Chapter 4-Biloxi, 5 May 1922

Security

Deer Island-5 May 1922

“Ben! Where are you?" Captain Howell yelled at the silent pier. A small house set back about a hundred yards from the pier. The launch Cedar that Baker had visited Webster's in last night was tied up next to another small sailboat at the pier. In the yard were two overturned rowboats. Off to the side of the house that faced north to the city, were the terrapin holding cages that were Baker's latest money‑maker.

The door opened and Baker emerged. "Hold on! I gotta get the boys going,” he said as he headed to the back of the cabin. A minute later his two sons appeared with him. He headed towards the pier, and the boys headed for the turtle pens.

Howell patiently held onto the rope secured to the pier waiting for Baker to come aboard. "Hurry up; we don't have all day you know."

"Look here, we ain't late yet. I just had a little too much of Webster's good cheer last night. Why are you so rushed?"

Howell helped Baker aboard. "I just thought we might get a little recreation in before we meet Cuevas. I brought a couple of rods and some bait, and the little boat. I have my nephew James with me; I hope you don't mind being the extra set of hands we'll need to get there."

“I do love being out on the water, Baker said as he looked east. The sun was barely all the way above the horizon. A beautiful morning on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Baker playfully punched Howell's arm. "Let's get going."

❖

The Meeting

Deer Island-5 May 1922

The two men were built alike. Both stood six feet tall and weighed about the same. Both were sea and sun hardened. Howell had black hair while Baker had blond. Both loved the sea and would spend their whole life on it if they could. Howell divorced his land‑lubbing wife; Baker moved his family off the mainland and onto Deer Island.

The sloop started moving. The sails filled and the wind began to pick up. The sky was clear and the sun shined brightly. It was a beautiful day for sailing.

"It's a shame we don't have to go any further. Few things match sailing on a day like this." said Baker.

"My only regret is that we have to get off to meet Cuevas. If you want to come over here, I'll fill you in on the new developments Desporte Senior threw up."

Baker made his way forward after making sure James could handle the tiller. The eleven year old looked as if he had never sailed before, but assured Ben with wide eyes that he could hold their course.

Howell sat on the bow of the boat with his bare feet hanging over the edge. Baker sat down beside him. "The old man suspects something. He's sending out warnings to all his captains. He doesn't want to take any chances, not the chance of getting caught, but of losing a single cent."

"When did he do this?" asked Baker.

"Yesterday. Ernest gave me a copy to give to Cuevas. He said Cuevas'd know what to do about it."

"Isn't that kind of risky?"

"Ernest doesn't think so. It's almost as if he picked Cuevas because he knows Cuevas'll know what to do." said Howell.

"He might have. He learned a lot from his dad. Too bad for Theodore he's using it to ruin the old man." said Baker.

"Yeah, well if my old man had cared enough to stick his nose into anything I was doing, and had ruined my dreams like old Teddy did, I'd prob'ly do the same as Ernest."

Baker looked back. Deer Island blended into the mainland. The mainland was nothing more than a thin line of green on the horizon. James seemed to be concentrating on the compass. Turning back to Howell, Baker said, “I was there, you know? When it went down.”

Howell took a long look at Baker, now staring in the direction of where they were going. “I did not. You don’t talk much about your Navy days.”

“No, my time was just about up when it happened. Spent some time in the hospital because of the accident. Only it wasn’t an accident.” Baker went silent. The sound of the wind and waves was the only thing breaking the silence. "Is that it for business?"

"Until we get to Dog Key,” said Howell. “The poles are beneath the sail bags, I'll get the bait."

Horn Island-5 May 1922

The Sea Glen was a bustle of activity, as usual. The six foot six Cuevas stood still while sailors scurried around him. "Martin! You're going with me, get three men for a lookout guard and get in the skiff."

The First Officer, John Martin yelled at a group of deckhands and headed for the skiff. Cuevas was already there. Cuevas’s black hair coupled with both his large size and full complement of facial hair had most of his crew calling him Blackbeard behind his back. To a man, they jumped when he spoke. Even Martin jumped at his commands, even though he knew that most of Cuevas’s gruffness was just for show.

Howell's sloop was already anchored off shore, and the two men were resting beneath the shade of a group of pine trees. "Martin, keep two men in sight of the boat, you take the other into those trees, but don't lose sight of the cutoff men. You should have a good view of the Sound. Between your men and the deck lookouts, we should be safe enough to not have to worry about getting caught on shore. On my signal, move one cutoff man to your position and join me. Unless someone sees the law, I give you the verbal order to leave the island."

"Aye, sir." The three men jumped in the skiff as it began to be lowered by other crewmen. They readied the oars and the boat began moving as it hit the water.

