Black Duck Page 7

  Which are?

  Ruben Hart gazes at him a long moment. Then, in the maddening way he has of ignoring direct questions that cut too close, he changes the subject.

  If you still want to do something for me, there is one favor I could ask, he tells David.

  Okay. Shoot.

  There’s a pair of hedge clippers out in the garage, hanging high up on a hook. If you could get ’em down for me, I’d be obliged. I’d like to do some pruning around this place before the wife gets back. I was noticing this morning as you came in, it’s a jungle outside the front windows.

  Sure, David says. No problem at all. He goes to look for them.

  The question about Chief McKenzie nags at him, though. Later, as he’s driving home with his mother, he asks her: Did you ever hear of a police chief in this town named Ralph McKenzie? He would’ve been here in the 1920s.

  She shakes her head. Too long ago for me. There might be a record of him at the town hall.

  The next morning, on their way to Mr. Hart’s, David has his mother stop by. He checks with the clerk, but finds no reference to anyone named McKenzie. There’s nothing mysterious about this, however. The records on police chiefs only go back to 1930.

  COCKFIGHTERS

  WHATEVER JEDDY TOLD HIS FATHER ABOUT the gunmen on Coulter’s Point, it didn’t come to anything. As far as I could see, nobody heard about it. Chief McKenzie never went down to investigate. I know he didn’t because I began keeping an eye on Tom Morrison after that.

  Jeddy and I weren’t on speaking terms, and even if we had been, he was working at Fancher’s chicken farm and I was working at the store and there was no time for us to be together. It got to be a habit of mine that if I had an afternoon off, usually on weekends, I’d go see Tom. I’d bring him a newspaper and a pound of coffee or a loaf of store bread, something to give me a reason for the visit. We wouldn’t do much, just sit around and shoot the breeze, but I got to like him and I believe he liked me.

  He never complained about anything, not the weather or his lost eye or any of the bad luck that had befallen him. If you started him telling stories about his fishing days, he could be very entertaining. I asked him if he didn’t want to get another dog to keep him company, and he shook his head. He said any dog that wanted to come find him, he’d take it in, the way he had Viola. Otherwise, he wasn’t looking for one at this late date.

  “How did Viola come to you?” I asked.

  “Swam in,” Tom said, his good eye brightening. He loved to talk about her. “She were a long-distance swimmer in her day. What I believe is, she come over from Newport.”

  “Swam over? Impossible! She’d have to go five miles or more.”

  “That’s what I believe she did. The reason I say so, I have a friend with a boat who came across a dog swimming off Land’s End over there. He didn’t think nothing of it till he came to visit me one day. And he says: ‘I swear if that isn’t the dog I saw swimming.’ I already knew she was good in the water, so I didn’t doubt it. She’d swim alongside my raft while I was out crabbing, be in the water for a couple of hours and never get tired. This was a while back when she was a younger dog, of course.”

  After a story like this, he’d get quiet. His beard would go into the chewing motion that meant he was working something through. He wasn’t a man easy in his own skin. He had days of darkness and bad humor, though he did his best not to show it. He told me once that his battles in life were as much against himself as any other demon. “Weather and women included,” he added, with a wink.

  He was a character, all right, and fascinating to me for his determination to follow his own path and take orders from no one, lonely as that was.

  As the days passed, I wondered why Chief McKenzie wouldn’t show more interest in what had happened to him, if in fact Jeddy had told his father, which I didn’t doubt. But I let it ride. Tom wasn’t complaining and, at that time, there was so much going on of a cloak-and-dagger nature around the area that two goons with machine guns probably didn’t amount to much. Chief McKenzie soon had his hands full in another direction anyway.

  A couple of gaming men arrived from Massachusetts and began running cockfights out in the woods. This was a matter of putting two long-taloned roosters together in a ring and watching to see which one would tear the other apart. It was a grisly amusement that tended to attract bad types. Soon roughnecks from all over were showing up to bet on the cocks. They were drinking and carousing and getting into fights themselves. Chief McKenzie wasn’t about to tolerate that kind of behavior. One night, he and Charlie went out and broke up the party. They ended by arresting a good number of outsiders.

