“They’s all sorry, them Johnsons,” Ernie said. “Sorry and mean. We’re smart enough not to cross ’em.”
Earnest was befittingly named. He spoke with perfect conviction. However, Laurel questioned his smarts. “Why didn’t you set up shop in Kentucky?” she asked him. “Isn’t it known for moonshining?”
Irv spoke up ahead of his partner. “So’s this area. Texas’s best held secret. There’s stills all over these parts.” He made a broad sweep with his hand. “Lot of hills to hide them in. Unlimited cedar and oak for the fires. Cedar gets it to going good, oak keeps it burning low and even.
“Hear that gurgle?” He angled his head toward the wall of limestone. “A natural spring flows out of that. Unlimited supply of cold, clean water, filtered by Mother Nature herself. You gotta have good water to make good ’shine.”
He pointed toward a wooden barrel with a spout cl
ose to the bottom which emptied into a glass jug with a funnel acting as a stopper. “Ernie’s great-granddaddy preached filtering and testing. First, filtering makes the whiskey smell and taste better. Testing prevents accidents.”
Ernie chimed in. “No Sawyer in my branch of the family tree has ever poisoned or blinded nobody. We don’t turn out popskull, neither.”
“Popskull is—”
“I don’t care what it is, Irv,” Laurel snapped, cutting him off. Then she took a deep, calming breath. Her father-in-law and his crony had obviously lost their marbles, to say nothing of their morality. She must make them see reason. “The consequences of what you’re doing could be dire.”
“Dire?”
“Dire. Who owns this land? Tell me it’s not government property.”
“No, me and Ernie own it. He chose this spot, saying it was as ideal a place for a still as he’d ever seen. The previous owner, a cotton farmer who’d lost three crops in three years straight to the boll weevil, was happy to get rid of some of his land that wasn’t fit to grow nothing. Ernie and me pooled our savings and relieved him of ten acres.
“The tract is long and skinny. Shaped sorta like a fishhook.” He drew one in the air. “We’re here, at the bottom of the bend. The shack is up here on top.”
She’d never thought to ask about who owned the shack and the plot it was on. “It seems farther than that.”
“Nope. The road loops and meanders around. But as the crow flies, the shack is just over that hill. Didn’t you ever notice the smoke coming from this direction?”
“I thought it was another house.” She’d had distractions, God knew, but her own gullibility fanned her temper. “You could get caught, Irv.”
“Haven’t yet, and we’ve been at it going on five years.”
“Yes, but now Prohibition is in effect.”
“Increasing the demand for whiskey,” he said, giving her a shrug that emphasized the practicality. “That’s why we want to double our production.”
“You could go to jail!”
“Not for the first offense. We’d be fined, is all.”
She flung her hand back toward their vehicles. “You drive around in that rattletrap, which is always breaking down, and it’s loaded with jars of moonshine? That’s…that’s begging to be found out.”
“I stage most of the truck’s breakdowns, so all its rattling is convincing. As for being found out, I’m in plain sight every day. People are used to seeing me.”
“Who do you sell to?”
“I have a route of regular customers that I keep supplied.”
“Someone, anyone, who buys from you could turn you in.”
“What kinda damn fool getting corn liquor delivered straight to his door would turn me in? Wives, now, are another thing. Gotta be careful of them, but that ain’t my problem.”
Infuriated by the logic of his arguments, she lashed out, “I should turn you in myself!” She pivoted and gave the two of them her back, hugging her elbows to her body.
Ernie hissed, “Shit, Irv. Have you gone plumb crazy, bringing her out here?”
“I didn’t bring her. She followed me,” Irv whispered back. Apparently both had forgotten how well sound carried.