Sinful Suspense Box Set (22 page)

Chapter 2

Jackson

I reached down
and yanked out the patch of weeds growing in front of Ole Roy’s tombstone. With so many in Harper’s Cross running stills in the night hours and sleeping in the day, no one had had time to keep up the cemetery or clear off the gravestones. Someone had left an empty clay jug in front of Pa’s stone, friends of his, no doubt, coming up to have a drink with Ole Roy. That’s how it was with him. He had a big presence in town and not just because he’d been built like a lumberjack. Everyone knew and respected and even slightly feared the man. But it was a good fear, a fear that made them feel safer to have a man like Roy Jarrett in their sleepy town. My pa hadn’t really done anything of noted significance to earn the respect, it had just come naturally. Could have been the way he handled himself, always calm and cool headed no matter what the circumstance. People had liked that about him. You knew what to expect from Ole Roy. I’d been told by many that I had the same qualities as my pa, but I never saw it. I never could tell what the hell people were seeing that I wasn’t.

Gideon and I had only been in France a month when Ma’s letter had come, letting us know that Pa had taken a rusty nail through the boot and that he was losing his leg to gangrene. Even with delivering the gut wrenching news, she’d joked in the letter that Ole Roy still hadn’t had his feathers ruffled and that he insisted on holding a funeral for the leg. A week later, the funeral was held for the leg and they buried Ole Roy along with it. The putrefaction had gone to his heart, and that was the end of him.

I stepped over to the next headstone, scaring two bobwhite quails from the frilly underbrush. They skittered away warbling in protest. I ripped out the weeds in front of the headstone.
Alice Jarrett, beloved wife of Ole Roy
. I smiled. Even in death, Ma was not just a woman with a family and humble home to take care of. She was the wife of Ole Roy, something only she could boast. Three months into our tour in France, Gideon took a bullet to the leg. The same day, a letter got through, crumpled and stained, letting us know that Alice Jarrett had followed her husband to heaven, a broken heart was the cause of death given. I missed both their funerals.

Ma had never really been suited to life in Harper’s Cross. She’d grown up in a nice house in Alexandria where she’d gone to college and earned a degree to teach. Then she met Ole Roy, and he’d swept her up into his giant arms. She never looked back. But she brought her teacher mind and her books with her. My brothers and I were the only boys living at the bottom edge of the Blue Ridge mountains who’d had to learn math and read books before we could head out for chores and messing around. The one thing that could get us clapped on the ears was using bad grammar or the word ain’t. Ole Roy would roll his eyes when she’d lecture us about our English skills, but underneath it all, it seemed he was proud that his boys were growing up different.

Gideon blasted the horn from the road. His arm hung out of the driver’s side window, and he slapped the door. “Let’s go, Jackson. We don’t want to be late.”

I headed down the weed choked hill and walked around to the passenger side. “Out, Bodhi.”

He grunted in anger and climbed out to the get in the backseat. “Where is it in the rules that you always get to ride shotgun?” he complained.

“Don’t need any rules, Bodhi. You’re the youngest, so Gideon and I get to boss you around.” I dropped into the front seat and turned back. “Now stop your whining and hand me my coat.”

Bodhi still hadn’t wiped the frown from his face as he handed it to me. Bodhi had dark hair and blue eyes like me and Ma. But I was bigger than Bodhi, not giant like Gideon or Ole Roy, but I could hold my own in a fight. Some brawn, a heap of charm and plenty of brains was how Ma had always described me. Aside from winning every fight he’d ever fought, Gideon could fix the engine in any car, but he didn’t always use common sense. Ma always attributed it to too many blows to the head.

Bodhi was different than both Gideon and me. He was always on the losing end of a fist fight, and he was a lot more sensitive. Sometimes Ole Roy would tease Bodhi that he was the ‘daughter he never had’. That made Bodhi so mad, he decided to show Pa by learning how to shoot. He’d go out every afternoon and hang Ma’s old pie tins in the trees and put rotten apples on the fence and practice shooting. Came one day when Ole Roy was trapped in the field between his plow and a three foot copperhead coiled and ready to strike. Bodhi grabbed the hunting rifle, took aim and shot the snake’s head clean through with the first bullet. Ole Roy didn’t tease him after that.

I yanked my coat on and smoothed back my hair.

“Don’t know why you’re getting all spit-shined for a meeting with a lowlife gangster like Griggs,” Bodhi said. “Noah told me that a couple weeks ago Griggs was meeting with some guys about selling hooch across the river. Griggs didn’t like the way one of the men had his tweed cap cocked at an angle. Griggs told him to straighten it, but the guy refused. Griggs shot him in the head. Straightened his newsboy cap out for good.”

“Sounds like a story to me,” I said.

“It’s no story.” Bodhi leaned forward. “Hey, butt me, would ya? I smoked my last Pall Mall this morning.”

I pulled the cigarettes out of my pocket and handed them back.

