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| Saint Sebastian River Bridge [Click image to call up all published instalments] |
June 1922, continued
By now Red had finished his own fish, swabbed his plate with what he considered some mighty fine hushpuppies, and pulled his napkin out of his own collar to wipe his face and hands. He’d worn it just like the Judge; he surely wasn’t studyin’ on soiling his brand-new shirt before Zook’s social tonight.
He rolled a cigarette, or tried to; after a minute or two of Red struggling, the Judge took pity and shook one out of a pack of store-boughts and gave it to him. Red thanked him kindly, and they both lit up.
Stikelether continued his tale. “Well, once that happened, John’s lawyer managed to cut a deal with the State to drop the murder charges if John agreed to go peacefully and face trial for the robbery at the Stuart Bank and Trust, where they knew they had him dead to rights. The lawyer argued, correctly, that not only was there no direct evidence for the murder charge, but the chances of John getting a fair trial in Miami at that point were two-fold: slim and none.”
They both smiled at the unspoken punchline: “And Slim’s out of town.”
The crappie were biting |
“Tommy Tiger and the Cow Creek Tribe weren’t one bit happy about that, outraged in fact, but I was overruled by Governor Trammel. Tommy never would speak to me after that, and I can’t say as I blame him, but there was nothing I could do. The Chicago mobster, Kid Lowe, had sent a letter to Dan Hardie threatening murder and mayhem if John didn’t get a fair trial, and that may have influenced the decision, although nothing ever came of it.
“Folks said Lowe did it out of guilt about shooting John. I can’t speak to that; all I know is Lowe was never heard from again. I suspect he’s rotting in the swamp somewhere, another victim of John’s vindictive nature. He shot him in the face after all, and John isn’t the forgiving kind, accident or not.
“John pled guilty in Palm Beach, which purely surprised me at the time, but the murders in Miami had tarnished the Ashley legend quite a bit, and I think he did it trying to get a lighter sentence. Didn’t work though. He was sentenced to seventeen and a half years in prison, and they sent him off to Raiford, way up Union County way. That was where he was first fitted with his glass eye.”
Just then the one o’clock bell rang from the train station. “That train should be along in an hour or so,” the Judge said, looking at Red with an odd gleam in his eye. “Lot of folks got business with that train from down South, so I hear.”
Red allowed as how that was so. “So, where do the Ashleys stand at this point, Grey?” he asked.
“Well Red, with John in Raiford and Bob dead, and Frank and Ed missing and presumed, the gang is operating with daddy Joe calling the shots along with John’s nephew ‘Handsome’ Hanford Mobley. Shorty Lynn and Clarence Middleton are the enforcers, Laura Upthegrove, her brother Joe Tracy, and Roy Mathews doing most of the dirty work.
Who’s really getting the inside skinny? |
Red’s eyebrows went up at this, he’d missed it the first time Stikelether had said the name. “Did you say Middleton? This feller any kin to Harlan Middleton, out Blue Cypress way?”
Stikelether’s smile was back. “Oh yes he is, first cousins as a matter of fact. I hear there’s no love lost between them, though.”
Red was shaking his head. “I reckon not. Harlan was right hard-assed about them Ashley boys, last I spoke to him.”
The Judge was actually laughing under his breath at this. “My my, you sure do get around, don’t you, Mr. Dedge? Mixing with the likes of Harlan Middleton and ‘Z’ Zeuchs. You happen to meet up with Skeeter Willis too?”
Red’s mouth bunched up at this, but he nodded. “Yes sir, I did, and neither him ner Middleton struck me as men to mess with, if I may say so. Told me in no uncertain terms to stay as far away from John Ashley as it was possible to get.”
Grey nodded agreement, once again looking off into the distance, the way older men so often seemed to do. “Good advice, son, and I highly recommend you take it to heart.”
Just then the Judge slipped a full pint flask from his bib pocket and tipped it up, plain as day, right in front of God, Lilly Owens and about two dozen other Saturday diners.
Red looked around nervously, but no one paid the least mind. His own mouth watered, and without a word, but with that sly smile, the old man handed the flask over. With another quick glance around the café, Red tipped it up and took a long slash. It was good. It was better than good; it was maybe the best ’shine the boy had ever tasted. He took another pull, feeling exposed there by the window, but my, that was tasty. He handed it back, and the Judge’s smile grew broader.
“Impressive, isn’t it, son?”
