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  Finally, Homer, Al, and Henry without saying another word turned their motorcycles around and slowly moved down the small dirt road to the main highway. Bat…bat…bat. The other bikes followed, making their way to Flood’s Place for more drinks and congratulating themselves on their meting out justice for the alleged attack on Chester.

  Chapter 11

  While the braggarts were back a Flood’s having fun, Strep’s family was still in trauma. The hot, windless day had allowed the smoke from the motorcycles to linger over the dirt road. Mud was caked on the porch and side of the house. Strep did his best to comfort Lony and the still screaming Honey Pot. As far as they knew, the men could have come into the house and killed them. Topop and Strep’s fear had now changed to anger. Even so, they still felt helpless. They were still making idle threats as to what they would do to the bikers.

  Lony, having a more realistic view said, “What will we do if they come back?”

  “They won’t come back,” said Strep, only half believing his words.

  “If they do there will be hell to pay,” said Strep still waving the pistol in the air. Suddenly, he realized the emptiness of his threat. Then he rushed into his bedroom and opened up a box of .22 LR bullets. It contained only ten rounds of ammunition. He put six into the old pistol and shoved the remaining four in his pocket. “This better be over. If they come back, they gonna get these right down their throats.”

  “Yes, and the law will support us, “said Topop.

  “All we will be doing is protecting our lives and property, and we got plenty of right to do it,” replied Strep.

  “On my God, don’t do anything like that. All you gonna do is make it worst,” screamed Lony. Her words were probably the first rational thoughts heard all day. It seemed to put Strep on the right track. “The sheriff is going to hear about this.”

  Topop added, “and when we tell the sheriff, we gonna tell him about that whiskey still them stupid asses are cooking down yonder. I was gonna mind my own business and keep it quiet, but this changes things. I know Homer Aiken and Henry Padgett are making and selling moonshine and it’s about time to let the cat out of the bag.”

  Amidst all the activity on both sides, what was for sure is that the incident was not over. It was just the beginning. Where it would end was anyone’s guess. The only thing clear in Topop’s mind was he now had no alternative but to call in the mysterious forces of his Shelltown.

  Chapter 12

  About five miles east of Flood’s Place there was a small one-lane dirt road off the main highway led to the home of Red Kasehaugen. At the end of the road was a clear area, about a mile from the river. Red had purchased the property several years earlier and moved a 40-foot house trailer onto it with his wife Gladys and himself. At the time, he was on active duty at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, about 40 miles to the south. Having been born and raised in rural Texas, he loved the outdoors and country life of the Lowcountry. When he retired with full military benefits, he and Gladys made their permanent home in the trailer near the swamp.

  Red had met Pootsie Gullet at Flood’s Place, and they became good buddies even before he retired from the Marine Corp. Pootsie and his wife lived in a trailer also. Since the two men were such good friends, Red invited Pootsie to park his trailer on his property near the river.

  Right away Pootsie’s wife Lynn and Gladys became good friends. At the isolated patch of swamp, they were always involved in some kind of shared activity. The latest project for the wives was learning to cook and decorate cakes. The cake hobby was a perfect complement to the table of the two couples.

  Like most poor folks in the Lowcountry, which was about everybody, a good part of their time evolved around the kitchen table. This is where they had their meals, where they discussed their problems and their hopes and dreams of the future. On weekdays, they usually ate white rice and beans, rice and collards, rice and beef, rice and tomatoes, or rice and gravy… rice, rice, rice. Rice was on the table for most meals except breakfast where grits were king. There it was grits and eggs, grits and bacon, grits and cheese, or occasionally grits and shrimp if they were lucky enough to get them.

  Pootsie and his wife’s physical dimensions reflected their hearty consumption of the delicious but starch-laden foods. They were both five feet five inches tall and, according to Red measured close to that width across. Each weighted in at over 275 pounds. Red jokingly said that when they walked along together, they looked like two pumpkins rolling down a hill.

