Sugar House (9780991192519) (27 page)

Cappie reached in the icebox and pulled out
some eggs, bacon, and a loaf of bread. "Can't serve you anything
fancy, Joe, but you don't look too picky to me." He grabbed a heavy
skillet and fired up the stove.

"I'll cook, Cappie," Joe said, grabbing the
eggs off the table. "How many you want?"

"I'll have five eggs and three slices of hog…
you sure you know how to cook?"

"Sure I do. Got any butter?"

"I think there's a little in the icebox. I'll
go check over the boat and fill her up while you're cooking us
supper." He headed out the door.

Cappie returned fifteen minutes later, and
they sat down to eat. Joe found two forks and a knife in a drawer
in the cupboard and placed them on the table. Cappie brought two
soda pops from the boat, and they drank them with their meal. After
they finished, Cappie showed Joe where to draw some water to wash
the dishes. He finished in minutes, grabbed his suitcase, and went
around to the cellar to find Cappie.

"Why you got your case?" he asked Joe,
looking up as Joe came in.

"I thought we'd be heading back now."

"Not till tomorrow. Didn't Leitner tell
you?"

"No, Mr. Leitner didn't say anything about
staying overnight. I didn't even pack anything in the case. My
mother will be worried sick. I've got to be home tonight."

"Well, nothing we can do about your mama, and
nothing we can do about getting you back tonight. We've still got a
lot of work to do before morning. No use fretting about it now."
Cappie handed Joe a can of white paint and a paint brush.

Easy for you to say
, Joe thought, as
he started painting over the words Pioneer Distillery. He knew his
mother would be uneasy already. He'd been home for dinner every
night since he'd started working for the Sugar House, and now he
wasn't going to be coming home at all.

Joe painted in silence for the next two
hours. Well,
he
was silent. Cappie talked and talked about
rum running and boats and Prohibition and cops on the take and
dirty politicians and anything else to do with bootlegging. Joe
learned that Cappie had been making daily runs down to Ohio since
the temperance law first passed in Michigan. Ohio wasn't going dry
until the federal government passed the Volstead Act, which was
scheduled for the following year. Cappie told him that there'd been
so many bootleggers traveling back and forth on Dixie Highway (or
the Avenue de Booze as people called it) between Ohio and Detroit,
he'd actually gotten caught in traffic jams in the middle of the
countryside. The last time he'd driven down, the state cops pulled
him over. Although he wasn't arrested, the incident had cost him
thirty bucks in bribes. So he quit the land route and opted for the
water several months ago and was having an easier time of it.

"Course, working for big cheeses like Leitner
and Shorr don't do no harm either," he added. "They's smart men,
those two… making contacts over in Canada while the other boobs
keep trucking down to Ohio."

They finished painting the boxes and Cappie
produced a large stencil with the words Braymen's Specialty Candy
cut out. He gave Joe a can of black paint and a smaller brush and
showed him how to paint the words on top of the boxes. The
stenciling took a lot less time, and they finished quickly. Joe
noted that Cappie had only opened one of the boxes to inspect its
contents but hadn't taken out any whisky and had nailed the box
shut.

"Time to tuck in for the night, Joe. I'll
throw some more wood in the stove so we don't get too cold." They
walked back up to the front of the cottage. "Wind's died down.
Should be a quiet night. We'll be up early tomorrow to move the
hooch, so I suggest you get some shuteye." Cappie told Joe he could
sleep in the metal bed and he'd prop himself up on two chairs. He
said he didn't sleep much anyway and Joe could use the rest from
the looks of him.

Joe lay down on the lumpy mattress and pulled
the thin blanket up over his clothing. The only items he removed
were his hat and shoes. The island was as silent as a funeral
service, and Joe felt uncomfortable in the quiet. He was used to
falling asleep to the sounds of the city: cars, trucks, trains,
people in nearby houses shutting doors and banging pots, and the
occasional drunk staggering and singing down the alley behind his
room. Joe turned toward Cappie and watched him throw a couple of
logs into the stove. "Why'd you say we were going to Mexico,
Cappie?" he asked. "That guy with the clipboard couldn't have
thought we were going all the way to Mexico in your speedboat."