Baker and Howell walked to the beach, as the skiff coasted the last few feet. As soon as it was emptied and beached, the four men left the three captains alone on the shore.

 "Raymond, this is Ben Baker, Baker this is Raymond Cuevas," Howell introduced the men. "It's been a while, Blackbeard, how's the sailing been?"

"You know I throw men off my ship under sail for calling me that, right?” Cuevas asked with a grin.

"Ask Ben why he's all wet, I do the same." Howell said with a chuckle.

"So what gives?" Cuevas asked.

"First off, this," Howell handed Cuevas the letter from Desporte.

To: TransGulf Captains

Re: Security

It has come to my attention that some cargoes have returned to their embarkation points. Arrangements for cargo distribution are occasionally canceled or re‑scheduled. If a Captain is unable to meet the new time, or if no new time is arranged, the stock then becomes part of the regular extra cargo, and it is the responsibility of each Captain to distribute it. Only payments are to be brought back to Jamaica, not cargo. Fines and penalties will result if this policy is not complied with.

A bigger problem reported by some ships in the Bahamas as well as in Jamaica, luckily though none of TransGulf's, is that of piracy. The Captain of each vessel is given the responsibility of providing his own security. The safety of our products is in their hands. Although each Captain is responsible for his own both providing his own security and enforcing it, certain general measures should be taken to ensure safety from pirates: 

1 Only allow a few men from each purchasing ship aboard at a time, or even not allow any purchasers on board. 

2 Keeping the crew spread out during cargo transfers keeps them from being easily rounded up. 

3 Arming the crew is also helpful. Rifles or shotguns can be hidden in furled sails so as not to warn potential pirates. 

Neither loss of cargo nor non‑distribution of cargo is to be tolerated. Each Captain will be held personally responsible for every piece of cargo. Not only will losses result in fines paid for by each Captain, but also henceforth dividends shall be paid based on compliance with these policies.

As he finished reading, Cuevas noticed that no one had signed the letter. He then looked at Howell and asked, "So what seems to be the problem?"

"Sometimes your nonchalance just gets in the way, Raymond. The problem is, we will be depending on you not to do these things." Howell said.

Cuevas looked around. He could see the cutoff men. No signals from them, no problem. "How about this? I'm getting off beforehand anyway, send a boat out earlier. I'll have the crew repulse them. I'll congratulate them and give them the night off to enjoy themselves and get drunk, and then I tell my First Officer I'm going in to tell the old man his plans worked. After the crew goes three sheets to the wind, you send in the real team or even the same one if you'd like. 

"As far as loading goes, hostages always fear for their lives and do as they are ordered to at gunpoint. Why not have my men load your boats. They'll be drunker than Cooter Brown, and scared for their lives. They'll do anything. When I come ashore.” Cuevas said as he motioned for Martin.

"I'll pass that on to Ernest.” said Howell. “He still needs to get the final details from you. Can he meet you in Havana?”

"Tell him there will be a message for him." Cuevas watched as Martin came closer. "If everything works according to my plans, you'd better get ready for one hell of a big haul. And you'd better not leave a drop behind."

Martin came running up, "Yes Captain?"

"Martin, this is Captain Howell and Captain Baker. Baker, Howell, my First Officer, John Martin. These men just brought out another one of those damn policy letters. I'll let you read it back on deck, in the meantime, signal the men."

"We'll be in touch, Captain." Howell said as he turned to go towards his boat. Cuevas mumbled a reply and headed for his skiff, engulfed in thought.

Chapter 5-Biloxi, 5 May 1922

Webster

Biloxi-5 May 1922

"Eugene!" Webster hollered into the cabin of the schooner. "Wake up and pee! The world's on fire!"

An obviously still sleepy boy emerged from the forward sleeping compartment. "Sorry about that, Clarence. I guess I was just a little too tired last night."

Webster came down the ladder to join Eugene below decks. "No problem, I slept a little late myself. Here're the tasks for the day. First off, I gotta run into town to make a few deliveries. While I'm doing that, you're gonna paint the name on this here boat. From now on, she's going to be known as the ‘Miss Ella’, after my dear departed wife. 

"When I get back, we're going to take her out on her shakedown cruise. After the shakedown, we'll pull in a coupla nets and see what we're having for dinner. The tough work won't start 'til tomorrow. Any questions?"

Eugene rubbed his eyes, "Where’d you say the paint was?"

Webster laughed, "That's the spirit. It's in the shed. The fishing gear in there will go on board, but we gotta outfit her with the good stuff first. That's tomorrow's task." Webster started back up the ladder.

