Bootleg Freight

My parents had a '56 Chevy Belair when I was a baby (year of my birth) and I have no memories of that car other than pictures. I do remember the '58 Biscayne however, mainly because of my car seat with a steering wheel and a lever on each side for turn signal and gear shift. I would imitate my Dad going through the three on the tree.

My first car was a '62 Impala, well worn by the time I paid $200 for it with money I earned washing dishes the previous summer. Not a hot rod by any means; 4-door with 283 2BBL & powerglide. But it was big and could get buddies to chip in for gas if they wanted to pile in.

 

My Dad with his work vehicle way back when.

 

That sounds similar to the local Mustang Club in my area. Most of the members are somewhat older than me and their cars of choice seems to be 65-66 models, fully restored, stock motor, skinny tires etc. They ride in the annual Christmas parade and events like that. I've been invited to join or attend meets and never have. I really don't have a lot in common with those guys but appreciate what they do.

 

I suppose we all figured that when Isaac brought the shootin' irons along on the trip to Knoxville something might come up where they would come in handy. I betcha thought something was going down at the bus depot, didn't you? Well, it almost did but they thought better about riling up Bo and Karen's kin folk any worse than they already have. I know I've been slow getting to it, but here we go.





Isaac pulled into the left lane to take the lead. Seeing an oncoming vehicle a few hundred yards away he downshifted into second gear, nailing the throttle, bringing smoke from the rear tires. Despite the stiffened rear suspension the hood seem to float into the air with the massive application of torque to the drive wheels. Billy couldn’t suppress a broad grin at the roaring sound of the exhaust emanating from the twin pipes as the coupe blew by his cab, completing the pass with ample distance to spare.

The sign ahead read Truck Parking Area Next Right. Isaac made a pointing gesture over the roof of his car and Billy gave the air horn chain a light tug of acknowledgement.

Not bothering to signal, Isaac veered off into the parking area, creating a cloud of dust, the oversized tires slinging gravel inside the fender wells. He rolled two thirds of the way down, positioning them parallel to the thickest area of trees.

Before Billy had come to a complete stop behind him, he was out of the car, Colt in hand, motioning his partner out of the passenger side of the truck. Not needing to be told to bring it, Billy had the cut off as he leapt from the cab, following Isaac down the side off the trailer.

Just beyond the trailer landing gear Isaac ducked beneath the trailer and while in a crouched position reached up and flipped a latch, unlocking the three by three feet trap door. He pushed it upward before hoisting himself inside the trailer. Billy followed, again not needing to be told what to do.

“Dang it, Boss, I had no idea,” Billy said, truly impressed. The trap door blended with the floor so well he had never noticed it as many times he had been in the trailer.

Rather than answer, Isaac led them to the rear of the trailer with his penlight he had the foresight to bring along.

Jud’s coffin had been placed lengthwise in the trailer and secured on four sides with wooden blocks nailed into the wooden floor to prevent it from sliding around. The end of the box was three feet from the trailer door. There were two feet of clearance on either side of the four feet wide container.

Isaac and Billy walked along each wall and were positioning themselves on each side of the roll up door when they heard gravel crunching beneath tires, obviously not from a diesel tractor judging from the lack of engine noise. There was an undecipherable murmur of voices that seemed to separate and split to each side of the trailer before fading out entirely. Footfalls could be heard as the pair of men from the blue Buick eased alongside the trailer, guns drawn, making their way to the cab, and then on to the Ford coupe.

Perplexed at the absence of their quarry they made a pass through the wooded area to no avail. There was nowhere else remaining other than the mountainside. Knowing it was useless, they peered over the precipice anyway.

One of the men then pointed at the rear of the trailer. The other shrugged as if to say “why not?”

 

After flipping the safety catch they started slowly raising the door. When it had been raised about a foot Isaac used a firm two handed grasp to forcefully ram the roller door upward with all his might. The ensuing seconds of confusion were what Isaac had counted on.

Billy held the shotgun in a two handed grip, gripping the business end of the weapon like a baseball bat. He was on his knees enabling him to execute a lateral swing in perfect alignment with his intended target. The Colt was wrapped behind his head when he uncoiled like a tightly wound steel spring. The polished hardwood grip made contact with flesh on the jaw bone just below the left ear creating an audible splat/crunch that could have been heard across the road.

Blood, saliva, and teeth spewed from the man’s mouth, twisting his head to a severe angle, the force of the impact sending his fedora flying, revealing a full head of rusty colored hair. Although not relinquishing his hold on the bolt action rifle, the shock of the attack and the intense pain that resulted made him forget he was holding it.

The sight of the red hair and the hunting rifle sent Billy into a rage, knowing this was the man Karen described, the man who murdered his friend. He reversed the shotgun, released the thumb catch safety and lined the barrels up on the man’s broken face.

He could have sworn he heard Isaac’s voice speaking to him from another place. Don’t kill him. Not yet.

But Isaac wasn’t even paying attention to him for he had his own problem to attend to. The moustachioed cop was faster than Isaac had bargained for. By the time he released the door and scooped his revolver from the floor his opponent had already withdrawn his .38 Police Special from his belt holster and was squeezing the trigger.

