King of the Bootleggers Page 3

"Here we go," Tommy whispered as he pulled the truck to a stop next to an old frame shed. A battered wooden dock stuck out twenty feet into the Niagara River. Tommy jumped out and walked along the edge of the dock, looking down at the water.

  Rocco jumped out of the truck and joined him. The air smelled crisp and biting. Three large rowboats were tied to the side of the dock, moving up and down with the waves. Rocco looked out over the dark, rough water. A shroud of white mist hung in the air as far as he could see and he cursed. "We gotta row across that?"

  Chapter 5

  GETTING THE 21 CASES of whiskey piled into the rowboat as it moved up and down was tricky. But the pair of rum-runners finally untied and set off into the rough waters.

  Tommy rowed as Rocco sat just ahead of him. The other side of the Niagara River was hidden in darkness. "So how many times you cross the river, Tommy?"

  "Never did," Tommy said as he heaved on the oars, "just took a boat out a bit into the lake a few times is all."

  Rocco shook his head as he turned the collar on his light jacket up against the cold, "If we don't drown, we'll probably freeze to death."

  Tommy nodded as he strained to pull through the water, "They'll read about it tomorrow...police find two frozen ice cubes floating in the Niagara River."

  Rocco couldn't help but laugh. Tommy did the same. But the laughter faded as they were soon tossed around like a cork. When Tommy's hands were too cold to row, Rocco took over. He nearly tipped the boat over when he pulled too hard on the right side at first. After twenty minutes, Rocco had a decent stroke. After an hour, both men began to worry. Tommy was back on the oars and Rocco was desperately looking for some sign of shore. They were at the mercy of the wind as it drove the waves higher and the temperature lower. The black water of the Niagara River was becoming more dangerous as time passed.

  Rocco was at the back of the rowboat, desperately looking for some sign of land when he spotted a light in the distance to the right of Tommy's shoulder. He surged forward and pointed, "I see something. Head that way."

  "Is it them?" Tommy asked as his frozen hands worked to steer the rowboat through the waves.

  "I can't tell, it's too far away."

  Tommy pulled harder on the oars, pulling the loaded boat through the waves like a madman.

  Rocco could see the young man fading, "Let me pull on one of the oars," he offered as he squatted and move forward.

  Tommy nodded as he let go of the right oar and shifted to the left on the bench. It took a few minutes to coordinate the teamwork but they finally began to pull faster through the dark, heaving water. Ten agonizing minutes later, a faint shout sounded from the shore behind them. The two men pulled harder.

  "What if that's actually the coppers?" Tommy asked as he tried to peer over his shoulder as he rowed.

  "Right now, a warm cell is better than the cold river," Rocco reasoned.

  Tommy didn't laugh. He was too cold to care about getting arrested for smuggling.

  They rowed as hard as their numb hands would allow for another five minutes.

  The voice was louder this time as someone yelled, "Get out there and grab the boat."

  The sounds of several men splashing in the cold water reached the two rowers and they felt the boat being pulled backward. Moments later, the rowboat slid to a stop on the shore with a thud.

  "That you, Rocco?"

  Rocco stood up, wet and cold and he turned. He spotted his cousin, Matteo 'Little Jack' Jacurso, a thin man with a thin mustache. Rocco swore at him, "Who else would be stupid enough to be on that river on a night like this?"

  "Two crazy smugglers," Little Jack said as he laughed. He moved forward quickly and embraced Rocco, slapping him on the back. He peered over Rocco's shoulder, "Who's that?"

  Rocco turned and looked at the kid, equally frozen and wet. "This is one of my...my partners, Tommaso Giachetti. He's called Tommy Two Shoes, 'cause he ran around the neighborhood with no shoes on."

  Tommy looked totally surprised at the term 'partner'.

  Little Jack looked down at the kid's feet and held his hands out, "But you're wearing shoes now."

  "Yeah," Tommy agreed, "but I'm only supposed to wear them for church. When my mother sees how they look now, she's gonna be pissed at me."

  Little Jack laughed as he stepped forward and shook Tommy's hand, "Mother's are great, ain't they? You never know what mothers are gonna do. Shit! Your hand is like ice."

