Sugar House (9780991192519) (28 page)

Joe hurried to Eastern Market to buy four
steaks before the butcher went home for the day. He quickly found
the butcher his mother always bought her meat from and, after
grabbing the wrapped meat and pocketing almost eighteen dollars in
change, he ran to a streetcar, hopped on, and headed home at
last.

His mother greeted him at the door, wrapping
him in her arms and squeezed him so tight he lost his breath. When
she released him she slapped him across the face as hard as she
could. Joe dropped the steaks as his hand went instinctively to his
cheek. "I'm sorry, Matka. I had no idea I would be gone all night.
Please don't be angry. I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to
tell you by the time I did."

"I was so worried about you," Matka replied,
reverting to Polish. "I thought you were dead! And that boss of
yours sending over all those flowers a half hour ago doesn't change
anything. She pointed to a huge arrangement of lilies, roses, and
carnations that sat in a vase on a side table in the living room.
Leiter had tried to pave the way for Joe's return. Joe smiled
inwardly.

"I'm sorry, Matka. Here, Mr. Leiter gave me
some money to buy steaks for dinner to apologize, and I have enough
left to buy ice cream with. I'll send Frank to the store to get
some for after dinner. I know it doesn't make up for you worrying
all night. I guess things are going to change from here on out. I
promise to let you know that I'm not coming home if I know, OK? But
you'll have to promise me that if I don't… that you won't worry.
Nothing's going to happen to me, Matka. I promise I'll come
home."

Matka looked sadly at Joe and replied, "Those
were the last words Ojciec said to me." She picked up the package
of meat and walked slowly into the kitchen.

"Push it! They're gaining on us!" Joe yelled
into the wind. Cappie was pushing the boat to the limit. The Coast
Guard boat was gaining on them. Suddenly, Cappie cut the engine and
the boat coasted to a stop.

"Throw out your line, Joe!" he whispered
fiercely. Joe scrambled to the back, grabbed his fishing pole, and
threw out his line with a lure on the end. His heart was pounding.
Almost every day that autumn, he and Cappie made a liquor run to
Canada. The bosses sent a man to the island every morning to load
the liquor into the truck and drive it back to Detroit. Cappie had
outfitted the boat with a light, and they waited in Amherstburg
till dusk to return to the cottage. The boat was still loud, but
they had only been stopped once by the Coast Guard.

"Gave us quite a chase," the officer yelled
as they sidled up to their boat. The officer shined a flashlight at
Cappie and then swung it around toward Joe.

"Wasn't racing you, sir," Cappie replied.
"Didn't know we were being followed. My boy here wanted to see how
fast I could push her. Kids, ya know." Cappie was calm and
jovial.

"Yeah, I got a boy his age," the lieutenant
replied, eyeing Joe. Just then Joe felt a pull on his line and
started to reel it in. The rod bent in a graceful curve and Joe
pulled hard. Reeling fast, he brought the fish to the side of the
boat.

"Sirs?" Cappie looked inquisitively at the
Coast Guard men. The lieutenant nodded yes and Cappie crossed over
to help Joe bring the fish into the boat.

"Nice catch, boy!" the officer congratulated
him. "That's a nice bullhead you got there." Joe held the fish up
so Cappie could pull the hook from its mouth. Soon they were all
swapping fish stories.

Joe's hands were shaking so hard that he had
to sit on them, but the Coast Guard didn't even bother to climb
aboard. The lieutenant sent Cappie and Joe off with a "Thanks for
the fish, Joe! Have a good night boys!"

A month later ice started flowing down the
river. Joe thought they'd be packing it in for the winter, but
Cappie (or was it the bosses at the Sugar House?) had other ideas.
The Coast Guard had put their small fleet in dry dock for the
winter, giving the bootleggers free rein on the lake. Cappie and
Joe would set off in the boat after first light and slowly make
their way toward Canada. Joe would stand next to Cappie and watch
for blocks of ice floating towards them, and Cappie would
skillfully avoid the obstacles. It was cold work, and Leiter had
sent his pickup man with thick fur coats for them to wear. The cold
air would sometimes catch in Joe's lung. He'd cough ferociously for
a few minutes trying to catch his breath. Despite the cold weather,
the work wasn't hard except for the fact that Joe was sick and
tired of painting boxes every night.