"Clarence, what about . . .”

"There's some eggs and bacon in the icebox," Webster interrupted, "If you can cook, you can eat. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Eugene yawned and stretched. He started up the ladder, and as his head cleared the hatch, he heard Webster trying to start his car. By the time he reached the house, the old Model T was heading down the worn out trail Webster called a driveway toward the rutted clearing the county called a road.

The trip to Biloxi was not as easy as one might think. The roads really were only rutted clearings through the forest. Before Webster could go more than a half mile, he reached a hard packed stretch of road. It was a little less rutted than the other roads around the area.

This particular stretch only lasted about three quarters of a mile. It went across the Biloxi Naval Reserve Park. It was a federally protected park well outside the current Biloxi City Limits that grew live oak trees for use in wooden navy ships. Not used as often anymore, Webster wondered how long it would be before the government would get rid of it. Until then, it served as a good place to have a picnic, and to the north of the road, right on the bay was a pier that stretched out into Back Bay. It was Coast Guard Base Number 15. Webster waved at the small buildings that made up the base. It really was not much of an installation.

After the park the road again became rutted, then took a sharp right to head south toward the front beach. Not only would two cars on this road constitute a traffic jam, if they were headed in opposite directions it could become a downright safety hazard. He slowed down even more, and practically crawled around the corner. When it straightened back out, it was a pretty stretch of rutted road. The oak trees to either side of the street caused it to seem almost like a cloistered hallway.

The front beach at this end of the town was downright ugly. The road was better, somewhat paved with crushed oyster shells. To the side of the road was marsh, and after ten or so feet of marsh, the Sound started. Only the occasional pier broke the scenery. Far to the east, Webster could see the familiar lighthouse. Still a good two miles to the east, the lighthouse itself was in an area known as West End.

The putter of the engine interrupted the silence of the still pristine area. Despite the advancements, the Mississippi Gulf Coast was a very sleepy area. Visitors fell in love with it, and residents would not move for all the money in the world. Webster's own wife's family had been from Nebraska. Every winter when the snow blew in, they left the town they had built with their own hardships and dreams and came to Biloxi for a vacation. One year they just decided not to go back. They built a house and stayed for good.

Eventually Webster made it into Biloxi. It was so much faster just to sail into town. As he passed the lighthouse, many roads branched off, all covered in oyster shells. Webster stayed along the beach, passing homes, piers, and packing plants until he came to Bank Street. He turned without so much as a glance toward the yacht club, of which he was a member, and headed towards the business district.

Webster's car pulled up to the side entrance to a small funeral parlor. The door opened and someone walked out. Webster hailed the man, "Morning James. How's business?"

"Mornin' Clarence. Not to bad, I haven't had to start killing my own customers yet."  Both men chuckled.

"Where you want it, James?"

James looked up and down the alley they were in. "Let's unload it around back. I'll go get the door." James headed back into the building, while Webster drove the car down the alley.

The rear service door was open by the time Webster arrived at it. Together the two men began unloading several cases from the floorboard marked Evinrude Outboard Motors.

When the car was emptied, and the empty boxes returned, Webster asked, "How many would you like for next week?"

James took a moment before he answered, "Actually Clarence, this is it for me. I'm quitting this line of work. I've gotten more then enough from it over the past two years to get back on my feet. Tomorrow night I'm skipping town. I just picked up a brand new Hudson and took all my money out of the People's Bank. It's time to head for Chicago and get back to my wife and kids."

"Good luck to you. I'm sure if you're anywhere near as good at building things as you are at retail liquor sales, you'll make a fine legal living. Are you sure you tied up all the loose ends around here?" Webster asked pointing at the funeral parlor.

"All the coffins are gone, only one more Irish wake scheduled," James winked, "the lease runs out tomorrow. The only thing left is my old Model T, and if no one wants to buy it today, I'll park it inside this building and forget it."

Webster thought for a moment, "Come to think of it, I might know someone who could use it. How 'bout I knock off a hundred bucks off your last delivery, and take it off your hands?"

"A hundred? I was thinking more along the lines of fifty myself."

"Then call it a bonus for having been such an excellent customer then."

James extended his hand to Webster, "It's a deal. How do you want to get it?"

"Hmm. . . How about send it over with the boy who'll deliver the payment. I'm sailing out from the Bay around noon, so I could drop him off on the beach on my way out."

"Alright. I'll send him right away, matter of fact, he may beat you home."

"So long, James. It's been real nice knowing and working with you."

"I can certainly say the same thing about you too, Clarence. You take care not to get caught."

"That I will do, James."