  "My dick is like an icicle, too," Tommy said as he put his arms around himself, trying to warm up.

  "Yeah, well, I ain't touching that," Little Jack said with a laugh. Then he turned, "Let's see what you brought me."

  Little Jack's men already had the cases out of the boat and were headed further inland with them. One of the men looked back at Little Jack, "They brought twenty-one cases of friggin' Glen Gael whiskey."

  Little Jack looked at Rocco in surprise, "No shit! You brought me the good stuff?" He slapped Rocco on the shoulder, "Monterosso's gonna love this. We was expecting some cheap stuff, but this, we can cut this stuff. I knew you'd come through for me, cousin." He dug into his pockets and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off bills and passing them over to Rocco, "Here you go. You just keep whiskey like this coming Rocco and I'll take all you can get, every day, every night."

  Rocco looked down at the wad of cash in his hand in surprise and looked back up at Little Jack, "You sure about that?"

  Little Jack looked at Rocco seriously and repeated his words slowly, "All you can get, every night. I promise you, Rocco, Monterosso is good for the money."

  "Yeah, yeah, I wasn't worried about that part." He watched the men moving away into the darkness, "You taking it all back into Buffalo now?"

  Little Jack turned and shook his head no, "We dug a big root cellar and we're gonna store it out here, safe from the cops. I already got another thirty cases in there, but the guy brought me crap, Rocco. Homemade moonshine that ain't worth spit. You keep bringing what you brought me tonight and you and me, we work together forever." He shook hands with Rocco, "You call me when you got another load." He took a few steps backward and pointed at Tommy, "You keep your partner safe, you hear me?"

  "Yeah," Tommy said, again surprised at the term.

  Little Jack turned and walked away, "Ciao, Rocco."

  Rocco watched his cousin walk away across the muddy beach and into the darkness. He looked again at the money, shook his head and then stuffed it into his pocket. He turned and gestured to Tommy, "Let's get going."

  Tommy turned and he and Rocco pushed the boat off the muddy beach and back into the black water. They nearly didn't make it back into the boat as the waves lifted the boat and dropped it quickly. But they fought with the cold black water and a few minutes later they were sitting side-by-side again, rowing back across the river.

  Snow began to fall as the two fought the treacherous waves back across to the Canadian side.

  Their hands were white from the cold as they neared the shore.

  But by now, they were tiring and fighting hard against the waves that threatened to take them south into the cold, heaving and unforgiving waters of Lake Erie.

  "Pull hard, kid," Rocco said, his voice shivering, "or we're dead."

  Tommy didn't answer. He just put his head down and rowed. But he was weakening and his breathing was heavy.

  "C'mon kid, we can do it."

  "I know. I'm just so friggin' cold."

  "I hear you. Just keep moving your arms. We can do it."

  The boat finally hit bottom and the two men scrambled desperately out of the stolen boat and plunged into the cold, shallow waves, finally splashing to shore.

  Both men fell face down on the cold, damp ground as the rowboat was pulled away by the relentless waves.

  Rocco turned over, looking up into the dark sky, traces of snow still falling. His chest was heaving.

  Tommy rolled over and looked up as well, trying to catch his breath. He could barely get the words out, "Hey Rocco?"
<
br />   Rocco watched his breath fog in the cold air, "Yeah?"

  "Why didn't we ask those guys to drive us back across the bridge?"

  Rocco blinked, thinking about the question. Then he began to laugh.

  Tommy joined in.

  Chapter 6

  IT WAS EARLY MORNING by the time Rocco stumbled back into his apartment. His clothing was still half frozen, wet and heavy and he had trouble standing. Tommy stepped through the doorway right behind him, barely able to stand as well. Both men had black circles under their eyes, indicating their exhaustion.

  Tony and Besha were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and they just sat there, looking dumbfounded at the condition of the two.

  Besha finally reacted, jumping up and headed across the floor, throwing her arms around Rocco, "I was so worried. Especially when Tony told me you were going across the river." She stepped back and looked at his clothing again, "And in the winter? Are you crazy?"

  "That's exactly what I thought when we were in the middle of the river," Rocco said.