Gideon turned onto the main road that would take us to Breakers, Clinton Griggs’s speakeasy on the northeast fork of the highway. “Jacks, I’m still waiting for you to cut us in on why we’re going to meet Griggs and his fat headed, trigger happy lackeys. Bodhi’s story is probably not that crazy. As far as gangsters go, Griggs and his loyal hound dogs aren’t exactly respectable prospects for business partners. Especially with a two-bit operation like ours.”

“That’s just it, Gideon. I’m tired of being a two-bit operation. As the forty-niners used to say—
there’s gold out there in them thar hills
, and we don’t even have to bend over a river with a tin pan to find it. Griggs has sealed a deal with some stodgy old politicians on Capitol Hill who like to throw discrete parties, and their favorite party favors are loose women and illegal liquor. It’s a deal that will make Griggs a very rich man. Not to mention that he’ll have some powerful men making sure his operation runs smoothly. It seems the new president, Harding, is filling the District with his cronies and campaign contributors. Bribes and corruption are sweeping through the city. They might be enforcing temperance on the country, but there is a double standard when it comes to the people in charge. The law, even the Feds, will look the other way if the D.C. big shots are on the receiving end. As unstable and dangerous as Griggs can be, as a middleman, he’s worth the risk. He’s got the connections we need, and I want to make him see that he needs us too.”

Bodhi leaned forward. “How the hell are you going to do that?”

“Yeah, Jacks, you know that Griggs has been working with the Denton brothers,” Gideon said. “They’ve been running moonshine for Griggs for the past six months. We step into their territory, and we’ll be asking for trouble.”

I looked over at him. “When the hell has Gideon Jarrett ever shied away from trouble?”

“Passing a twenty-fifth birthday will do that to a man. Makes him start thinking about his mortality.”

I laughed. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, brother, otherwise we might as well turn this damn jalopy around right now because today I need Gideon the Crusher not Grandpa, ready for a porch rocker, Gideon.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’m joking. I guess it would be sort of refreshing to crush a few Denton heads. Always hated those thick necked bastards.”

I patted his shoulder. “Now there is the brother I know and love. Griggs agreed to hear my pitch. It’s probably a long shot, and I might earn a bullet hole through my head instead of a business deal. But you’ve got to take chances if you want to make some real money in this business.”

“They say he smells like sarsaparilla,” Bodhi piped up from the back.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

“Griggs. He smells like sarsaparilla.”

I looked at Gideon for confirmation. He was the one who spent a lot of long nights at the speakeasy Griggs owned. He nodded. “Yep, some expensive European hair grease he uses. Smells like a damn soda fountain. Only got close enough to him once to smell it over the tobacco smoke, but it did make me want to pull up a stool and break out a straw.”

I shook my head. “Somehow I don’t put Griggs together with sipping soda.”

“I heard rumor it had something to with some weird sentimentality toward his ma,” Gideon said. “But those are just rumors. Could be he just likes to smell spicy sweet.”

“Look at that.” Bodhi pointed ahead. “They’ve almost got the traveling show ready. Noah and I’ve been saving up for it. There’s the Death Sphere. A stuntman rides a motorcycle around in that thing. Even goes upside down.”

A maze of red and yellow striped tents topped with flags and signs advertising the performances and sideshows stood up out of the abandoned Muskee corn fields like an array of giant party hats. The flurry of activity had kicked up a thin cloud of dust. A flock of pigeons circled overhead, waiting patiently for the soon to be feast of dropped popcorn kernels and ice cream cones.

“I saw the carnival trucks as they were parading down Thatcher Road. Marilyn and I had taken a little rest stop, and the owner of the show stopped to ask me if they were heading the right way.”

Gideon eyed me without turning his face from the road. “A rest stop, is that what they’re calling it?”

I shrugged. “What can I say? We were just driving along. One minute she’s going on about the new dress she bought for the church social, and the next, she’s shoving her hand down my pants.”

“Shit, Jacks,” Bodhi puffed from the backseat, “you’ve got more women than you know what to do with these days. One day they’re all going to meet up in the same location and start talking and realize that you’ve been fucking all of them, whispering in their ears that they’re the only one. Then they’re going to storm the house, tie you up and hang you from the big oak.”

I turned to look at Bodhi. “And what about you? That Maggie Stevens just about melts into a pile of butter whenever you walk into the grocers. When are you going ask her out? About time someone popped that cherry of yours, little brother.”

Gideon laughed.

Bodhi kicked the back of the seat. “Fuck you both. I’m looking for the right girl.” My little brother had plenty of admirers, but no one had caught his eye yet. For me, after losing Ella, I’d found my attention span was short when it came to girls. I guess no one had caught my eye yet either. I just couldn’t see any way to give away a heart that Ella had already taken with her to the grave.

Gideon slowed as we passed the carnival. “Starfield’s Traveling Show,” he read off the giant sign out front. “Come watch The Enchantress ride The Death Sphere.” He looked at me. “Enchantress? Sounds like the stunt rider is a woman.”