  There was a small jail in town connected to the town hall that mostly went unoccupied. All the week after Viola got killed and all the week after that, it was full of spitting, cursing, riffraff cockfighters waiting for their court dates to come up in Providence. The judges had gotten behind with all the smuggling cases that were coming in and a backlog had developed.

  People in town went by to get a look at the outsiders, then they’d saunter over and buy a soda at Riley’s store and talk about it. I was hauling stock like a mule there every afternoon, building up some capital in case my father ever heard about the day I took off. One afternoon, Marina dropped by to get a few groceries and she came out back to talk to me.

  “I hear you and Jed aren’t getting along,” she said. It’d been over two weeks by then.

  I just nodded. I felt sore enough about our falling-out that I didn’t want to talk about it, and anyhow, the way she looked was taking its usual toll on me. She had her dark hair pulled straight back in a ponytail that went halfway down her back. This was to show she meant business, I guess, but a few strands she didn’t know about had come loose and were bouncing around on her neck. I was trying not to look at them. I could see how a guy like Charlie Pope might go after her, crazy as that was. In my eyes, and maybe in his eyes, too, Marina was a natural: beautiful without trying and without caring about it, either. That was a mistake, of course. I still had a lot to learn about girls. The truth was, she just hadn’t yet met the person who would make her care.

  Strangely enough, Charlie Pope was what Marina had come to speak to me about.

  “Has he been over here bothering you?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Well, he’s been at Jed.”

  “About what?”

  “The dead man you found. He thinks you and Jeddy might’ve taken something off the body.”

  “Like what?”

  “A wallet.”

  My heart took a leap. It put Charlie in the same ring with Tom Morrison’s gunmen. All of a sudden, Charlie Pope didn’t seem like some small-town cop taking a few dollars to look the other way. He seemed a lot worse.

  “There wasn’t anything on him,” I told Marina. “No wallet or ID. Only thing was a pipe and a tobacco pouch.” I didn’t mention the gold wristwatch. That would’ve brought up Tom Morrison, and I couldn’t see the use of it. “What’s Charlie looking for, anyhow?”

  “He won’t say.” Marina gave me one of her extra-sharp glances and lowered her voice. “Listen, Ruben. Charlie’s into some rotten business. You watch out for him, all right?”

  “Does your dad know?” I asked. “Can’t he do something about it?”

  “He has to be careful, too. Charlie’s got connections.”

  “What connections? Can’t your dad report it?”

  “He’s doing what he can. You just keep an eye on yourself. And get straightened out with Jed,” she added, more lightly. “It’s not the same without you hanging around all the time. Anyway, you’ve got supper coming.”

  I knew she was talking about how Chief McKenzie had dis-invited me the afternoon we found the body. I’d been missing their house a lot. It felt good to know one person at least was missing me.

  “Thanks!”

  She flashed me that fine smile of hers and went back up front to do her shopping.

  After tha
t, I couldn’t stop grinning. All the next hour, I was putting on the steam and working twice as hard as usual out of pure happiness. Mr. Riley was there on one of his visits from Boston, and he must’ve noticed. He pulled me aside when Dad was out of the store.

  “You’re getting to be a big, strong fellow.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, proud to be complimented but also suspicious of what he wanted.

  “I could use a fellow like you. Would you be interested in taking on a job tonight?”

  After seeing him on the beach at Tyler’s, I had an idea already of what it might be, so I hedged. “I’d better check with my dad,” I told him. “He might not want me out riding around like that.”

  “I believe I could fix it with him,” Mr. Riley said. “If I did, what would you say to this?” He handed me a ten-dollar bill. It bowled me over.

  “Well, I guess I could do a job if my dad says so.”

  “That’s all right then,” Mr. Riley said. “Your pop’s a good man. Finest manager a man could have. You be down at Brown’s Cove tonight at nine o’clock and there’ll be another ten dollars for you. And a bit of an adventure, as well.”