  On the other hand, Red was no raving beauty but was in pretty good shape. He was a tall man of 6 foot 2 inches. His once muscular Marine Corp physic had long been replaced by a skinny framework with a pouch that overlapped his belt. The food he ate and beer he drank by the six-pack, helped replace his once muscle skeleton with stomach fat. He always wore an old olive drab Marine Corp full-rimed hat rolled up on the sides. He and Pootsie were known as Mutt and Jeff because of their respective sizes and the fact that they were often seen together in public places.

  The trailer houses where the two families lived were located about 100 yards apart, and the ground all around was covered with remnants of abandoned cars, a couple of boats, an old washing machine, and other assorted debris that Red or Pootsie had long grown tired of and left where they had last been used. One of the men was always working on some kind of maintenance or rehabilitation project. The latest Red had tackled, was to build a 30 by 40 feet building on the property. He intended to use it to make moonshine. At this point, he had kept the purpose a secret from his wife. Only he and Pootsie knew the real plan.

  Being nearly finished, the men were standing back admiring the new building. It had an eight-foot wide roll up door across the front, as well as a walk-in door on the side. The tan plastic siding gave the job a professional finish. Although Red contributed the money, Pootsie worked on the building as much as Red. Both men were very proud of the outcome.

  The two men continued to congratulate each other on their accomplishment as they marveled at the final product. They couldn’t wait for the day when they would start working on the liquor still they wanted to put in the building.

  “This is just the place to start taking some of Homer Aiken and Henry Padgett’s business. Won’t they shit when we start production?” Pootsie chuckled.

  “Guess they will. Well, I think we need to have a party to celebrate. How bout if I get Lynn to cook up a pot of, “chicken in the bog, and we christen it tomorrow.”

  “Yea Red, I’ll bring a case of Bud “

  The next day was Saturday, and the party was set. The two wives helped plan the party and were as happy as the men were about the new building. By 11:00 AM, Red and Pootsie were cleaning up the sawdust and setting up a homemade table inside.

  A case of Bud was already gone. They drove up to Flood’s Place and bought two more cases. It was cold and fresh from the icebox just like the men liked it. By 12:00 Noon, Lynn and Gladys had the temporary table covered with a tablecloth and set up with a big pot of chicken cooked in rice with chicken broth, a pot of dry lima beans, pickles, and several other condiments. The radio was blasting out country music, and everyone was enjoying the day.

  Then Red said, “Well Pootsie I think it’s about time we tell the ladies what we are going to do with the building, don’t you?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” replied Pootsie.

  “Just wanted to let you ladies know, Pootsie and I plan to start a moonshine business in here. We know we can make a lot of money. We know we can take many of Homer Aiken and Henry Padgett’s customers up the road.”

  “Bullshit, there will be “nooo” liquor made on this property while I’m your wife,” said Gladys, putting particular emphasis on the word “no.”

  To which Red replied, “Well I guess we’ll have to do something about that won’t we.”

  The last comment didn’t go over well, and the couple continued to argue about one thing or another. Gladys had had a few drinks herself, and the
party ended with her saying, “Fuck all you ass holes. I’m going home.”

  It was well after 5:00 PM, so Lynn decided to leave too. The celebration was over, and the party ended, but a new venture was just beginning.

  Chapter 13

  After what they had accomplished, Red and Pootsie were in no way ready to stop the party, so they adjourned to Flood’s Place and continued to drink and celebrate their new building. Flood’s as usual on weekends after 5:00 PM, was just beginning to reeve up to a different kind of celebration.

  Right after they sat down at the bar, Red said to Pootsie, “You know we gonna be able to make some good moonshine up at our new place, don’t cha think?”

  “Well, my daddy made lots of it in his time, and I watched him. We have been working so damn hard on the building that we haven’t had much time to look into getting the equipment needed to build the still or the supplies to keep it running. Now is a good time of the year to get started too. The local corn being harvested, so we shouldn’t have any problem finding the ingredients for the mash.”

  “How about the sugar?”

