The Moonshine War Read online

  People were bunched around a pickup truck parked at the curb. In the box, lying side by side, were three bodies. Long recognized Boyd Caswell and the sheriff, Mr. Baylor, who seemed to be looking straight up at the window. A hat covered the face of the third one.

  Long closed the window. He walked down the hall to 210 and knocked on the door. Miley opened it after he waited and knocked again.

  "Is he here?"

  Miley stood with her hand on the door. "I haven't seen him all afternoon."

  "Where would he be, at the farm?"

  "I guess so, I was out." Miley turned away from the door, pushing it open. "Unzip me, will you?"

  Long hesitated a moment before following her into the room. Then he was close behind her, pulling down the zipper of her blouse, looking at her bare white skin. Miley said over her shoulder, "You can wait for him if you want. I'm going to take a bath."

  "I might do that," Long said. "You think he'll be coming soon."

  "He could come any minute." She turned, looking up at him. "Or he might not be here for an hour. I never know what he's going to do."

  "Well, it's pretty important I see him." "There's a bottle of liquor on the shelf in the closet."

  "You want some?"

  "I don't drink," Miley answered. Going into the bathroom and closing the door part way, she began to undress behind it. Long could hear the water running. He kept looking at the door, catching brief glimpses of her body, knowing she was expecting him to come in. He went over to the window: the people were still gathered around the pickup truck. What the hell were they waiting for? Why would they have the bodies on display in front of the hotel? Like they were waiting for him to come out and show him and say, "See what you done?"

  Somebody would have to investigate it. Maybe the town police or the county prosecutor or whatever law enforcement they had here. They would sit down and start asking questions.

  Miley was singing something he had never heard before--a soft, little-girl voice--making sounds for the words she didn't know. She's going to ask you to hand her something, Long told himself. He'd go in and there she would be looking up at him, her big white boobies floating in the water. All wet and soapy waiting for him to reach in and grab her.

  Like hell, he said to himself, and went back to his room.

  Inside of ten minutes his suitcase was packed and he was at the desk in the lobby to check out.

  Mrs. Lyons looked a little surprised and he almost told her he'd received a call from his office and had to leave right away; but he caught himself in time, knowing she could check on his calls, and didn't tell her anything. She was saying she was sorry, but he would have to pay for tonight also, even though he wouldn't be here--when Lowell Holbrook came over.

  "They took them away," Lowell said.

  Frank Long turned to him, easing against the counter. "I could see something from my window--what was going on?"

  "They found the sheriff and E. J. Royce and Boyd Caswell all shot dead."

  "You don't tell me."

  "Yes, sir. They said it looked like Mr. Baylor and E. J. were bringing Boyd in and he got one of their guns and they shot it out, killing each other. They came here looking for the undertaker. He was having his supper."

  "That's why they were out in front?"

  "Yes, sir, looking for the undertaker," Lowell said. His gaze dropped to the suitcase. "Excuse me, but are you leaving?"

  "Yeah, have to leave."

  "They say it might have been moonshiners done it, besides Boyd Caswell."

  "I'll have your total in a minute," Mrs. Lyons said. She walked off toward the office. Long watched her: she didn't seem too concerned and it surprised him. Three men were dead she must have known, but she went about her business and didn't even seem interested.

  "Do you believe it could have been moon-shiners?"

  Frank Long's eyes came back to Lowell. "I guess it could."

  "I don't know any of them would have shot Mr. Baylor."

  "Well, maybe it was Boyd Caswell, like you said."

  "Maybe."

  "You got police here to look into it?"

  "Just just a constable," Lowell answered. "Mr. Baylor was the law. With him dead I don't know who it would be. I wondered maybe if you were going to do something about it."

  "No, that wouldn't be my department. You know what I am, huh?"

  "Everybody knows it."

  "I expect people are talking about us raiding the stills."

  "Yes, sir," Lowell said. "Since you're going, I guess you must be through raiding."

  "I'm through," Long said.