  He gave me a wink and walked off.

  I wanted to go down to Brown’s, no doubt about that, but I also wanted to be sure it was all right with my father. It seemed odd to me that he’d agree, since as far as I knew, he’d kept himself clear of the rum-running business. When he came back in the store, I asked if I could speak to him. He said not right then.

  Later, I tried to ask him again, but he put me off. It was a busy afternoon, with kegs of molasses and sacks of flour coming in, and egg deliveries from a couple of farms. I didn’t get to speak to him in private until just before I was leaving to go home to supper.

  “Tell your ma I’ll be late tonight,” Dad said. “You two go on and eat. I’ll be home for a bite about nine.”

  I said I’d tell her. “There’s something else,” I said.

  He’d been about to walk off, now he wheeled around on me. He knew what I was going to say. Later, I found out he’d been twice to talk it out with Mr. Riley, and that was why he kept putting me off.

  “All right! You do what’s been asked of you,” he snapped, before I could even open my mouth. He was angry. “It’ll be just this once.”

  My chin dropped a little. I didn’t like the way he was agreeing to it, like he was being forced to.

  “I won’t do it if you say not to,” I told him.

  “I’m saying do what’s been asked and keep it to yourself,” my father repeated, as if he couldn’t bring himself to mention what it was. “I’ll deal with your ma when I get back.”

  “So, I should just ride my bike down to Brown’s after supper and—”

  Dad cut me off right there. “How many times do I have to say it? Now, get on home!”

  I went. I had a bad feeling about what might have gone on between Dad and Mr. Riley, but it didn’t last long. Twenty dollars was a small fortune to a kid in those days. The money wasn’t the only thing, either. I’d known other boys, mostly older than me, who’d been hired onto shore gangs. You’d never want to ask them about it, and they wouldn’t be stupid enough to boast, but there was an unspoken awe and mystery that surrounded them and left a big impression on the rest of us. Now I was to be one of those chosen few. Whatever my father might think, that was something I wouldn’t mind.

  What he told my mother about where I went that night, I never asked. I know that when I got back from the job, long after midnight, there was a plate of cookies set out in the kitchen, and a note from her telling me to pour myself some milk. Otherwise, my mother never said a word to me and I never said anything to her. I’d come home safe and eaten the cookies and that was all she had to know. Which was a good thing because if she ever had found out what went on that night, she’d never have trusted my father to let me go anywhere again.

  THE JOB AT BROWN’S

  IT WAS DAMP OUT. DARK AND MUDDY ON THE road. A spring rainstorm had been through during the day and not much had dried off when I left for Brown’s Cove that evening. I pedaled slowly. The wind was blowing into my face, which led me to thoughts of Jeddy and his cap that would never stay on. Seeing Marina that afternoon had made me homesick for him, if you can be homesick for a person. We hadn’t said two words in as many weeks and had taken to walking to school by different routes so as not to run into each other.

  I was ready for a change.

  It wasn’t Jeddy’s fault his dad was who he was. When I thought about it, I could even admire how Jeddy was sticking to his guns, backing up his father in a difficult time. I knew I’d do the same for my father if it came to that.

  I made up my mind to speak to Jeddy as soon as I could. We’d work it out. He’d agree not to ask me what was going on along the beaches. I’d agree not to let anything slip that he’d have to report as “police business.” We’d been friends for so long, it didn’t seem as if it’d be that hard.

  Brown’s Cove was a good three miles out of town. Before long, I knew I wasn’t the only one headed there. Five or six vehicles rushed by me in the dark, driving without headlights. One of them was Mr. Riley’s fancy red Lincoln. I knew it well. He parked out front of the store whenever he came down from Boston. I’d replaced the bulb in my bicycle lamp and had the beam cocked way up to spot out potholes ahead. I think Mr. Riley recognized me as he went by because an arm came out and waved just before the Lincoln disappeared into the dark. I liked that, being recognized by Mr. Riley. He was giving me a lot more scope than my own father, trusting me to do a big-time job.

