“I don’t think you take the potential dangers seriously enough, Irv.”
“All right, I’ll admit that things have clamped down since Prohibition. Before it, many lawmen ignored the illegal whiskey trade. Others adhered to ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ They lined their pockets with bribes. Now, though, they’re getting squeezed by federal revenue officers and the Texas Rangers.”
He raised his fork for emphasis. “That bunch is serious about upholding the law, no matter how unpopular it is. They can muscle their way past local and county officials, clean or crooked.
“Rumor is,” he continued, “the Rangers and other agencies are recruiting men to snitch, and typically these snitches are former moonshiners and bootleggers who know the business inside out. They swapped sides in exchange for clemency. Or maybe they found religion and reformed. Who knows? What I do know is that it’s happening.
“Which is why I was leery of that Hutton when he showed up at the shack, what with our whiskey still being just over the hill. He raised the hair on the back of my neck.”
“You still suspect him of being one of those snitches?”
“He looks the type.”
“What type?”
“Like Pinkerton agents. I used to see them in depots. Could spot ’em a mile off. All had the same traits. Polite. Quiet. Calm. Deadly.”
“Deadly?”
“One of my regular customers? His boy Roger works for Fred Barker who has the auto garage and stable just across the bridge from downtown.”
That was where Mr. Hutton’s handbills said he did his horse training. But she hadn’t told Irv about their meeting on the street, so she said, “I know the place.”
“Well, Roger saw this Hutton, if that’s his real name, shoot the head off a rattlesnake poised to strike a deputy sheriff. Faster than a blink, Roger said.”
He described the incident to Laurel as it had been told to him. “They were all dumbfounded, none more than Sheriff Amos, who’d been disarmed before he realized what was happening. The deputy had dirty drawers.
“But Roger claims Hutton took it in stride, never broke a sweat, like he was accustomed to beheading rattlers with one shot from twenty yards, firing a pistol he’d never touched before.” After taking another bite, he’d added, “This is damn good pie, Laurel. Save some for Ernie.”
“Of course.”
She wished he would elaborate on Thatcher Hutton without her having to prompt him with questions. However, he said no more about him, and returned to the topic of avoiding detection.
Days ago she had proposed to her partners that she take over half of Irv’s “regulars” route, giving him more time to work on the new still. “It only makes sense,” she had argued, stressing that she had time on her hands, and that the new still was essential to increasing their production. After a lengthy back-and-forth with the two men, she’d gotten them to agree.
But since she was now an active participant, actually transporting the product, Irv seized every opportunity, like tonight, to emphasize how careful she must be to avoid pitfalls.
“Don
’t make a track that leads off-road. Lawmen look for them. One of Ernie’s cousins got caught by creating a trail with his truck that led through the woods straight to his still.”
“But to get to our still, we have to drive over ground.”
“So never turn off at the same place twice. Also, lawmen are on the lookout for anybody buying copper. It’s a dead giveaway. I was lucky to sneak in mine for the new still. Bought the copper sheets from an outfit in Weatherford, then smuggled them in on the bottom of my truck.”
He had already explained that the purchase of the copper had coincided with their leasing the house. That was why their other bills had gone unpaid. He had planned to make up the temporary shortfall soon by doubling whiskey production. Her “list” had limited his time to work on it.
“You trust the copper seller not to report you?” she asked now.
Irv laughed out loud. “He ain’t gonna tell. He’s supplying every moonshiner west of Fort Worth. See? The business is good for everybody.”
“How’s the still coming along?”
“About finished. Soon’s the cap passes Ernie’s inspection. He’s persnickety about the tapering. Says even before it’s sealed during a run, it’s gotta fit into the cooker as tight as a…” Clearing his throat, he’d left the analogy unspoken and simply said the fit had to be airtight.
He then circled back to other giveaways. “Don’t be caught with a stockpile of mason jars or sugar. Nobody needs twenty or thirty pounds of sugar at a time unless they’re making moonshine.”
“Where do you buy your supplies?”