  “Well that’s another thing, and we would have to make or put together the still equipment.”

  Over the past few days, Patrick had heard plenty of conversations from which he had made up many fantamines, as he continued to add as rough notes for his book. He had been listening to Red and Pootsie off and on the whole time, they were in the place today. He pictured them in his mind as successful entrepreneurs, but that fact had yet to be proven. He decided he might as well help the planning along. Looking across the bar-counter at Pootsie he said, “I bet I know where you can get a good used still.”

  “Yea, where?” said Pootsie.

  “There is some broken down equipment up the road on the river. I heard a couple of guys talking about it here the other day. The people left in a hurry when word got out where they were located, and the law was closing in on them. I hear they haven’t moved the equipment yet. You could slip in there and help yourself if you were smart enough.”

  “I don’t know about that. But if someone were smart enough to make moonshine without getting caught, they should be able to take an unguarded still, shouldn’t they?”

  “Sure would,” Patrick laughed.

  The men continued to drink and plan how they might obtain and use the equipment Patrick had told them about. Before they left Flood’s Place plans were in place to check out the area near where the old still.

  Early the next day they drove past the turn-off where the abandoned still was supposed to be located. After turning in, it was an easy drive for Red’s Ford 4x4 pickup to go up to the swamp’s undergrowth. Because it hadn’t rained in a while, they could drive right to the site. No one was around to challenge them or ask questions as they parked the pickup.

  “Looks like this is where they had their operation, Red.

  “Let’s take a walk to see what’s left.”

  The partial set of equipment was scattered around the bushes. Someone had beaten them to it. Most of the important pieces of the still were missing. One barrel of mash was still sitting on the ground. Pootsie lifted the lid, and the smell of the mash hit his nose with a pungent odor of the fermenting concoction. Then he dipped a finger into the mixture and tasted it.

  “Whoo Wee, that stuff would make some good hooch, but we can’t get it out of here. I think we are up shit creek. There isn’t much left here that we can use. We’re back at square one.”

  “From what I know about my daddy’s stilling days, just looking around here I believe these old boys would have been able to turn out at least thirty gallons of 160 proof liquor per run.”

  “160 proof is a terribly potent mix,” said Red.

  “Well, we would cut it with water to get it down to around 100 proof. By that time it might yield as much as 50 gallons.”

  “Let’s see,” said Red, scratching his head, “That’s about 200 quarts. At $10 to $15 a quart, we could make over $2,000 a run.”

  “Let’s get out of here. We gotta come up with a better idea than this to get us started.”

  They returned home and began drawing out still plans based on what Pootsie knew about his father’s old operation. The men spent another week planning the next phase of their venture. It wasn’t long before both men concluded that with the little money they had, it would take much more than an idea to get started in the moonshine business.

  Chapter 14

  It had been several weeks since they had started their plan and they were going nowhere fast. Red and Pootsie had obtained corn, sugar and other items needed to get a batch of whiskey going. Even though they felt they had the supplies, the critical part of the operation was the still equipment. It hadn’t been obtained yet. They were both frustrated.

  At one end of the fifteen-seat bar in Flood’s Place, Big Al, Skeeter, Honey Boy Homer and Henry had been drinking since around Ten AM. The afternoon NASCAR races were blasting away on all three TV sets. Red and Pootsie were sitting at the other end of the bar and had been the target of taunting by the Cobbs all day. Several negative racial remarks were directed at Red. Red, a retired Marine, and a Lowcountry transplant had served with all races during his 20 years in the Marine Corp and in general, did his best to judge people on their actions and not the color of their skin. Black folks, Spanish, or Asian, was just fine with him as long as their point of view was similar to his. Red and Pootsie were trying to concentrate on getting their moonshine business up and running. They had no interest in the Cobb Club agenda.

