Authors: Lara Parker
Jackie looked back in time to see the face of the magician
staring out of his cage. His bulging eyes were open now, and his
face was a grimace of pain, but his struggling had ceased. He
hung motionless, frozen in death, while his assistants crawled
over the cage, trying desperately to remove the bolts.
“Hurry,” shouted Liz. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Th
e next moment they were dashing up the back stair be-
hind the kitchen, and they ran down the hall to a room guarded
by two men snoozing on their chairs. Th
ey roused as Liz pushed
by them and burst in the door.
“Daddy! Daddy, it’s the cops. You have to leave.”
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Th
e man who turned his head to observe their entrance was
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a distinguished gentleman with silver white hair that fell in a
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wave over his brow and lifted above his ears in a halo. Jackie
thought she had never seen a man so handsome, or so intoxi-
cated. He had the look of a matinee idol or a silent fi lm star. His eyes were intensely black, his gaze dramatic, and his entire demeanor one of confi dence that must have been the result of
a strong physique and a powerful personality. A half- empty
bottle of whiskey sat on the desk in front of him and he held a
glass in his hand.
“Good eve ning, my dear,” he said in a melodious voice
slurred with drink. “It is always such a joy to see you.”
“Daddy. It’s a raid. Th
e police are here. Th
ey’re going to
arrest everybody.”
“Calm down, dolly, and don’t you worry your pretty little
head about a thing. Baxter assured me that he would give me
plenty of warning before he moved in. What the hell do I pay
him for?”
“It’s not Captain Baxter, Daddy. It’s the FBI. Th
ey’re driv-
ing sheriff cars, the one with the white shield on the side.”
Jamison Collins was drunk. His eyes could not have found
their focus even if he had tried, and he made no attempt to sit up
straight. He hunched over, poured another drink into his glass,
and took a swig.
“Th
e FBI don’t drive cars with shields, baby. Th
ey drive in-
cog- ni- to. Tell the guys to come in here.”
But the two henchmen had already leaned inside the door;
they, too, had heard the sirens. “Where is everybody?” asked
Mr. Collins.
“Maybe at the party.”
“Idiots! Go get them. And you”— he turned to Liz—“you
tell what ever offi
cer is in charge that I can meet him at the pool
house and take care of things. Th
ere’s a lot a stake.” His words
were thick and slurred. “Th
e new shipment just came in last
week. Twenty- fi ve barrels just going into bottles. Th
irty thou-
sand dollars’ worth. I don’t intend to lose it.”
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“I don’t think they know about the Old House, Daddy.”
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Lara Parker
“Of course they know! Th
ose bastards buy from me. Th
ey
go to the Blue Whale every night.”
He reached under his desk and pulled out a large leather
suitcase that he snapped open, exposing hundred- dollar bills.
“Tell him I’ll take care of him.” He stood up but immediately
lost his balance and sat back down with a jerk. “Damn it to hell,
I can’t even walk.”
One of the henchmen cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Mr.
Collins, you ain’t forgot about the . . . about that thing to night.”
“Oh, right. Very important.” He turned to Liz. “Here,
honey, you take it to him. He’ll be waiting for it. He’s on the
payroll, for Christ’s sake. Tell him to get the hell out of here and leave my party for my guests.”
“Daddy, there’re cops down there. With guns.”
“What did I raise? A little chicken?” He shoved the suitcase
in her hands and winked at Jackie. “Nobody’s gonna bother two
little fl apper girls, especially when they are such gorgeous
dames.”
After creeping down the back stair, Liz and Jackie sprinted
around the deserted tables and then raced across the lawn to-
ward the pool, the suitcase bouncing between them. Jackie
glanced around hoping for a glimpse of David. Liz bit her lip
and stared straight ahead, seeming more determined than
afraid. Jackie was amazed that anyone so young could be so
self- possessed. But as they drew near the building, she heard
screaming coming from the pool house, a dog barking, and sounds
of breaking glass.
Th
ree cops in blue uniforms with brass buttons were outside
the entrance smashing kegs they had hauled onto the grass. Th
ey
used hatchets, and when they busted a hole in the top of
a wooden barrel, the whiskey inside spurted up in the air like a
fountain, frothing over the sides and spilling on the ground. Th
e
grass was soaked and the night air reeked with the smell of beer
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and bourbon.
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“Oh, no, it’s Daddy’s beautiful booze,” wailed Liz when she
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saw the mayhem. She smacked a fi st against her forehead and
stormed inside with the suitcase in her hand. Th
e police had a
dozen crates lined up and two of them were knocking the necks
off brown bottles one at a time on the coping and pouring the
liquor into the pool. Gallons splashed and spilled spreading
across the deck, and there was shattered glass everywhere.
Liz stooped down and swiped her hand across the tile and
licked her fi ngers. She spat it out and looked back at Jackie.
“Th
is is only moonshine,” she said. “Th
ose cops don’t know the
diff erence. Golden grain— everclear. Cheap stuff he kept here
in brown bottles. Daddy won’t care it they take it all.”
Groups of partygoers huddled together at the end of the
pool or up on the deck, shivering now with towels wrapped
around their naked bodies. Jackie saw a cop with a cocked hat
and a huge tommy gun trained on the swimmers, keeping them
prisoners. He had a police dog with him and it was barking fu-
riously at just about everything. Some of the girls were crying,
begging to be let go, and the boys were trying to look manly,
their arms around the girls, but fear blanched their faces. Th
e
cop motioned for some of them to move toward the door, and
about fi ve boys took off and ran past Liz and Jackie, scrambling
in panic out of the pool house.
