Prohibition part 3

“Hi Jim, Harold, I’m at the Barker terminal, come’n get me. Ya, OK. Jim what’s the matter with you. You sound like you have a mouth full of marbles. Ya, OK, tell me when you get here. See you in a half an hour.” Harold hung up the phone’s ear piece and returned the phone to the agent’s roll-topped desk.
While Harold waited for Jim Dwyer to arrive he talked to the scrawny, hawk-faced station agent. “You know that motor-bike cop up near Richmond, well he stopped me again. Third time. That’s why my load is a coupla hundred pounds short. He takes me to the scales near the border, weighs me and said, 'You’s about five salmon over da limit. So just trow dem inta my trunk, an you’s don’t get no ticket for bein’ ova weight, OK?' “What a bastard! He just mad, cuz I stoned him a few times when he tried to follow me.” A cup of coffee and a cigarettes later, the lights of Jim’s 1930 Granger came through the terminal gate. Harold said, “Good night, see you in the morning,” he left the agents’s office and climbed into the passenger seat of Jim’s car. “What in hell happened to you face?” Harold exclaimed! “Remember dat truck load of H & H scotch that I was gett’n from Garvey? Well I took it ta one of my best customers, Dion. Dion, has a speakeasy ova on 34th. Da next night he calls, an tells me ta come ova. So I go. An des two bozos meet me at da back door, an rough me up a bit. When their done, Dion steps outa the doorway an sez, 'Next time I order Haig & Haig Scotch, that’s what you bring me, understand.' An he slaps me upside the head. It’s a good thing dat da two bozos was holding me up cuz Dion slaps real hard. I try to explain that what he got was the real stuff. He slaps me again. An then he sez, 'That stuff wasn’t even good coffin varnish. I want good hooch, when I order good hooch.' An he slaps me again. 'My customers complained real loud about the Panther sweat you brought the other night.' An he slaps me again. 'And you know I want my customers happy.' An he slaps me again. 'You bring me another truck load - tonight - for free,' he sez ta me. An slaps me another good one. 'And if it’s as bad as that last stuff, the boys will be taken you for a ride. Get my drift?' An he slaps me again, twice. By now I’m seeing stars. Ok, I sez. Den Dion sez, 'Say good night to Mister Dwyer, boys. ' An dem two bozos bounce my face off da wall, I land on my kester in da dirty alley. Ruined my best suit. So, anyway, I bring Dion a load of the stuff from da farmer in down-state Indiana. He tastes it and is happy as a clam. He sez to me, 'You did good.' An pats me on the cheek. Dat Gimp had a lota norve.” (Dion ‘Gimp’ O’Bannion)
“I told you to get out of the booze business,” Harold said. “I know. I been think’n real hard about gett’n inta something that’s legit. That load I took ta Dion emptied my warehouse. I think I’ll leave it dat way. Lets go get something ta eat.” Harold returned to the bunk house and caught six hour worth of Z’s.
Harold started to return trip to Duluth before the early pre-dawn light. The trip to was uneventful. Harold turned in the manifest papers to the station agent at the Barkers Transport Co. “Is that fat bastard still here,” Harold inquired of the agent. But before the agent could answer, a voice from down the hall shouted, “Leave my parents, ah, forget it. Get your ass down here.” Harold walked down the hall and into C.C. Barker’s office, and flopped into a chair. “Have a drink,” C.C. said, as he lifted a glass from the lower drawer and pushed it in Harold’s direction. Then he poured three fingers worth into the glasses from a half full bottle. “Just one. I’ve got a date.” “With Ella?” C.C. inquired. “Yeah,” Harold replied. “Cheers.”
Harold left the office and walked to where his ‘28 Ford Coupe was parked. He lifted the hood and un-wire the brake wrench that was fastened to the car’s frame. He gave the nut on the brake rod a couple of turns to tighten-up the mechanical brakes. Satisfied, he re-wired the wrench to the frame, closed the hood climbed in and left the terminal. After going home and cleaning-up, Harold went downtown and parked in front of Oreck’s clothing store. Ella was working late, as an alteration seamstress. “Hi Driver,” Ella said, with a smile, as she slide into the seat next to Harold. “We’ve got to go out to 28th and pick-up my sister and Paul.” “To bad this thing has a rumble seat,” Harold said, unhappily. With the other couple ensconced to the seat behind the cab they headed back to downtown Duluth. Harold parked in front of 212 west 1st street. Paul and Elsie were the first ones into the “Original Coney Island’. Paul ordered and received four, 10 cent ‘Dogs’ and he and Elsie quickly left. Harold ordered four ‘Dogs’ and when he got to the cashier, Gust Pappas, he realized that he had to pay for eight ‘Dogs’. Paul had stiffed Harold once again. “They just want to be alone in the car,” Ella commented. “The hell,” Harold said, “they just want to paw and grope each other.” “Is that why they call cars a ‘Struggle Buggy’ Mister L?” Gust asked. “You got that right Kid. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.”