20. Twenty
Smuggie tucked the pistol back into his jacket as the lawyer and his dame scurried through the underbrush. That had been close. Too close.
He’d caught up to these fools almost on the doorstep of his crew’s hideout before resorting to something drastic to scare them away. The big boss had said to trail them and find information at any cost, but he doubted that cost included one of their hidden smuggling ports. Now he’d have to deal with Dewy and Scat and explain why he’d been lurking in the woods instead of coming into camp the usual way.
He slapped a mosquito and cursed the creature’s existence. Something that lived only to drain others didn’t deserve to survive. Maybe the pest would be poisoned by the vices in his blood and meet its end.
The pair disappeared through thick underbrush, back toward the boat and away from his men.
No wonder the big boss had him following these two. Turned out they weren’t after a treasure after all. They were looking to take down his operation. Good thing he got rid of them before one of the blokes saw them. Scat or Dewy would have put a bullet in both before even getting a good look at who had stumbled upon their hold.
They wouldn’t care. They had their orders the same as he.
But Durkin wanted to see what these two knew, and as long as they were still living, Smuggie had to stay on their tail. At least until he had enough information and the big boss was ready to off them. If one of his men beat Durkin to the end of this game, he’d surely be the one to pay for it.
“Silent night!” He fired out the code word as soon as he heard footfalls. Whichever one of them hurried this way would shoot him as soon as he had a clean line of sight. Unplanned man in the woods was all the permission either needed to open fire, and Scat had an itchy trigger finger. More than most.
The pounding steps slowed. A figure emerged from underneath the brush a couple heartbeats later.
A breath leaked from Smuggie’s chest. Dewy. If it’d been Scat, he’d already be dead. Code words or not.
Dewy lowered a pistol held at the ready. “Boss? Didn’t know you was coming this way today.”
“Do I need to clear all my plans with you?” Smuggie spat at the ground, his annoyance at the situation his quarry had put him into playing well enough into the ruse.
“No, sir. But I heard a shot.” Dewy bested Smuggie by three inches and a good eighty pounds, but physical strength wasn’t what put a bloke in charge around here. Brawn didn’t get a man as far as brains, and neither Dewy nor Scat shared much smarts between them.
“Snake tried to bite me.” Smuggie shoved his pistol into his waistband and then tried not to wince as the still-hot barrel collided with his skin.
Dewy scanned the area around Smuggie’s feet, and his deep baritone dipped another octave. “Yes, sir.”
Smuggie cast one last look at where the frightened couple had hit the woods, but the two intruders had hightailed it out. He needed to follow them, but he’d have to deal with matters here first. No use causing suspicion. Better Scat and Dewy think he dropped in for a surprise checkup. Always good if they wondered when he might show up and catch them doing things they shouldn’t.
“What news on that shipment out of Georgia?”
Dewy slid his pistol back into his holster. “Came in right on schedule. Sixteen crates of white lightning from the hills. I swear them moonshiners are getting better. This here don’t taste like sweat and acid.”
“You tried it?”
Dewy shifted his feet. “Just the one bottle between us, like you said was our due.”
Smuggie nodded. Easier to tell them it was their due for hard work than to let them know he used them to test every batch of homebrew to make sure it wasn’t lethal. He’d heard more than one tale of the moonshine being poisonous. Better one of the low men keeled over than him. Or worse, one of Durkin’s clients.
“Good man. Got a ship lined up for you. Coming in tonight.”
“This one know we’re loading?”
Smuggie fished a cigarette from his pack and rolled it between his fingers. “This is one of the outfitted kinds.”
Smart idea, even if he did say so himself. Taking boats that came in for repairs and installing secret compartments with their owners none the wiser. His crew loaded their cargo onto the boats with the folks on board as innocent as babes. Law had no reason to search the vessels, but even if they did, they never had to worry someone might turn and rat them out.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be ready.” Dewy cast a glance behind him.
“Got something I need to check out?”
“No, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Everything’s fine. Well, except…except Scat and me don’t agree on what you said was the orders, so if you don’t mind telling the both of us together, that would be helpful.”
Smuggie lit his cigarette and took a puff. “You saying I told each of you blokes something different?”
“No, sir.” Dewy swung his head back and forth, sending greasy locks over his wide forehead. “I just know that, if he hears you say what you told me, then he’ll realize he misunderstood you the first time.”
Problem was, he had told Dewy and Scat two different things. Best way to smoke out a rat. Whatever information made its way back to him would lead him to the man with loose lips. But the tactic hadn’t panned out. Maybe neither one of them had been the one to leak the rumor about that extra crate of Irish whiskey.
“Tell him I said I want the two of you working together on tonight’s job. Follow the orders I already gave to you.” Easy enough fix to pull Scat off a job that didn’t exist nohow.
That seemed to mollify the bear, and Dewy grinned. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“Now get back to work. I’ve got business to do.”
“Yes, sir.” He spun on his heel and trotted back the way he’d come.
Smuggie took another draw and then stalked in the other direction. With any luck, the steamer hadn’t yet gotten too far downriver. Would they tuck tail and scurry back to Natchez, or did they have somewhere else to go searching? Someplace secret they didn’t need to be?
How many of his waypoints had they discovered? The thought sent a chill down his back. The last thing he needed was for his operation to be outed by a couple of louts.
Briars tugged on his pants, and he cursed the snags they caused.
A shrill whistle, followed shortly by another rent the air. He paused. Maybe they were just now pulling into the water. But steamers didn’t usually sound off that close together.
Another sharp screech.
Something must be wrong. He picked up his pace and peered around a tree at the water’s edge. The ancient packet boat boiled black smoke and tilted toward the shore, hull dipping precariously toward the bank. A larger rear-wheel paddler blasted her whistle, coming around the river bend at impressive speed.
The collision was going to be catastrophic. He chuckled. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about these two much longer anyway. And he couldn’t possibly be blamed for their deaths if that lady captain rammed into another boat.
A sickening crunch followed by screeching metal bellowed above the roaring engines and churning paddles. He winced. Both boats would go down. Had to, with as bad as it sounded.
But the larger vessel shot past, hull still intact. It let out another angry whistle before hurtling upriver. The dame’s boat screamed, well and good stuck on something beneath the water.
The boat puffed smoke, and the paddle wheel dipped into the water. But whatever held them remained fast. He pushed away from the tree and traversed the shadows for the length of the boat to get a look at the bow.
A gash cracked the hull, and brown water lapped at the wound.
He sucked his teeth and let a smile tickle over them. Looked like those two wouldn’t be poking around anywhere sensitive now. He’d send the blokes to strip the boat down once the crew gave up and departed.
Then he’d finally be off babysitting duty.