"No, he doesn't think that." Cappie sat down
in one of the wooden chairs and propped his feet up on the table.
"Our government's angry that Canada won't stop the brewers and
distillers, because they think the whole world should participate
in Prohibition. The Canadians said they are their own country and
the U.S can't tell them what laws they should and shouldn't pass.
But instead of having a big old fight about it, the Canadian
government is trying to appease the U.S. by declaring that liquor
and beer can't be bought for distribution over here. But they
really don't care, so if I say I'm taking their whisky to Mexico or
Cuba, they just write it down on their list. And when I show back
up from my two thousand mile journey two days later, or even the
next day, they don't blink an eye."

"The whole thing seems pretty dumb to me,"
Joe said. "My father drank beer every day and never missed a day of
work. So do my uncles and lots of people I know." Joe's heart
caught in his chest with the mention of his father. He thought
about his mother, who was probably sitting at home worried to death
and not sure what to do. She knew better than to go to the police,
and he hoped she wouldn't go to the Sugar House and make a
scene.

"Yeah, well, I agree with you Joe. But it
looks like the whole country is gonna be in it now, and I think any
smart man with access to a boat will be making a lotta money if he
wants to take a little risk." Cappie turned off the kerosene lamp
and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Joe." He leaned back in his
chair.

"Goodnight, Vic," Joe replied.

Cappie jumped up out of his chair exclaiming,
"I thought you was him! You're the kid who was going to Boblo with
your folks. Devil's pitchfork! You didn't say nothing all day."

"Didn't want to be accused of putting my nose
where it didn't belong." Joe smiled and tried to drift off to
sleep.

The smell of coffee woke Joe the next morning. He
rolled over in bed and reached for the robe that always hung on the
end of his bed. He sat up and remembered where he was. Searing
panic shot into his chest. He knew his mother would be in an
absolute state of terror. Maybe she thought he was dead. How could
Leiter not tell him that he wouldn't be going home last night?

He looked around the room for Cappie and, not
seeing him, got his shoes and cap and walked outside. The air was
frosty, and a low fog hung over the canal. Joe walked behind the
house to the cellar and saw that it was still bolted shut from the
night before.
Where's Cappie
, he wondered. Joe's anxiety
decreased as anger began to roil up inside.

He couldn't think about eating, so he
wandered down to the small dock and sat down, trying to figure out
his next move. He could walk back to the train station and try to
hitch a ride back to the city, but he didn't have a cent in his
pocket. He'd been so worried about carrying the liquor money he had
neglected to think of bringing any extra for himself. He could try
walking back over the tracks and hop a streetcar. Or maybe someone
driving north would give him a ride. But finding the ideal
situation could take hours, and Cappie would most likely return
before that. And if he left now, Joe knew he'd be canned from his
lucrative job and his family would be back in poverty in a week.
No, he'd just have to wait for Cappie to return.

The sun warmed the dock, and the fog quickly
dissipated. The animals around him sounded their approval of the
new day. Cardinals and blue jays flew from tree to tree, singing
and calling to each other. A fish jumped in the water below Joe's
feet and startled him out of his thoughts. Well, if he had no
choice but to wait he might as well try fishing. He retrieved the
rod from the boat and went about looking for some bait. He wasn't
familiar with lures and wanted to try something that might look
more appealing to a fish.

Grabbing a spoon from the cottage he walked
around to the side of the cottage where he had noticed moss growing
near a large ash tree. If memory served him right from his time in
the Upper Peninsula, a treasure trove of night crawlers would be
digging tunnels underneath. Within just a few minutes he had two
fat worms that he shoved deep in his pocket; the same pocket that
had held so much money the day before. Dark guts squirted onto his
hand when he pierced the wiggling worm onto the hook and he wiped
his hand off on the bottom of his pants. He threw the line as far
as he could and sat back to wait. An hour later, the sun warming
the dock and the sound of crickets and birds lulling him into a
peaceful reverie, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Catch anything?" Joe turned his head and saw
Cappie walking up from around the back of the cottage.