  Lowell watched him pay his bill, then touch his hat to Mrs. Lyons and walk out. Lowell didn't offer to help him with the suitcase. He watched him go through the door before he turned to Mrs. Lyons.

  "Did he say where he was going? Back to Frankfort?"

  "I didn't ask."

  "It seems funny. Three men are killed and he leaves the same day. Don't you think that's kind of funny?"

  "I don't think about it at all," Mrs. Lyons said.

  "I mean you can't help but wonder."

  "Yes you can help it," she said then, with a note of irritation that took Lowell by surprise. "You can keep your nose out of it and let them all kill each other. That's what you can do." Mrs. Lyons turned from the desk and went back to her office.

  "Long's coming," Dual said.

  Dr. Taulbee got up from a chair and followed Dual through the kitchen. Out on the porch they watched Frank Long walking over from his car. Dr. Taulbee got his grin ready.

  "Hey, Frank, I was fixing to come see you."

  Long reached the porch. "Has he told you about killing the sheriff?"

  "Dual? Sure he did."

  "It doesn't seem to bother you any."

  "Well, what was he going to do? That old man had Boyd Caswell in the back seat. He ever held a bottle in front of Boyd and started asking questions, it would be all over before breakfast."

  "It's all over now," Long said.

  "What're you talking about? Listen, Frank, Dual didn't have any choice. He seen what he had to do and did it."

  "That old man pulled his gun me," Dual said. "I shot him too dead to skin."

  "And then you finished Boyd."

  "I didn't want to, he was a buddy of mine. But he was going to die and there wasn't anything we could do to help him."

  "That's what I mean," Dr. Taulbee said. "He didn't want to shoot Boyd or that old man but, Frank, if he hadn't, you'd be heading for Atlanta next month. Heck, Dual saved your hide and you haven't even thanked him for it."

  "I don't dare look at him," Long said, 'I'm liable to grab him and wring his neck. We had a good plan that could have worked, but he starts shooting people and now we might as well piss on the fire and call the dogs."

  Dr. Taulbee nodded, "I guess your part in it's done. I don't see any reason for you to stay around."

  "I mean it's over for all of us."

  "No, sir, Frank, it's over for you, but we got to find us that whiskey yet."

  "If he pulls his gun," Long said, "I'll shoot you first."

  "Nobody's talking about shooting anybody." Dr. Taulbee sounded hurt. "I'm saying it's time for you to go home is all."

  "I guess it was going to come sometime," Long said. "I should've known the day you got here."

  "Well," Dr. Taulbee said, "You can't know everything. You took a chance and you didn't make it. Dual here doesn't trust you. He's for putting you under; but I told him, old Frank's not going to sic the law on us. He knows if we get put in jail he's going to be right there with us, hoping and praying some accident don't befall him. Isn't that right? I said to Dual hell, Frank was nice enough to tell us about that boy's whiskey, what do we want to hurt him for?"

  "I guess that's it then," Long said. "Since there's not much I can do about it."

  "There isn't anything you can do," Dr. Taulbee said, "outside of wish me luck. This next raid I'm leading myself."

  Dusk was settling as Lon
g drove away from the farmhouse. Reaching the gravel road he flicked on his headlights.

  He told himself that he must be awful dumb. Taulbee must think he was about the dumbest boy he'd ever met. He had called Taulbee in and now he couldn't do a thing about it. What he couldn't figure out was why he had trusted Taulbee in the first place. Probably because he figured he had a hold on Taulbee and, if the man pulled anything, he'd put on his federal agent hat and arrest the son of a bitch. He hadn't thought about Taulbee having a hold on him at the same time. Maybe he should have stayed in the Army. Son Martin had said something about that, about staying in the Amy where there was somebody to think for him. That hadn't made him mad at the time, but it did now, thinking about it, because he could picture Taulbee laughing at him and saying the same thing. Boy, he would sure like to think of a way of nailing Taulbee and that loony-head Dual and the rest them. He had stayed calm and walked away, because he looked stupid enough without crying and kicking his feet and, because if he'd stayed any longer, he would have taken a swing at Dual and gotten shot full of holes before he cleared the yard.