The bullet tore through Isaac’s trouser leg and into the end of the oak structure that was Jud Kowoski’s final resting place. He never got off another shot.

The boom of the .44 Magnum was deafening as the back blast reverberated inside the cavernous metal trailer. The fat hollow point roundmade its entry into the shooter’s inner forearm, at the crook of the elbow. The lower half of his arm dropped down at an unnatural angle, swinging back like a screen door on broken hinges, the disconnected hand absently releasing the .38.

The cop looked down at first in bewilderment, then horror as he saw his forearm dangling by mere scraps of tendons like so many threads.

Isaac and Billy were on the ground quickly, herding the broken men to the cliff side of the trailer, ordering them to their knees.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be already,” Isaac said without preamble. “You guys are operating under a black flag. Is this your deal or is somebody running you?”

Moustache just stared at the ground. Red attempted to speak. Blood from his severed tongue spilled down his chin as he worked his shattered jaw in an effort to form words.

“Shut up #######!” Moustache yelled. “We ain’t no ###### snitches.”

The outburst was ignored by Isaac butt Billy took the opportunity to kick him in the kidney region. “No, you shut up, #######. The boss is talking.”

By this point Isaac had no use for Moustache and didn’t care what Billy did to him for he was tapping into a reliable source of information; clandestine cigarette and liquor warehouses, prostitution rings, missing jurors and compromised cops. And citizens executed for knowing, or often just suspecting, too much.

The confessors words sounded like somebody trying to talk underwater with a mouth full of marbles, but Isaac’s apparent comprehension of the garbled nonsense confirmed what Billy had suspected for some time now.

His boss had a special gift. Whether it came and went at random times or Isaac could turn it on and off at will was still a mystery to him. The source of this power was a mystery as well. Did it come from God or Satan and did it really matter? Raised in the Pentecostal church, Billy was taught there was no middle ground and made a quick prayer of forgiveness for doubting his childhood teachings.

After being pulled aside and given instructions by Isaac, Billy went to the cab of the truck and removed an old shop rag from under the passenger seat which he rolled lengthwise in the fashion of a tube. He then dipped the makeshift wick into the right side diesel tank, allowing the rag to absorb the flammable liquid.

Meanwhile Isaac led their captives to the Buick at gunpoint, directing them into the back seat where he buckled them in. Moustache may have had the ability to unbuckle himself with his good arm but he seemed to lack the strength. He was growing paler by the minute due to the amount of blood draining from his severed limb and the kick to the kidneys seemed to have robbed him of whatever remaining resolve he may have possessed.

Red, despite his caved in face and sore neck, was in otherwise good physical condition but made no effort to resist or escape. He gave off an aura of one who has made peace with himself and his maker and was prepared to accept his fate.

Billy returned with the diesel soaked cloth as Isaac closed the door on his passengers. He instructed Billy to insert it into the car’s gas tank, working it in slowly as to not let it bunch up, and leaving only a couple of inches on the outside.

Isaac started the Buick then backed it up a few yards enabling him to swing out in an arc and put the front of the car more or less square with the edge of the drop off. With the car in position he motioned for Billy to light the fuse.

As Billy withdrew his Zippo from his jean pocket Isaac turned to face the two men in the back seat. “Well, gentlemen?”

Red mumbled a few indecipherable sounds, a tear escaping as he made eye contact. “You’re welcome, son. You’ve done the right thing.”
He turned his gaze to Moustache who merely said, “#### you.”

Not bothering to answer, Isaac opened the door and placed the gear selector in DRIVE while keeping his right foot on the brake pedal.

Still on level ground, if not at a slight upgrade, the Electra barely crept forward as Isaac released the brake and slid from the seat in a smooth motion, shutting the door as he got both feet on the ground. Red actually gave him a little wave while Moustache was emotionless. Motionless also, for his skin was as pale as possible for a person who was still breathing, if in fact he still was. Isaac thought he would expire from loss of blood before the explosion took him.

The front tires dropped over the hump giving the driverless car some momentum, covering the first stage of the slope in a few seconds before taking the big plunge. The rear tires rose into the air as the nose dropped on the severe incline, an incline that was nearly vertical. Bouncing and teetering all the way down it was a miracle the vehicle never rolled over completely. Now Billy understood why Isaac buckled the passengers in, not wanting them scattered along the slope where they could be more easily identified on the off chance they were found before the coyotes that roamed at night found them first.

The big blue Buick came to a complete stop at what would become its final resting place, nose first against a boulder the size of a billiard table.

“I’ll just be ######,” Billy said, almost in a whisper as one of the rear passenger doors slowly swung open. Before he had time to contemplate who was sitting where the car blew up.

The deep WHOOOOMPH resonated through the gorge like dry thunder. Mini avalanches sprang to life as if wishing to participate in the mayhem. An eruption of fowl in the grove behind them was actually more startling than the explosion for it was unexpected.

The secondary explosion, this one more visual, occurred as the gasoline itself went into a blaze, the primary detonation being the more volatile fumes.

“Time to skedaddle, son,” Isaac said.

As he turned to walk away Billy saw the sizeable blood spot on Isaac’s trouser leg.

“Dang, Boss, you’re hit. We need to tend to that,” Billy said.

“No, we need to roll. We’ll tend to it later.

*