  Today Red clearly saw an altercation coming all day long and mentioned it several times to Pootsie. He was not only frustrated by the lack of progress of his moonshine venture but was three sheets to the wind. Referring to Big Al, Red said if he wants to rumble, he’s gonna get it today. I’m not backing off. Big Al’s taunting continued, “Hey Red, you gonna go to church Sunday with your friends at New Hope.”

  “Maybe, what’s it to ya, motherfucker,” replied Red.

  “That cock-sucker is asking for it!” said Pootsie just loud enough for Red to hear it. Big Al heard it.

  “Keep your fucking mouth shut, Poot!” said Al.

  “If he keeps it up, there’s going be hell to pay,” said Red.

  Patrick served another Sam Adams to Red and Pootsie and said, “OK boys let’s not have any trouble today.”

  Then it happened. Big Al made another comment to Red and Pootsie, “What you two burr heads been planning all day down there? Why don’t you come over here and drink with the big boys?”

  The comment wasn’t particularly offensive, but on top of the other bullshit Al had come up with earlier, and the fact that Red was pretty drunk, he said, “Shut up you stupid ass hole. If I wanted to drink with a skunk, I’d go out in the woods.”

  That was all Al needed. He threw a beer bottle at Red. It landed on the bar in front of him splattering into pieces otherwise doing no damage. Red stumbled the ten feet to the other end of the bar and popped Al in the face before he could say another word.

  Then fighting between the two groups could have been very serious except that all of them were so drunk, only a few blows landed where intended. The battle turned out to be more of a struggle than a real fight. Red and Al looked like two gorillas pushing each other and making several mostly missed attempts at hitting their target.

  Finally, Pootsie and Al’s friends pulled them apart, as they continued to shout obscenities at each other. Both men finished the encounter with bloody noses, and Al had managed to hit Red in the eye, which had already started to swell by the time the ruckus ended.

  Pootsie and Red staggered out the door and got in Red‘s pickup and went back home.

  In spite of the amount of alcohol they had consumed, Pootsie and Red had made significant progress on their plans for operating the illegal still. Come Monday morning, they prepared to get serious about finding equipment for their new illegal venture.

  During the week, Big Al had managed to accumulate a few
more foes. As if pissing Red and Pootsie off hadn’t been enough, he also had Topop and Strep to the list of enemies.

  Little did he know that messing up Topop’s trousers was the last straw, even though Lony had done a great job at sewing them up. Topop was working on his plan, such as it was, to get his revenge on the Cobb Club.

  Chapter 15

  The Cobbs met in a building originally built by Owen Hughes, a 1930s farmer. Located adjacent the house was a field that at one time produced corn, cotton, and other southern crops in abundance. Oats Schoenfeld owned the property, which was part of his purchase of Flood’s Place. Everyone around knew the property as the “clubhouse.” It was like most houses of the period. It had a high pointed roof and sat on wooden blocks two feet high. The blocks were of huge cross sections of heart pine naturally soaked in pine tar for hundreds of years before being cut. In the ‘30s, the landscape was dotted with stumps and fallen trees, their outer shells having rotted leaving pieces of heart pine. Most houses of the period were built on blocks cut from these old pine hearts. Usually, the houses had an open space beneath the entire floor the home. Every rural family had several dogs, and this was a perfect place for them as well as for storage. The dogs were the ruler of their domain under the houses, getting rid of snakes and other wild creatures, which may otherwise have been attracted to the comfortable shelter. The pitch of the roof ran across the full length of the building forming a convenient cover for the porch across the front of the house. In its day, the porch served as a center for family gatherings, as well as providing protection from the hot summer sun. Today, several chairs, a suspended chain swing, and a couple of rockers sat on the porch. Several Cobb members relaxed as they drank and engaged in the sport of social bashing.

  By 5:30 PM, other members of the club began arriving for the special meeting Tee had called. As usual, he made sure that the cooler was well stocked with beer and soda. He always ran the snacks and drinks concession and would return any unsold items to Patrick to re-stock at Flood’s Place. He also had several gallon jars of pickled pig’s feet and sausages and some potato chips, which would likely be finished off before the end of the night.