  Passing Kay Lyons's house he thought about her for a moment, picturing her, the dead expression on her face as he checked out--probably a cold fish underneath her woman's body; no life in there at all. The house, he noticed, was completely dark.

  But there was a light farther down the road, off to the right side. He couldn't figure where the light was coming from: the church was down there and the cemetery.

  It was a lantern hanging from the stubby limb of a tree. As he drew near the cemetery he could see the dull light beyond the fence and a man digging a grave. It was strange, like he had seen a lantern in a cemetery before somewhere, a little while ago, though he knew it had not been around here. Then he remembered what it was: the grave of Son Martin's father with the light post over it, a lonely grave up on the hill, all by itself.

  Long stopped, skidding in the gravel, then backed up until he was even with the lantern light and saw the grave digger looking over toward him. The man leaned on his shovel as Long got out and came through the fence.

  "See you're working late."

  "They's going to be some burials tomorrow."

  "That's what I hear. I knew one of them."

  "Boyd Caswell? I see you're coming from that direction."

  "That's right. You knew him?"

  "I knew them all that's buried here. Them or their children or grandchildren."

  "I used to know that girl was married to Son Martin," Long said.

  "She's over yan side of that big gravestone there. Her and Son Martin's old mother lying side by side. Next to them's his daddy's folks and I believe two little brothers passed on as babies."

  "The whole family," Long said. "Except his dad."

  "It's the family plot," the gravedigger said.

  Long got in his car and drove on, asking himself, If they are all buried there, then why is that old man all by himself up on the hill? Answer me that.

  Lowell got a pot of coffee and some cookies from the dining room and took them in to Mrs. Lyons, who was in the office making entries in a ledger book. She was not in a talkative mood and hadn't been for a few days, so Lowell didn't waste time trying to make conversation.

  He went out to the lobby just as Frank Long was coming in the door with his heavy suitcase.

  "Did you forget something?"

  "No, I'm checking in."

  "You just left here a half hour ago."

  "Well, I got to thinking, since I've paid the room for the night I ought to get my money's worth, oughtn't I?"

  "You'll have to check in again."

  "I don't mind."

  "How long you 'spect to be?"

  "Oh, I don't know," Frank Long answered. "Probably just a short visit this time."

  Chapter Twelve.

  Son didn't get home from Corbin until almost noon Wednesday. He had spent the evening with his father-in-law, Mr. Hartley, and finally stayed at his house that night. In the morning he asked Mr. Hartley if he would loan him three hundred dollars. The man wrote out a check without comment or question. Son thanked him and left. He bought his sugar and grain in Corbin and, on the way home, stopped off at Marlett Feed & Seed to pay his past-due bill, counting off one hundred and eighty-seven dollars in front of the store manager, not saying one word, and walked out.

  It was a dry, sunny day that June 24. The open yard and the outbuildings lay still in the noon heat. Son came to a stop by the porch. He turned off the ignition and sat there a moment in the stillness. In broad daylight it was quieter than night. There was no breeze and nothing seemed to move. What Son wanted to know right away: where were the hounds? How come they hadn't chased him up the road? Maybe it was always this still at noon on a hot day and he hadn't noticed it before. But he still wanted to know where those hounds were. Aaron was probably up at the still. The hounds could be with him; though Son couldn't remember Aaron ever taking them up there.

  He went into the house. There was a pail of water on the sinkboard and a pot of coffee, that smelled fresh, on the stove. He was upstairs, taking off his suit coat and about to change into work clothes, when he heard the hounds faintly, way off. By the time he got downstairs and out in the yard, Aaron was coming across the pasture. The were close in front of him and Aaron's arm was extended, like he was pointing at them. It looked strange until Son realized Aaron had them on a rope leash. It was something else he couldn't remember Aaron ever doing. Or going hunting at noon; though Aaron was sure as hell carrying the 12-gauge.