  Tony got up and walked over, "You guys look like two drowned rats. I thought you would've been back long ago. We were getting worried as hell."

  Besha started to pull Rocco's worn jacket off, "You get out of these clothes right now." She looked at Tommy, "You too, young man. You both will catch your death of cold."

  Tommy looked uncertain.

  "Get your clothes off," Besha said firmly, "you haven't got anything I haven't seen before."

  Rocco laughed, "Just smaller."

  Besha laughed and slapped Rocco on the shoulder.

  Tommy blushed but began to remove his clothing, passing them over to Besha and Tony. Besha even insisted on them removing their shorts and Tommy's face was bright red as she took them from his hand. She placed everything around the hot stove, fetched blankets and wrapped both men snugly before sitting them at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee.

  Tony sat down across from Rocco, "So how did things go down there?"

  Rocco realized he had left the money in his pants and he got up from his chair, hiking the blanket around his shoulders as he moved over to the stove where his pants were drying off. He pulled the cash out of a pocket and brought it back to the kitchen table, setting it down in front of Tony.

  Besha sat in the fourth chair, across from Tommy, setting a hot mug in front of Tony and one in her own spot.

  Tony counted off the bills and looked up at Rocco in surprise, "Are you kidding me?"

  Rocco shook his head, "No. He paid me $50 a case."

  "Rocco, this is $1,050," Tony said.

  Besha's face registered her surprise.

  "In January, I start my second year on the police force," continued Tony. "I'll be making $1,650 a year. A year, Rocco. You guys made nearly that in one night."

  "We made that in one night," emphasized Rocco as he gestured to Tommy and Tony.

  Besha put her hands to her face, "I can't believe you made that much."

  Tommy lifted his hot coffee to his lips, "That Little Jack said he'd pay that every time we bring him a load."

  Tony looked from Tommy to Rocco, "Every time?"

  Rocco nodded, "He said he'd pay that every time we bring him Glen Gael whiskey, the good stuff. Every-single-night."

  Tony sat back, almost in shock. After a few moments, he shook his head, "We gotta find some way of getting our hands on more booze."

  Rocco shook his head, "It's going to be difficult trying to jack booze every single night from bootleggers. After a while, they're gonna be armed and ready, knowing we're coming."

  "How do the bootleggers get it?" Besha asked, "maybe you could do the same?"

  Tony shook his head no, "We'd have to deal with Fat Sal. It wouldn't be long before he'd want to know where all the booze was going...."

  "And he'd cut us out in no time," Rocco agreed.

  "Where does this Fat Sal get it?" Besha asked.

  "It looks like he gets it from the Glen Gael Distillery," Tony explained. "Somehow he's got an export license and paperwork to take it out of the country. Only he don't of course.."

  Rocco nodded, "Yeah. he's right. It's supposed to be taken out of the country but somehow Fat Sal short-circuits it back into the province. Me and Tony visited the distillery and they said they would sell to us but we had to have the paperwork and license to prove it was being exported."

  Besha furrowed her brow, "Where does it have to go?"

  Tony shrugged, "The guy said Mexico or Cuba or–"

  Now Besha's eyebrows rose, "Cuba?"

  Rocco nodded and looked across at his wife, "Yeah. Why?"

  Besha licked her lips, thinking. She rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand.

  "What is it Besha?" Rocco asked, looking worried.

  Besha was quiet for a moment, thinking and then said, "Where I work, we deal with sugar imports from Cuba. I've done the paperwork a million times. I'm pretty sure I could set up some paperwork to show you're sending something to Cuba. I can use the address for one of the companies we deal with and I'm pretty sure I can get B-13 customs form for liquor in transit–"

  Tony leaned forward eagerly, "Are you serious? You could do that?"

  Besha shrugged, "I could try."

  "What about your boss?"

  "Mr. Starkman is cutting us back because business is slow and I'm pretty sure he'll let most everyone go before long anyway." She looked at Rocco, "What do we have to lose?"

  Rocco looked at Tommy, "How much does your pop owe on the truck? Looks like we might need it."