"Where've you been?" Joe dropped his pole
onto the dock and stood to face him. "Why'd you leave me and not
tell me where you were going or when you'd be back!" he demanded.
His cheeks were flushed with anger and windburn from the day
before.

"Don't get your hose all twisted, Joe. I had
to go get the truck. How'd you think we were going take the boxes
out of here?"

"Why didn't you tell me last night? You're
all treating me like a stooge and I don't like it. I might be a kid
but I've got the right to know what's going on, same as everyone
else. My mother is probably sick to death worrying about me and—la
de dah—you just head off all morning and don't give me a clue!" Joe
was furious now, walking toward Cappie with his hands clenched into
fists.

"Whoa, hold on Joe. I forgot Leiter didn't
tell you all the details. I had to walk back to the train station
and over the tracks to Trenton. We hide the car there in a garage
so if the cops come by nosing around here it looks to them like
this is just a vacant fishing cottage. I give you my word that I'll
let you in on everything I know from here on out. OK?" Cappie
looked apologetic.

"All right, if you give me your word," Joe
replied. Cappie nodded and Joe walked back to pick the pole off the
dock. "I caught two fish, but I don't know what they are." He
pulled a stringer out of the water to show Cappie the squirming
fish.

"Those are nice size perch. Let's cook them
up for some lunch, and then we'll head out. I'll cook this time.
You know how to scale a fish?" Cappie walked onto the dock, pulled
a knife out of his boot, and taught Joe how to scale and gut the
perch. They ate a delicious lunch of fried fish and canned pears
and loaded up the truck with the boxes. Once the Model T truck was
loaded, Cappie locked the cellar door and front door of the
cottage. Joe threw a tarp over the boat to protect it from the
elements. Cappie drove the truck down a small dirt road Joe hadn't
noticed the night before and stopped the truck a few yards further.
They climbed back out of the truck and carried a couple dead trees
to the opening, where they set them as if they had fallen there.
Then they grabbed a pile of brush lying nearby and threw it on top
to disguise the entrance to the cottage.

Cappie drove out to the main road toward the
north end of the island. They drove onto a small bridge that
spanned the river and stopped in the middle at a booth to pay their
five cent toll. Cappie turned the truck onto Jefferson Avenue when
they reached land and headed north. The truck couldn't go faster
than twenty-three miles an hour. Stopping for traffic, streetcars,
and pedestrians they made their way back to Detroit in two
hours.

Cappie pulled into the large Sugar House
garage around three o'clock. Leiter was there to greet them as they
climbed down from the truck.

"There you are, boys. Any trouble?" Already
three men had walked over to the truck and begun unloading the
boxes of Braymen's Specialty Candy.

"No pigs or Coast Guard for the whole two
days. Fantastic idea, Charlie, to send the boy. Hatch was a little
jealous of your little brainstorm here. Just forgot one thing."

"Forgot what? He brought the whole five to
you, didn't he?" Leiter scowled down at Joe, thinking he had
pocketed some of the money.

"He brought all the dough, Charlie. You
forgot to let him in on the fact that he wouldn't be home till
today. The boy still lives with his mama, you know." Cappie smiled
and tousled Joe's cap.

"Didn't even think about it. Sorry, Joe. I
bet you're in for some real trouble at home. Come up to the office
and let me see if I can help you with that." Joe climbed the wooden
stairs up to the office, following Leiter. He waved goodbye to
Cappie as he went in the door and Cappie winked back at him.

"My mother had pretty much given up on me by
your age, Joe," Charlie began. "If I stayed out all night she just
cuffed me on the side of the head and I was on my way. How bout I
throw you a twenty and you can bring home some nice steaks for your
trouble. That should soften her up a little."

"Thanks, Mr. Leiter," he replied, stuffing
the money into the same pocket that had held his worms only a few
hours before. "Any errands you need me to do before I go?"

"No Joe… I'd be heading home straight away.
I've seen those Polish women get angry before. I'd rather face two
cops carrying long nightsticks in a dark alley than be in your
shoes right now. You done good work, Joe. We'll talk tomorrow—that
is if you can sit down in that chair and talk to me!" Leiter
laughed and waved Joe out the door.