Several times he thought they'd go down with
the boat when severe weather struck. Without warning, the sky would
turn a greenish black and the wind would roar up, causing the boat
to toss and bounce in five-foot waves. Joe would hold onto the
sides of the boat and say Hail Mary's and Our Fathers under his
breath; the pelting rain hit his cheeks and back like daggers. But
Cappie, true to his alias, was a good captain. They always made it
safely back to the cottage.

Saturday afternoons, Joe and Cappie would
climb into the truck with the pickup man and head back to the city
for the night. Joe would head home from the Sugar House with his
weekly pay—now fifty dollars a week—eat a home cooked meal for
supper, pass out in his bed at eight o'clock, and get up and go to
church in the morning with the family. Marya was jealous of her
cousin's new wealth but disguised it in an aura of moral
superiority, sliding snide comments into conversations over Sunday
dinners after church.

"Leaving to go fishing again after dinner,
Joe?" she whispered as the two families were finishing their dinner
of rolled roast beef and mushrooms. Her bright blue eyes narrowed,
and the she arched one perfect eyebrow.

"Enjoy the roast beef, Marya?" he replied,
knowing his pay had bought the food she'd just eaten.

When the river froze solid after Christmas,
Leiter told Joe and Cappie to make two runs a day over the ice. The
fishing ruse all but forgotten for the time, Joe rode next to
Cappie over the thick ice in a Packard outfitted with a false
floorboard and with the back seat ripped out. They avoided Lake
Erie. They drove a mile over the ice, straight across the river,
and traveled down a back road to the distillery. This route was
shorter but much more dangerous.

Cappie started carrying a crowbar in the
front seat of the car when reports of liquor hijackings started
leaking into the news. Several gangs in the area deemed it more
profitable to hijack a load of liquor from a rum runner than to pay
for it themselves. The Sugar House Gang had themselves begun to
hijack booze at gunpoint; if anyone resisted, Ray Bernstein or one
of his brothers would bash the bootlegger in the face with a wooden
board or bat, breaking his cheekbone, nose, or eye socket. Joe was
on constant watch for other gangs. His eyes never blinked as they
made their way back across the frozen river twice a day, loaded
down with whisky.

They were nearing the canal in early February
when Joe saw lights flash in the trees. Cappie turned the car north
and drove directly to the toll bridge and back into the city.

Leiter sent a couple of his men to the
cottage. They reported back that there were fresh footprints in the
snow and the lock on the cellar door was broken. But they had found
no one. Leiter sent Cappie back to the island with the weekly
kickback for the one lone cop stationed on the island; his mission
was to decipher whether it had been the cops or another gang
sniffing around the cottage. Cappie reported that the cop was happy
with his weekly stipend, and the trespassers had likely been
another gang looking for an easy score.

Two weeks later, as Joe and Cappie were
helping load liquor into the truck with the pickup man, Sam "the
Gorilla" Davis, two men came from around the front of the cottage
and tried to overtake them. Cappie turned and pounced on the
approaching men without hesitation. The hijackers were caught off
guard, enabling Sam to grab the crowbar from the truck and whack
one of the men hard enough in the arm that Joe heard it break.
Cappie held the other man's arms behind his back and started
pushing him around to the front of the cottage.

"Joe, take my gun and go to the cellar. Guard
the liquor in case there's more of them coming."

Joe took Cappie's gun from his hand, ran down
the cellar steps, and shut the door behind him. He sat with his
back against the stack of liquor boxes, pointing the gun at the
door with shaking hands. Joe heard footsteps on the wooden floor
above him as the men entered the cottage.

"Think you're gonna steal our booze?" the
Gorilla's voice boomed above him. "Tie up the one with the broken
arm, Cappie. We're gonna teach these guys a little lesson about
messing with our gang. Joe heard a small scuffle and the man with
the broken arm yell out in pain as Cappie tied him to a chair.
"Hey, Cappie, hand me that saw from the corner." Joe heard Cappie
slowly walk across the floor to the corner of the cottage. Joe had
set the saw there that morning after sawing wood for the stove.