  I’d never been on the beach at Brown’s, though I’d passed it going upriver on the Fall River boat a couple of times. It was a natural cove sheltered by a dip in the coast, a good place for a hidden landing. When I rode up, about twenty men were already there and a bunch of skiffs were pulled up on the beach, oars set and ready. The place was lit up bright as day with oil lanterns planted on the beach and car headlights shining across the sand. When I looked across the water, I was astonished to see a freighter looming like a gigantic cliff just outside the blaze of lights. It was in the process of dropping anchor. I soon found out that she was the Lucy M., a Canadian vessel that usually moored outside the twelve-mile U.S. territorial limit off the coast to avoid arrest.

  The way the Prohibition law was written, the Coast Guard couldn’t touch an outside rig, since it was in international waters. So ships from Canada and the West Indies, Europe and Great Britain would lie off there, sell their liquor cargos and unload them onto rum-running speedboats like the Black Duck to carry into shore. Sometimes as many as ten or fifteen ocean-going vessels would be moored at sea, waiting to make contact with the right runner. “Rum Row,” these groups of ships were called. You couldn’t see them from land, but you knew they were out there lying in wait over the horizon. It gave you an eerie feeling, as if some pirate ship from the last century was ghosting around our coast.

  I couldn’t believe the Lucy M.’s captain would be so bold as to bring her into Brown’s, where any Coast Guard cutter in the area could breeze up and put the pinch on her. Nobody at Brown’s seemed worried about it, though, and unloading operations soon commenced.

  The skiffs on shore rowed out and took on burlap bags, which was how the liquor was cased this time, then rowed in and were unloaded by the shore gang. I was assigned to a gang of eight men that handed the bags up the beach to waiting vehicles. It was a smoothly run operation, two gangs working at once, and a bunch of skiffs rowing out and back so that just as one skiff was unloaded and took off for more cargo, another would land, stuffed to the gunnels. We worked our tails off for an hour, took a short break, then started again. The men on my gang were all good fellows, some of whom I knew from town. They weren’t used to having someone as young as me on the job, and I took a lot of kidding, but I didn’t care. I was happy to be there, making my twenty bucks.

  Along about midnight, someone came running onto the beach, shouting: “Feds! Feds!
” Right behind him came a car. It slammed on the brakes and men in dark suits jumped out with pistols. They were Prohibition agents. After them, two state patrol cars drove in, and a bunch of uniformed police officers ran onto the beach, some of whom were carrying guns, too.

  It all happened so fast that I stood there, frozen to the ground. Tino, a guy I’d been working with, grabbed my arm.

  “Hey, kid, hoof it!”

  I took off after him. We dove behind a sand dune, then split up and crawled off into the beach grass. After about five minutes, I heard footsteps come up close to where I was lying flat out in the grass. I held my breath and the feet went away over a nearby dune. I never knew if it was the police, the Feds, or one of the shore crew scouting for a buddy. I was too scared to look.

  Later, loud voices sounded from down on the beach. I crawled to the top of my dune and took a peek to see what was happening. The car lights were still blazing, and I saw Mr. Riley in a circle of police officers. Charlie Pope was there, and so was Jeddy’s dad in his leather vest with his badge shining out. Mr. Riley was mad as a wet hen. His face was bright red and he was yelling.

  “I bought protection!” he shouted. “I paid you for it. What’re you doing here, messing up my landing?”

  Chief McKenzie said something I couldn’t hear that made Mr. Riley even more furious.

  “Who’re you working for? The big boys?” he shouted. “What’d they pay you to do this? It’s my drop. I paid for it!”

  Meanwhile, two men in suits who must have been Federal agents came up. They took hold of Mr. Riley on either side and snapped handcuffs on him. He tried to shake the guys off, but didn’t get anywhere. They started walking him to a car. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the Lucy M. out in the cove. She was pulling up anchor.

  “Where’re you taking my cargo?” Mr. Riley yelled. He kept on yelling until they put him in the car. The last I saw of him was his fancy shoes, the ones he never liked to get wet, disappearing as they closed the car door on him.