Red nodded, the delicious vapors still clogging his throat.
“That right there,” Stikelether sat back, putting his arm over the back of his chair and crossing his legs, “is John Ashley’s white lightning.” The smile disappeared. “Do you have any idea what that means, son?”
Red found his voice. “Uh, that he shore ’nuff is a good ’shiner?” Knowing he was missing something important.
John Ashley’s gang is still operating |
“Nine months ago, last October, John Ashley had a terrible dream, there in Raiford, that his brothers Ed and Frank had been killed in a shootout on the sea, and that it was Jim White, Alton Davis and Bo Stokes who did the shooting. Those three were rumrunners too, and although their relations seemed amiable enough, they had to pay the Ashleys protection, and it was rumored Stoke’s cousin had been killed in an Ashley hijacking just two months before in August. This dream upset John so much he wrote a letter to his father, Joe Ashley, about it. The letter was intercepted by the prison guards of course, who told the warden, Captain J.S. Blitch, what it said.
“Blitch told them to send the letter on, there being nothing in it of a suspicious nature. Now, Blitch is a personal friend of mine, me having sent him so many customers over the years,” and at this the old man laughed again, and took another swig from his flask. He passed it back to Red, who sipped at it gingerly this time, determined to keep his head about him for the evening, when he might meet with that Bostick girl.
“In any case, over some fine steaks at his residence with his lovely wife and another jar of John Ashley’s liquor a sight larger than this one, Blitch told me that two days later Joe Ashley appeared at Raiford to tell John his brothers Ed and Frank had not returned from Bimini with a scheduled shipment of this very fine product right here. Joe’d left before the letter arrived, had known nothing of the letter at all.
“According to J.S., John was frantic. Enraged. Screaming like a lunatic. He plucked out his glass eye and threw it out the window through the bars, into the prison yard. After two hours, the both of them shouting and crying the whole time, Joe Ashley left.
“In December, Davis, White, and Stokes also disappeared between the Bahamas and the Florida coast. Gone without a trace.” The grin was gone again, replaced with a grim glare from under the Judge’s bushy white eyebrows, that twitched like thick, hairy caterpillars above his staring eyes.
You listen to me good |
Red Dedge was looking off into the distance his own self at this point.
“Now,” Greyson Stikelether said, “if I was you, I’d be sure to catch that train up soon as it gets to the station. Wouldn’t want all that prime cypress to go to waste, now would we?”
Red sat back in amazement, but the Judge shook his head sympathetically.
“Now, you didn’t think I just knew about them Ashleys, did you? Ask anybody hereabouts, Miss Lottie or whoever; I know everything goes on about these parts. And you can tell Warren Zeuchs and Floyd Kimball their daddies don’t mind them moonlighting with bootleg timber neither, ’long as they don’t shirk their duties to Indian River Farms while they’re at it. Kimball Sr. told me it showed initiative.
“Now, once you get set with those railroad men, you best get up to that still Guy’s got going at the Saint Sebastian River and tell him to knock it down but fast, before Clarence Middleton or Joe Ashley catch wind of it. And if you got good sense, you’ll take the next train back north where you come from.
“You got good sense boy? I doubt it, what with a woman on your young mind, but all I can do is recommend. It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Red Dedge, and I hope I don’t see you dead any time soon. Now go on; git.”
Red hadn’t gotten enough schoolin’ to ever have been dismissed by a headmaster, but now he figured he knew what it felt like. He jumped up, stuck out his hand, shook with the Judge, and hit the door, making the little bell clatter, almost at a run.
Lilly sauntered over with the tea pitcher and refilled Grey’s glass. “Chico lit out like his pantalones was on f’ar. Jou wouldn’t happen to know algo about that, now would jou, Senor el Juez? Or por que it only ‘seems’ Laura’s callin’ the shots?” Her smile was relaxed, amused.
The Judge smiled broadly back, s haking his head. He often pumped useful information from Lilly, who liked to gossip as much as most women, but that road only went one way. He leaned back in his chair, hands clenched together, stretching his arms.
When he lowered them, he answered, watching out the window as the young man practically sprinted down the street. “Why, Lilly Blue Heron Owens, whatever are you talking about?”
He knew her real Indian name |
It wasn’t ten minutes later that the two o’clock bell from the train station rang out. Red Dedge was surprised; his time with the Judge had seemed like half an hour. It had actually been more like two.
| Copyright © 2022 by Roger Owens |
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