Webster started the car. James watched him drive away from the now defunct funeral home, and then went inside. He instructed one of his three employees to take his Model T and an envelope to Webster, and then turned to the task of storing his last shipment of stock.

Arrested

Biloxi-5 May 1922

Most of the alcohol was already sold and would be picked up later. This was hidden in secret wall compartments in the chapel. Although other walls might be busted up to look for alcohol, in the South even the police would think twice before desecrating a chapel. "Freeze, Riley. Put your hands up where we can see them. Cuff him off, Gabrich." 

Bills covered James with a pistol while Officer Gabrich came forward with the handcuffs. Six other officers rushed in from behind Bills, one of whom bumped Bills and made him momentarily loose his balance.

James laughed. Bills regained his footing. Red faced with anger and embarrassment, Bills could not decide whether he wanted to keep James covered or reprimand the clumsy policeman.

The six policemen began a systematic search of the empty building. Gabrich frisked the laughing Riley, and Bills tried to recover his composure. "We had an anonymous tip that you deal in illegal alcohol here, Mister Riley. What do you have to say for yourself?" Bills walked around James as he spoke.

"I plead the fifth amendment, Bills." James taunted the Chief, "Even a man with two first names could guess I would do that."

Gabrich found the two bottles and handed them to Bills. "What do you have to say about this, Riley?" Bills asked waves the bottles in James' face. 

"Care for a shot, officer?" James replied with a smile.

An angry Bills glared at James, and then stormed out of the room as much to check on the search as to be in a place he had control of the situation. Gabrich was having a tough time keeping a straight face, and allowed a chuckle to pass his lips as Bills left.

"Riley! You have a visitor." The officer in charge of the jail cell yelled as he found the right keys for the cell James was in. As he unlocked the door and it swung inward, he pointed down the hall to the visiting room and said, "Down there."

James walked into the visiting room. It was empty except for two chairs, a table and Webster. An officer watched through a large window on one wall. James sat across the table from Webster.

Webster started, “James. I had begun to think I had seen the last of you. Come to find out I just missed the big hullabaloo."

"Wasn't much to it. Just Bills tripping on and generally making a nuisance of himself." 

"The two things Bills is best at," Webster said while looking directly at the officer at the window. "What do you know?"

James leaned on the table, and lowered his voice, "All they found, as far as I know, was two bottles on me. So far as I know, my hiding spots are secure. Apparently, someone tipped off Bills. I've been racking my brain trying to decide who it might have been."

"No secret there, Desporte. Your good old landlord. He wouldn't be making any more money off your business, so he turned you in to look good to Bills' faulty eyesight."

James leaned back in his seat, "You didn't just come here to relay gossip, what is it you came for?"

"If you don't mind my helping you out, maybe we can make another business deal." Said Webster.

"I'm not looking to get back in. Just get rid of my last load and get out." James spun his head toward the window to see if they were still being watched. The officer was still there but he was paying more attention to the crossword puzzle in the newspaper than to the scene in the room.

Webster leaned forward and lowered his voice, ”We'll talk business later; first off, you didn't even know there was alcohol in your building, did you? Someone must have planted it there, then tipped off the cops. As for that on your person, even the Chief of Police has been known to sip a little. Matter of fact, what happened to the third bottle you had on you?"

James soaked in all his unofficial counsel had to offer in the way of legal advice. Throw the suspicion on the landlord, leaving only a personal possession charge, and then have someone whisper in the Judge's ear making him doubt Bill's credibility. At most, a small fine, a minor business loss, and James would still be on his way to Chicago.

"Will you plead my case for me?" asked James.

"Certainly, but I'm not much for sitting in a courtroom." Said Webster.

"I have a lawyer already, but I don't think that's where the important arguments will be anyway." James looked at the window again, “It’s the other talks I need help with.”

“Got it, no problems, now on to business," Webster leaned back but kept his voice low. "It involves getting Desporte back. All it'll take from you is a little work and a little more time in Biloxi."

James looked at Webster. He was offering a chance to get back at the man who put him in this predicament to start with, a chance for another easy paycheck. However, it would cost more time away from family. "Clarence, you just get me out of here. I have no interest in getting that lowlife back. Somewhere out there I have a loving wife and two darling girls waiting for their husband and father to get back to them with the news that the hard times are over for them. I'd trade this whole State for them right now, and as far as I care, the old man can have it after I'm gone."

Webster paused before standing, ”I understand, James. “But just one thing." He paused, "If you ever, even only in your mind, turn this State over to him, I'll have you tarred and feathered."

Both men smiled, and Webster departed. James watched him disappear for the second time today. Under his breath he said, “If enough people had your spirit, all the Desportes in the world would be powerless. Good luck, old friend."