The Bootlegger

The black boat limped east at ten knots.

Darbee followed. They passed Jones Inlet, but stayed in the i

“Grandpa, what are we doing?”

“Go

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean why? I want that boat.”

“How are we going to steal a boat from all those gangsters?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

They followed for hours as it picked its way carefully through the twisty cha

“Where are we, Grandpa?” Robin whispered.

“Off Great River, I believe.”

“Have you figured out how we’re going to steal it?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe Mr. Bell could help us.”

“That goody two-shoes don’t steal boats.”

“But if we did him a favor…”

Out of the mouths of babes, old Darbee thought. What a smart little girl she was. A chip off the old block.

“… maybe Mr. Bell would do one back.”

“The metal is flying,” bellowed Ross Danis.

The big farrier had a handsome head of hair, an amiable grin, and bright eyes. Sweat glistened on his broad chest and streamed from his massive arms. Asa Somers found it hard to believe that a man could have so many muscles. He bulged like the Jack Dempsey advertisements for Nuxated Iron.

It was Babies Day at the Monmouth County Fair.

Following the baby show would be a horse show and then horse racing, which meant Danis was busy at his portable forge. Asa Somers offered to crank his bellows to keep his fire white-hot. This kept both hands free to go at it, in the farrier’s own words, “hammer and tongs,” fitting shoes, driving and clinching nails into hoofs, finishing with his rasp. It had the side advantage of keeping him talkative.

When Danis finally stopped for a swig of water, and a furtive slug from a flask, Somers showed him the worn Neverslip shoe. “Could you have put this shoe on a horse?”

“Hope not. Looks like the animal threw it, which would make me look bad.”

“He didn’t throw it.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Wall Street.”

“Never worked on Wall Street.”

“I didn’t mean you did it on Wall Street.”

“Not only did I never work on Wall Street, I find it hard to imagine a horse I shoed ever being on Wall Street. That’s across the river in New York City. Is it a swell’s carriage horse?”

“Is this your mark on this wedge?”

Danis leaned over it to look, dripping sweat on Somers’s arm. “I’ll be darned. Where’d you find this?”

“The horse was pulling a coal wagon.”

“Coal wagon? I don’t understand. No teamster’s going to drive his coal wagon all the way to New Jersey to shoe his horse.”

“What if the horse was sold to a New York coal wagon teamster after you shoed him?”

“Well, I’ll be,” said Danis, his red face lighting in recognition.

“What do you mean?”

“His name was Redman.”

“Who?”

“Big, strong quarry horse. Seventeen hands. Strong as a mule. Good-natured, too. Just the sweetest temper.”

“Who owns him?”

“Fellow came in all in a rush. He had just bought him, didn’t realize he had a loose shoe. Didn’t know a thing about horses. I wondered how he’d ever hitch up the wagon. I figured I’d lend a hand, but Redman was such a sweet-natured animal they worked it out.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Redman.”

“The man.”

“No. He was a foreigner. Had a real thick accent, and he was in a heck of a rush. Gave me two bucks and ran off.”

“Was that here?”

“No, no, no. Not at the fair. Up in Jersey City… Wall Street? Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last I saw, they were heading toward the ferry.”

Asa Somers reported to Grady Forrer and, a while later, he overheard Mr. Bell on the telephone. “We traced the horseshoe to a New Jersey farrier. I’m sorry, Dick, but it looks like a dead end.”

Isaac Bell said good-bye to Inspector Condon and hung up the telephone, wondering what next. He was painfully aware that he needed a lucky break or two. But, so far, they weren’t flocking his way.

He noticed Somers skulking about. “Why the long face, Asa?”

“The horseshoe didn’t help?”

“What? No, don’t worry about it. We have to try everything to find what works.”

“I wish mine had.”

“I could say the same about Trucks O’Neal and the Black Bird motors. It’s the nature of the game. You just keep plugging away.”

“Can I have a gun?”

“Not yet.”

“I heard a rumor from some of the boys that when you were an apprentice you bought your own derringer.”

“Like most rumors, that’s not entirely true.”

Somers looked at Bell inquiringly.

“Go on, son. If you’re going to be a detective, you have to ask questions. Ask.”

“What wasn’t true?”

“I didn’t buy my derringer. I took a derringer away from somebody. And kept it.”

Darren McKi

“McKi

“My Washington fellow came through.”

Shipments to the New York region from the War Department director of sales included a dozen surplus Liberty engines, and crates of spare parts, to the Long Island Railroad freight depot in Bayport, sixty miles from the city. Isaac Bell drew a circle on the map, representing the likely distance a truck would drive from a railroad depot, and dispatched detectives to all the South Shore towns within it.

“Blue Point, Sayville, Patchogue, Great River, Bay Shore, Islip, West Islip.”

“Needle in a haystack,” said McKi

But Isaac Bell was optimistic. “We were looking in a hundred-mile haystack. Now we’re down to ten.”

The Van Dorn operator rang. “Long-distance telephone from Texas Walt Hatfield.”

“Detroit?”

“Yes, but not on the private line.”

It was a fairly decent co

“Are you sure about them?”

“Plumb sure. Exceptin’ we had a mite of trouble. They’re both in the hospital, owing to a bushwhacker lobbing a hand grenade into the premises.”

Bell asked how badly they were hurt.

“They’ll recover, but they’re not tip-top at the moment.”

“Who threw the grenade?”

“I’d say the Purple Gang.”

“The Purple Gang are street kids.”

“The little tykes are growing by leaps and bounds. Partly on account of their vicious habits. Partly due to the Eye-talians killing each other off leaving the Purples to play the big time. Most of the Detroit big boys are sleeping in the river. There’s been a complete change of gang bosses.”

“Close the office.”

“The hand grenade sort of did that already. I’ve got a real estate fellow looking for a new space.”

“Close it. Permanently.”

“Now, hold on, Isaac,” Texas Walt drawled. “These hydrophobic skunks will get the wrong idea if we slink out of town with our tails between our legs.”

“We’ll come back — undercover.”

“I already told you it won’t do having folks stopping me for my autograph while I’m masquerading as a criminal.”

Isaac Bell said, “And I told you I’m going to hide you in plain sight—”

Bell looked up at a sudden commotion. Ed Tobin burst into the office, gri

“—Hold the wire, Walt.” Bell put down the phone. “What?”

“Uncle Do

“Where?”

“Great River.”

Bell stood up. “Great River?”