You can have the Oldsmobile,” Aksel said. His meaning was clear. He passed the bottle to Jens and it went around the circle until it was empty.
Aksel left in the Oldsmobile the next morning, getting to Nordland late in the day. The bank was still open.
He walked in, put his savings book in front of the teller, and said he wanted to withdraw all his money. The teller looked at the sum in the book, blinked, regained his composure, and said, “Certainly, sir. Can I just see some identification?”
Aksel blinked. When he regained his composure, he asked, “Isn’t the savings book enough?”
“No sir, I’m sorry. It could be stolen.” He hastily added, “I’m sure it isn’t, but we need to protect our customers. You understand.”
Aksel took three slow breaths. Then he asked, “Is Mr. Drummond in?”
“I’ll see, sir.”
The teller left. When he came back, he said, “Mr. Drummond asks who you are.”
Aksel stormed into Drummond’s office without knocking. Drummond looked up, surprised, then immediately became the genial banker.
“Aksel Långström,” he said. He rose and extended his hand. “What a pleasure. I hear you boys are doing pretty well for yourselves,” he added, pointing a conspiratorial finger at him and grinning. “Coffee?” He pantomimed someone looking conspiratorial. “Drink?”
“No,” Aksel said. “My money.”
“Your money?” Drummond asked. “Is there something wrong?”
“The teller says he can’t give it to me without identification papers.”
“Well, he’s right.” Drummond looked at him innocently.
“You know I put it there under a false name.”
“That was certainly your business.”
“You tell him it’s mine.”
Drummond sighed and sat back in his swivel chair. “Aksel,” he said, as if explaining something to a child. “How can I do that? We have rules in place to protect the depositors. People like yourself. What kind of a bank would I be running if any old anybody could just walk up to a teller and tell him to hand over a large amount of the depositor’s money to someone the teller doesn’t even know.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Careful, Långström. You threaten me, and I’ll call for Chief Brewer.”
“We pay him.”
“No, Louhi pays him. So do I.”
“That’s my money.”
“That’s money made illegally.” Drummond tsk-tsked, shaking his head. “Of course, since it’s under a false name, the law would have a very hard time prosecuting.” He paused. “Unless someone like myself and my teller told the court that you asked for the money under the false name, but we both knew you under another name. It wouldn’t be hard to find people to testify that you sold them illegal alcohol.” He smiled. “After all, Bill Brewer is very keen on keeping our community safe from drunkenness and the ravages of alcoholism.”
“You’ll pay for this.”
“Ah, a threat. Funny, I’ve been threatened by petty criminals before. So many of them disappear or do jail time.” He pushed a button on his desk. “I think this meeting is over.”
A secretary came to the door. “Mr. Drummond?”
“Show this gentleman out, please.”
“Certainly.” She motioned to Aksel. “Sir?” Over her shoulder Aksel could see two hefty uniformed bank guards coming down the hall.
When he returned to the camp, he told the Boys what happened and said, “I’m back in the business.” They found him the next morning with his legs in the river, passed out by a nearly empty bottle of scotch.
They hauled him into his hut. Jens called a meeting. Within an hour they were driving the big burgundy Oldsmobile north to Nordland.
One of the unsolved mysteries of the Nordland business community was the disappearance of Al Drummond. There were rumors. He did have enemies. Was known to be involved in shady stuff. Someone claimed to have seen a shanghai gang hauling a well-dressed body, which was very unusual for that trade, aboard the Olivier out of San Francisco. It was bound for Yokohama with high-grade mountain hemlock. That rumor was met with wry jokes. If it was Drummond, in his shape, he wouldn’t last past the first storm. The shanghaiers probably had to pay the first mate of the Olivier to take him.
That was true.