  "You get anything?" Son asked him. He reached for the hounds as they panted and sniffed and jumped up on his legs.

  "We got us plenty," Aaron said.

  Son looked at him, straightening, "Who'd you see?"

  "They up in the woods."

  "Who is?"

  "The ones your friend brought. I saw one of their cars. I heard other ones making noise in the woods, 'Hey, where you at? Man, I'm lost!' They don't know what they doing up there, but I know what they come for."

  "Why didn't they drive in the road?"

  "I don't know that. I think they know you was away and they want you to come home and think everything fine before they come get you. But I took these two boys and sniffed like I was squirrel hunting and it ain't any surprise now."

  "Maybe we still have time to get out of here."

  "Is that what you want to do?"

  "They've probably closed the back door by now."

  "Sealed off the road. Nobody in or out," Aaron said. "Then they sneak up."

  "Or they watch for a while. Think maybe we want to take some whiskey and make a run." "Where'd we run to?"

  "I don't know of anywhere," Son answered. "So I guess we stay."

  Aaron nodded, at ease. "We here when they come."

  They got ready for Dr. Taulbee, knowing he was watching them: two small figures through field glasses three to four hundred yards away: two boys doing the chores, taking their time in the afternoon heat.

  They unloaded the pickup truck, carrying what looked like grain sacks into the house. And inside they stacked the heavy sacks beneath the two windows facing the open yard.

  They hauled a load of old lumber from the barn to the porch. Son Martin looked like he was repairing the porch steps, replacing some of the boards. Yes he was, through from three to four hundred yards you would never see he was wedging in the two middle steps and not nailing them. And you would never see Aaron, who was pulling lumber inside from off the porch and covering the two offside windows that faced the near slope behind the house.

  Throughout the afternoon, every hour or so, they would carry a pail of water into the house until they had half-filled a thirty-gallon barrel.

  On the kitchen table, pushed over closer to the windows, they laid out their weapons: the 12-gauge Remington and two rifles, a lever-action Winchester and an 0-3 Springfield, and all the ammunition they had in the house. Son put his Smith & Wesson .38 in his back pocket.

  Th
ey parked the pickup truck on the offside of the pump in the yard, to give them some protection if they had to go out there again.

  They pulled back the linoleum in the kitchen and pried up a couple of floor boards so Aaron could drop down into the cellar and bolt the door that opened from the outside. Then he pickaxed the hard-packed floor and shoveled the dirt into grain sacks and handed them up to Son.

  At suppertime they ate biscuits and gravy and green beans and wondered if there was anything else they should do. If they had some bob wire, Aaron said, that'd be good, string it around the place when it got dark. They'd bring the dogs in the house. They'd stay by the windows and keep watch on the yard, because maybe those boys out there were tired from waiting and would feel like doing something. They'd be a moon tonight, Aaron said; that was good.

  They went out to the porch after supper, to sit down and smoke and watch the hill slopes fading in the dusk, spreading their shadows over the pasture. The ridges were silent and almost black against the night sky. Son finished another cigarette and flicked the stub out into the darkness.

  "What do you think?" he said.

  "I think they decide to go home or come visit us," Aaron said. "They no reason to stay out in the dark."

  A little while later, inside the house, in the kitchen, Aaron rose from where he was seated by a window.

  "All the getting ready we done, I forget the mule."

  "The mule's all right," Son told him.

  "It don't have any water I know of. If it be awhile before we bring any out there, that old mule be thirsty."

  Son looked out the window, at the moonlight that lay in the yard between the house and the deeply shadowed outline of the barn.

  "Take the water out of the barrel," he said, "you won't make any noise at the pump." Within a few moments he was watching Aaron crossing the yard, his shadow following him until he was close to the barn and enveloped in silent darkness. Son heard the door creak and saw a faint movement. Aaron was inside.