know. He’s too old for this life now. He can’t hardly take going out with his buddies on the good days. I got both of them to take care of.”
“You’re getting by, ain’t you?”
She shifted in the chair. “Yeah, I’m getting by. That’s the point. I’m getting by and managing to put a little money away, but it’s not much. I have no security, no safety net.” An image of that awful room above the bar flashed in her mind. Neither she nor Bea could end up there!
Hicks fixed her with a stern glare. But as always he spoke softly to her. “You’ll worry a whole lot more if you’re running against the law.”
“Even the guard doesn’t care. I hear the in-charge officer on the Hook gets a call that the rum boats are coming, and he sends his patrol boats and runners to look in another place, like Perth Amboy. Those men find nothing, but the officer finds a case of prime Canadian whiskey waiting for him on the dock.”
“They aren’t all like that, and the guard keeps moving men around so they don’t get too comfortable and tempted in one spot.” Hicks rose. “Want some coffee?”
“Wait,” she said.
He stood still. “They’re getting better. The guard. Mark my word. They’ve made a few big arrests. And they’re learning how to spot the decoy boats, and they can light up the darkest night with tracer bullets. Some have even taken to firing warning shots across the bow of the boat they’re after, and some of those shots have come mighty close. Someone’s going to die, Frieda.”
Around her she saw no signs of danger. She saw no death, only new lives as more people in Highlands joined the fray. Men who’d fished, worked as seiners, crewed on oyster boats, hauled lobster pots, and tonged for clams were now eating well, dressing better than they ever had before, and providing for their families as never before. Simple people who’d never been able to afford homes or new cars were pulling up in front of their just-built frame houses in cars off the showroom floor. The fishermen’s children were for once as well dressed and well fed as the hill people’s kids. Women could go to the hospital to have their babies. The city was growing and building up around them.
She’d never had much interest in the trappings of wealth, but the opportunities it could buy for Bea . . . ? The protection it could provide so that neither of them ever faced the predicament their mother must have faced? And the fact that it meant crossing the sea, sometimes several nights a week—that thought bloomed inside her chest. “If it’s dangerous, then everyone wouldn’t be getting in on the action and the money.”
“No. Not everyone. Look at the Bahrs here”—he gestured around—“still making an honest living. And Hawkeye, though you hate him; he isn’t doing it, either.”
She glanced away. The evening was coming on, but despite the weather and sea conditions, some of the larger contact boats were still running. There was no moon, so it would be pitch-black out there, as they preferred. She had picked up on just about everything about running. The local boatmen going out to the foreign-registered, big rum boats and bringing back the liquor were essentially the middle men. They bought, ferried, and sold the offshore boats’ contraband to the city men. The city men kept a lookout over on Highland Beach, where they’d get the signal from high-powered flashlights when the shore boats were coming in, and prearranged signals would tell them where to meet the drop men and the boats in Highlands, Leonardo, Belford, or other places. The city men drove to the drop site, bargained with the captain or his drop man, made their purchases, and then jumped into REO Speed Wagons or long sedans outfitted with heavy-duty springs to carry fifteen or more cases of Canadian booze into the city. The captain’s drop man would take any surplus and store it in hidden barns and sheds until it could be sold.
“And me,” said
“You’re getting by, ain’t you?”
She shifted in the chair. “Yeah, I’m getting by. That’s the point. I’m getting by and managing to put a little money away, but it’s not much. I have no security, no safety net.” An image of that awful room above the bar flashed in her mind. Neither she nor Bea could end up there!
Hicks fixed her with a stern glare. But as always he spoke softly to her. “You’ll worry a whole lot more if you’re running against the law.”
“Even the guard doesn’t care. I hear the in-charge officer on the Hook gets a call that the rum boats are coming, and he sends his patrol boats and runners to look in another place, like Perth Amboy. Those men find nothing, but the officer finds a case of prime Canadian whiskey waiting for him on the dock.”
“They aren’t all like that, and the guard keeps moving men around so they don’t get too comfortable and tempted in one spot.” Hicks rose. “Want some coffee?”
“Wait,” she said.
He stood still. “They’re getting better. The guard. Mark my word. They’ve made a few big arrests. And they’re learning how to spot the decoy boats, and they can light up the darkest night with tracer bullets. Some have even taken to firing warning shots across the bow of the boat they’re after, and some of those shots have come mighty close. Someone’s going to die, Frieda.”
Around her she saw no signs of danger. She saw no death, only new lives as more people in Highlands joined the fray. Men who’d fished, worked as seiners, crewed on oyster boats, hauled lobster pots, and tonged for clams were now eating well, dressing better than they ever had before, and providing for their families as never before. Simple people who’d never been able to afford homes or new cars were pulling up in front of their just-built frame houses in cars off the showroom floor. The fishermen’s children were for once as well dressed and well fed as the hill people’s kids. Women could go to the hospital to have their babies. The city was growing and building up around them.
She’d never had much interest in the trappings of wealth, but the opportunities it could buy for Bea . . . ? The protection it could provide so that neither of them ever faced the predicament their mother must have faced? And the fact that it meant crossing the sea, sometimes several nights a week—that thought bloomed inside her chest. “If it’s dangerous, then everyone wouldn’t be getting in on the action and the money.”
“No. Not everyone. Look at the Bahrs here”—he gestured around—“still making an honest living. And Hawkeye, though you hate him; he isn’t doing it, either.”
She glanced away. The evening was coming on, but despite the weather and sea conditions, some of the larger contact boats were still running. There was no moon, so it would be pitch-black out there, as they preferred. She had picked up on just about everything about running. The local boatmen going out to the foreign-registered, big rum boats and bringing back the liquor were essentially the middle men. They bought, ferried, and sold the offshore boats’ contraband to the city men. The city men kept a lookout over on Highland Beach, where they’d get the signal from high-powered flashlights when the shore boats were coming in, and prearranged signals would tell them where to meet the drop men and the boats in Highlands, Leonardo, Belford, or other places. The city men drove to the drop site, bargained with the captain or his drop man, made their purchases, and then jumped into REO Speed Wagons or long sedans outfitted with heavy-duty springs to carry fifteen or more cases of Canadian booze into the city. The captain’s drop man would take any surplus and store it in hidden barns and sheds until it could be sold.
“And me,” said
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