Liz scanned the area, her face fl ushed. She looked like a
goddess in the wavering light from the water, her silver dress
clinging to her body, and her eyes fi erce. When she marched
over to one of the policemen he looked surprised but seemed to
recognize her, and she lifted up and said something to him. He
pointed to an offi
cer who was watching the bottle breaking, his
shotgun slung over one shoulder, his boots inches deep in spilled
alcohol.
Jackie held back near the door as Liz talked to the offi
cer
and spoke to him heatedly, pointing back toward the house.
When she opened up the case and showed him the cash, he
looked around a bit sheepishly, and then reached for it. But Liz
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pulled it back and said something else, spitting out her words.
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Jackie heard an engine roar up outside and turned to see
another sheriff ’s car pull in front of the opening, and fi ve blue uniformed men spilled out, guns raised. Th
ey swarmed into the
pool house and one began shouting, “Okay, gents. We got this
covered. Leave the booze and vamoose! Everybody! Now! Be-
fore somebody gets hurt!”
In a fl ash, Liz was at Jackie’s side tugging her toward the
door. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“Th
ose guys are the Mafi a!”
“But they look like cops!”
“Honey, they stole those uniforms.”
Jackie was amazed to see the fi rst group of police inside the
pool house freeze, and then slowly raise their hands. It was cops
training their guns on cops. Th
e dog was barking furiously at
the new batch, leaning into the leash and growling, its gums
pulled back, teeth bared. A spray of bullets exploded, and the
dog howled, then fell to the fl oor, whining and scratching.
Th
e frown on Liz’s face turned to a grimace of alarm, as if
she were really afraid, and Jackie’s heart fl ew to her throat. Another barrage of bullets hailed across the tiled walls sparking
pockmarks in the blue plaster. She and Liz crouched behind
one of the pillars. “Damn those bums!” cried Liz. “Th
ey don’t
care if they kill us.” She fl ipped open the bag and dug for the
cash. Th
en she stood and threw bunches of green, scattering
handfuls of money that fl oated out and over the pool. When
they saw hundred- dollar bills fl ying though the air and landing
on the surface of the water, the gunmen stopped and stared.
One of the partygoers, a young man in a one- piece bathing
suit, ran to the side of the pool and with a hysterical shout,
jumped in the water. He began swimming toward the center in
a desperate attempt to grab the bills. Bewildered, several others
followed his lead and lemming- like, they ran for the edge. Bod-
ies tumbled in a great turmoil of splashing foam as guns fi red
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again in the air and bullets fl ew. Th
en the partygoers scrambled
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out of the water and ran for the door. Jackie watched their pale
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bodies disappear over the grass. Th
e fake cops fi red in their
wake.
“Stay behind me,” Liz yelled, backing up with the suitcase
fl apping open. Wedged inside underneath where the money had
been, Jackie saw a gun, a revolver like one from the Old West,
with a long barrel. To her astonishment, Liz whipped it out and
raised it in both hands like she knew how to use it. She thrust a
box of bullets at Jackie. “Here, take these, and run!” Th
en she
backed out of the door, aiming the revolver and fi ring back into
the room.
Jackie took off , stumbling, so terrifi ed she thought she
would faint, and not looking back until she almost collided with
the green car barreling across the lawn, its headlights fl ashing.
Quentin was behind the wheel. “Get a wiggle on,” he cried. She
climbed in alongside a man with a shotgun squeezed up next to
the window. “Where’s Liz?” shouted Quentin, but immediately
he spied her and sped the car toward the white columns of the
entrance, where he shouted, “Baby! Honey! Over here!”
Th
ere was a blast of gunshots from the pool house as three
men fi red from the doorway, and Jackie heard the bullets from
an automatic rifl e strike the side of the car with pinging rattles.
She ducked down behind the man at the window but she was
close enough to feel his body convulse when he was hit in the
head, and he slowly crumpled over in her lap.
Suddenly Jackie thought of David and the night they had
found the car. She had wondered then how it got the bullet
holes. Where was David? Frantically she looked around, but
there were terrifi ed partygoers everywhere, their faces white
with fear, and his face was not among them.
She knew her thoughts were becoming scattered and she
didn’t trust herself to stay clear. Something unfathomable was
threatening her, and her hold on reality wavered. She was sur-
rounded by a pageant of horrors, and the world was fl ickering
by like an old silent movie.
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As soon Liz she saw the car, she came running and Quentin
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slowed just enough to reach out the window, scoop her up with
one arm and set her onto the running board. She clung to door-
jamb like a circus performer, still fi ring behind her as they sped off with a roar, the engine blaring over the guns’ explosions.
When she looked over at Quentin, he was grinning at her. He
cocked his eyes toward Jackie. “Ain’t she somethin’?” he said,
but his eyes looked sad. Jackie was struck mute by the sensation
of blood trickling over her arm and down her dress.
Liz leaned in and said, “Bullets,” holding out her hand, and
Jackie found her wits and gave her a fi stful, then, dumbly, she
cradled the box in her lap.
Th
e car blasted across the lawn toward the Great House,
making for the road, and suddenly Liz cried out, “Oh no, look,
there’s Daddy!” Jackie screwed her head back to see where Liz
was pointing and saw Jamison Collins on the upper balcony.