Rum, Bullets and Codfish by H. Paul Doucette

Author:H. Paul Doucette
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: smuggling, corruption, smuggling rum, liquor smuggling during prohibition, american mafia in the liquor trade, rum row smuggling from nova scotia to us, nova scotia political corruption, illegal liquor smuggling leads to murder
Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.

* * *

A couple of hours later, I was sitting at a small table in the corner of the speakeasy nursing a cup of coffee. I was smoking a Black Cat cigarette, my third since arriving twenty minutes ago. Lenny was late.

I was feeling a bit keyed up like I usually felt before going on a job and his being late wasn’t helping my nerves. So many things could go wrong if I didn’t play my cards just right. So much depended on what the job entailed and whether he would try and skim the load again. The plan depended on it. My problem was when to brace him with my offer to throw in on their operation. The upside would be putting me in touch with whoever was running the operation...maybe. The downside, simple, kill me and just take the truck. I instinctively put my hand inside my coat and felt for my .45, feeling reassured as I wrapped my hand around the grip.

About five minutes later, I spotted Purcell as he entered the room. He stopped for a moment, scanning the room then, seeing me, stepped quickly towards where I sat. He pulled out chair and sat down as he waved at the man behind the bar, pointed at my mug then held up one finger. The barman nodded.

“You’re late,” I said, feigning a tone of impatience.

“Not that much,” he said. “What’s it matter to you anyway?”

I shot him an angry look as I reached for the ashtray and butted out the cigarette.

“So? What’s the deal this time?” I asked.

“Remember that last shipment the CPS nabbed? The one that put the Joudreys in Rockhead?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, this is the replacement shipment.”

“We’re headin’ for Cape Breton again, then?”

“Not this time. We’re pickin’ it up in Jeddore over on the Eastern Shore. Then we run it to that warehouse in Eastern Passage we were at last time. We’ll stay there until nighttime then we run it down to Mahone Bay, where we off-load to a tramp steamer that’ll be waitin’ there for us.”

“I didn’t know there was a dock big enough for a ship down there?”

“There’s ain’t,” he said. “The Joudreys’ll be there to help with the transfer. By the way, we gotta be there and done before sun up. That gonna be a problem?”

“Not for me,” I said. “Depends on how fast we get unloaded. I can make the run in about three, four hours from the Passage. It seems like a lotta work this time. Why not jus’ transfer the load directly to the tramper outside the twelve-mile limit or in the Bay?”

“Don’t know. That’s the way the boss wants it done, so that’s the way we do it.”

“I seem to recall Bill Joudrey tellin’ me that there’s a CPS patrol boat operatin’ down that way. Ain’t we takin’ a risk of gettin’ caught?”

“That’s been dealt with,” he said.

Interesting, I thought. Did they have someone inside the CPS?

Just then the barman arrived carrying a mug of coffee and set it in front of Purcell.

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