“Maybe. I met a couple of the exotic dancers when the truck stopped for directions.”

Gideon’s mouth dropped open. “And you didn’t fucking mention that detail to me? They’ve got hoochie-coochie girls, and you didn’t feel the need to bring it up in conversation?”

“Looks like they’re setting up some game booths,” Bodhi said enthusiastically.

Gideon grunted in disappointment. “There is something seriously wrong with our little brother.”

I laughed. “We sheltered him too much.” I pulled out my pocket watch. Ole Roy had given it to me before I left for France. I never went anywhere without it. It was like having a piece of him with me all the time. “Let’s get moving. If we’re late, Griggs won’t even invite us in.”

Gideon pressed forward the lever and lifted his pedal foot. We lurched into high gear and rumbled past the carnival. I glanced out the window one last time and caught a glimpse of a girl walking a large gray horse across the lot. It was her, the girl who’d sat back in the shadows of the truck as if she didn’t want to be seen. But once I saw her, once I’d gotten a good look at her, I couldn’t pull my gaze away. She had hair the color of copper and glittering brown eyes and golden skin to match, almost as if some artist had taken a brush and painted a girl made of copper and gold, an incredibly beautiful girl. 

***

Gideon pulled the car up in front of the building. Before the war, it had been used as a library, but the inside had been gutted by fire. Books, it seemed, made great kindling. One misplaced cigarette, and there wasn’t much the volunteer fire fighters could do except watch Dickens and Twain go up in smoke.

The brick building was just far enough off the main road and just plain looking enough to make the perfect location for a speakeasy. Breakers was a popular juice joint and people traveled from miles to get drunk and lose money at the tables. Breakers offered every form of entertainment, even music. Occasionally, a ragtime or jazz band would drive their instruments across the 14th Street bridge to give a show. On those nights there was hardly room to stand in the place, let alone dance.

I’d gone there one night to listen to the music. The air was thick with the mist of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and bodies were pressed together like the books on library shelves. With only one exit door and four small, high windows, all I could think about was how those books had just burned and there was nothing anyone could do. The same would be true on a crowded night at Breakers. Like the shelves of books, the people would just burn, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing anyone could do. I hadn’t gone back much after that.

One of Griggs’s men was out front. He moved back the panel of his coat to flash his shoulder holster as if we needed reminding that he was armed. Griggs and his men were the type who went to bed with one hand on their cock and one on their Colt.

I spoke to Bodhi without turning to look back at him. “Hand forward that jar of whiskey on the floor.” I reached back, and he put it in my hand.

Gideon glanced down at the jar. “Corn whiskey?”

“Yep, a hundred and sixty proof white lightning. We’re putting on our Sunday best today. All good deeds are repaid. Remember how Ma used to tell us that? Growing up, you and I always kept an eye on Mabel Hart’s son, Walter, right? Whenever he got bullied for being too small, or for his thick glasses, or for always reading books, we defended him. Well, that was our good deed, and now it’s being repaid.” I opened the door. “Bodhi, you climb up to the driver’s seat, and if anything seems wrong or if Gideon and I don’t come back out in fifteen minutes, you drive off.”

“But, Jackson, you need me. I’ve got my gun. I’m ready to go in with you.”

“Bodhi, no arguing. They aren’t going to let us in with our weapons anyhow, and you’ll just be one more thing to worry about. If something happens to us, then you go to live with Mabel Hart, you understand?”

“Fuck, Jackson, now you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“It’ll be fine, Bodhi. Just do as I say.”

Gideon and I climbed out. Griggs’s bodyguard extinguished his cigarette with his boot and stood at attention in front of the door. We walked up to him. “Jackson Jarrett?” he asked.

“That’s me, and this is my brother, Gideon.”

The man had an ugly scar that ran from one brow straight across his pointy nose to the opposite cheek as if someone had tried to slice his face in half and had nearly succeeded. “I was told to only let Jackson inside.”

“We left our weapons in the car. You can search us,” I said.

“Just one of you,” he repeated.

“Jackson, I don’t know about—”

I handed Gideon my hat. “It’ll be fine. Go back to the car. I’ll be out in fifteen.”

The man spent a good three minutes searching me. I’d been expecting it and had left everything behind but my clothes and watch. “All right, let’s go,” he said.

The place looked different, plainer and even less inviting, without the crush of customers and smell of liquor. The long wood bar counter had been cleaned and polished for another night of business. Two more armed men in black pinstripes and matching fedoras met us in the hallway. They led me to a room in the back and pushed open the door. For all his big reputation as a cutthroat gangster, in person, Clinton Griggs had a slight build, beady black eyes and a sharp nose making him look like a cross between a weasel and a crow. And like the weasel and crow, he was smart, ruthless and predatory. For as unimposing as he was physically, his gangster reputation kept him well-supplied with pretty women. One was just getting up from kneeling down under his desk when the door swung open. She wiped her mouth with her thumb and kept her eyes down as she sidled past in her stylish bob haircut and shimmery red dress.