  Chapter 7

  ROCCO AND TONY entered the front door of Glen Gael Distillery, eager to make a deal and continue their new enterprise. And once more the sour, yeasty smell attacked their senses and Tony wrinkled his nose.

  "That's the smell of money," Rocco said.

  Tony laughed but the grimace stayed on his face.

  Old man Kippen stepped out of a small office area on the right again, his thumbs stuck under his braces. His face took on an annoyed look, "Good day, gentlemen. Back again I see."

  Rocco's jaw clenched but he kept his temper, "Yeah. We're back to buy some booze."

  "Like I told you–"

  Tony stuck his hand out, holding a number of papers.

  Stuart Kippen hesitated for a moment and then took the papers in hand. He looked at Tony and Rocco for a moment and then turned and led them back into the small office. He walked to the other side of an old desk and picked up a pair of spectacles to look over the papers. After a moment, he glanced up, "Shipping it to Cuba, are you? Everything looks in order." He chewed on his lips for a moment and then asked, "How much you looking for?"

  Rocco handed his cash to the old man, "How much will this buy?"

  The old man counted out the bills, surprise registering on his face, "A thousand bucks? He started to walk back around the desk, "Well...I charge eight dollars a case and the government asks for 19...the lousy bastards. Tell you what boys, I'll make you a deal and sell you forty cases. How does that sound?"

  Tony's eyebrows rose as he glanced at Rocco. Then he looked back at the old man, "How long before we can get them?"

  The old man led them out of the office, slipping the wad of money into a pocket, "How fast can you get a truck around back to pick them up?"

  "We have a truck right outside," Rocco said.

  The old man continued to walk towards the hustle and bustle around the large copper kettles, "I'll have my men take 40 cases out the back door and stack 'em. You guys load it on your truck. That's how it works. I ain't gonna be responsible if they get smashed when you drive them away."

  "Sounds fair," Rocco said and he and Tony hustled outside to Tommy waiting outside in the truck. Fifteen minutes later they were driving away from the distillery with 40 cases of whiskey under a tarp in the back.

  "Those 40 cases will get us $,2000 from your cousin," commented Tony from his spot in the middle of the front seat.

  "Which gets us 75 more
cases," Rocco added.

  "Which gets us...shit...I'm starting to strain my math abilities," Tony said.

  Rocco and Tommy both laughed. "We'll leave the brain work up to Besha," Rocco said.

  Tommy shifted gears and turned right at the next corner, "How we gonna get this stuff across the river? We nearly sunk with 21 cases in the rowboat. Now we got...what did you say...40?"

  Rocco nodded, "The kid's right. And it's gonna be colder and snowing tonight. We nearly froze to death on the first trip."

  "Can you steal a bigger boat?" Tony asked.

  Rocco leaned forward to look at Tommy on the other side, "What do you think you kid? There must be something down there."

  Tommy shrugged as he shifted gears and turned left, "The only bigger boats I ever saw was some fishing boats that went by on the lake. And I don't know how to drive one of those things." He looked back at Tony and Rocco, "Can you guys?"

  "Shit," Tony said.

  "How about that canal they built down there? That should be calmer," Tommy asked.

  "The Erie Canal?" Rocco shook his head no, "I doubt we'd get past the coppers. It's too risky. And we'd still end up having to cross the river to get it to Little Jack."

  Everyone sat in silence, thinking.

  "I got an idea," Rocco said. "Tommy, head for the harbor."

  It wasn't long before they were driving along a rough, gravel road with a row of buildings on the left and the harbor off to the right. Rocco kept his eyes glued to the water side. The smell of old wood mixed in the air with the strong odors of oil and gasoline. They passed an older schooner tied up to a dock where dozens of men were busy unloading lumber. In the water beyond the schooner was a two-deck cargo steamer, plowing noisily away from the docks. Rocco barely gave any of the boats or activities a second glance. But as soon as they began passing a number of recreational boats, houseboats, and rowboats tied to the docks, Rocco perked up.

  After a few minutes, he waved across to Tommy, "Slow down, slow down"

  Tommy cut the speed but continued driving alongside the wooden docks. There were fewer people and far less activity along this stretch.