"Hold his right arm down, Cappie" the Gorilla
said menacingly.

The hijacker started whimpering and pleading
with the Gorilla. "No, no, please not my hand. Whadda ya want? I'll
pay you. I won't never steal from yous' again. I promise on my
mother's life."

"Too late, you son of a bitch. The Sugar
House don't tolerate no stealing, and we're sending a message to
all you dagos or whoever else thinks about stealing from us." Joe
looked up at the ceiling when the hijacker yelled in pain.

"Stop! I work for Capone; he'll pay whatever
you ask. I'm his cousin! Please! I know he'll pay!"

"This ain't no kidnapping, dago," replied the
Gorilla. You were on
our
property. You go back and let your
cousin see what happens to thugs who try to steal from the Sugar
House."

Joe heard a loud sob and then a terrifying
scream as the saw began to tear through ligaments and bone. He put
his fingers into his ears, still holding the gun while trying to
block the sound. Without warning he threw up on the cellar floor.
Wiping his mouth and replacing his fingers into his ears he started
humming a Polish song his mother always sang to him. Joe sat there
for several minutes, humming and rocking on the floor. Slowly he
pulled his fingers away from his ears. The sound stopped for a
moment. Then he heard footsteps on the cellar stairs.

Joe raised the gun as the door opened and
pointed it at the man's head. Cappie appeared in the light from
outside, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the cellar. A
ray of sunlight reflected off Joe's gun, and Cappie yelled at
Joe.

"It's me Joe! Put the gun down!" Cappie held
his hands high in the air. Joe quickly lowered the weapon and
looked up at his friend.

"They're gone, Joe. You can come back
upstairs. They won't be back."

The Gorilla walked across the floor above
them, and Cappie looked up and back down at Joe realizing Joe had
heard everything. Cappie and Joe just looked at one another.

"Joe…" Cappie started. "What happened
upstairs is not my way of going about things. I prefer to knock
them around a couple of times with my fists. You know, black eye,
busted lip, couple of missing teeth—no permanent damage."

Joe looked up at Cappie and nodded. He'd
heard many of Cappie's bar fight stories while eating supper in the
cottage. He'd laughed and laughed as Cappie jabbed the air with his
enormous fists and danced around the wood floor reenacting his
latest Saturday night fight.

"But the Sugar House don't think a busted lip
is gonna stop no one from hijacking their inventory. When the
Gorilla asked for the saw, I really thought he was just gonna scare
him a little. I'd heard Sam was a little off his rocker, but I
really didn't think he was gonna go through with it. I barely made
it till those dagos took off. Then I emptied my guts behind the
cottage. You all right?" Joe nodded slowly and rose from the cellar
floor.

"How bout you give me that gun back now?"

Joe looked down at his hand. He had forgotten
he was still holding the weapon. He handed it back to his
friend.

"Thought you were gonna shoot my head off
when I came down the steps. But I guess I didn't have to
worry."

"Cause you knew I'd recognize you,
Cappie?"

"No—cause you never cocked the gun, Joe.
Guess we'd better have some shooting lessons, huh?"

Joe smiled back at Cappie and followed him
out of the cellar.

***

The Sugar House bosses held a meeting. "That cottage
is too exposed," Shorr said.

"I agree," Charles said. "We need a more
impenetrable middle-house. Abe, drive down to the island and see if
you can find something that'll work. Cappie, you go down to that
new city… what's it called?"

"Wyandotte," Cappie replied, straightening
his tie.

"Yeah, Wyandotte. Find something on the river
where you and Joe can run liquor into."

Shorr bought a large estate on the west side
of the island and ordered some of his men to dig a tunnel from the
basement to the river. He had gun turrets built into the four sides
of the house and a tall black fence erected at the property lines.
He also bought a house on the opposite side of the river that
Cappie scouted out, five miles north, in Wyandotte. Here, he had a
boathouse dug from the seawall into the basement of the house.

Joe and Cappie continued smuggling whisky
across the ice while the tunnels were being constructed but drove
the load back to Detroit every night. Joe was thankful to be once
again sleeping in his own bed and especially that he didn't have to
paint the whisky cases anymore.