CIGAR BOX PLUNDER

BY TOM VAN GEMERT

                                                                                                                                                        I

IT WAS A muggy summer night in the small town of Sparberry. Mosquitoes entered from the nearby lake in what seemed like herds, dancing clumsily on humid air. Tonight even the children stayed inside. All the porches were empty save for a few old men who weren’t allowed to smoke their cigars inside and even they didn’t last long, getting only a few puffs before the critters honed in on them. Then the men rushed inside only to hear their wives shriek in voices sharper than any mosquito stinger about letting so many of the devils in.

Every house and building in the town had screens over the windows except for the jail. And in one of the dark cells of this jail sat Reggie Hemple. His face, neck, arms, and feet were slathered with the olive oil provided by the jailor shortly after dusk. Now the oil was beginning to wear off from his sweat and the mosquitoes were slowly beginning to discover this. But Reggie didn’t call the jailor because he didn’t want to wake him up if he were sleeping. He just sat there on the floor with his back against the wall, watching the gray skewed rectangle of moonlight that shined through the barred window creep closer and closer to his feet. His head nodded down and with chin tucked into chest, he dozed.

A sharp bite on the wrist roused him. He quickly slapped the mosquito and looked at the black smear before flicking it away. The rectangle had reached his big toe. With arms crossed again, he sighed and closed his eyes. Then he heard it. The sound was extremely faint but he knew it just had to be it.

He stood up and felt his heart surge from both excitement and from rising too quickly after sitting for so long. Grabbing the bars of the window that overlooked the center of town he looked out at the starlit sky and the full moon. The sound got louder and louder as he searched every section of the dark sky with darting eyes, forgetting almost to breathe. Soon it was roaring and he noticed lights turning on in the houses just outside of town. Then, when he was sure it couldn’t possibly get any louder, he saw the black silhouette of a biplane cross the lower half of the moon. Two helmeted heads faced forward, so frozen in place that they almost seemed a part of the plane itself. He watched the dark shape as it continued along the sky until, with face pressed against the side of the window and eyes straining, it passed out of view. Then a half a minute later the engine sputtered out.

“So my sister pulls through,” he whispered. “Golly damn, golly damn.” Sliding his back down the wall and squatting on the floor, his thoughts turned briefly to the night before when his little nephew, the one he hadn’t even been given the chance to meet yet face to face, tossed a rock into his window on the second try. The first try hit the bars with such a racket that he bolted out of deep sleep thinking he had heard gunfire. Then the rock with a little message tied to it lobbed through the bars and skittered on the floor. He snatched it up and raced to the window to catch the glimpse of a little retreating figure just before it cut down a side street. Then he heard the jailor coming up the steps, so with frantic fumbling he untied the string and read the note: BE AWAKE TOMORROW AFTER DUSK - HELP IS COMING. Tossing the rock back out the window and cramming the paper into his mouth, he slid onto his cot and lay on his side, facing the wall. Keys jangled just outside the door and the jailor called his name. He had the paper swallowed before he had to pretend to wake and answer.

Now he waited in silence, listening to his heart pulse in his ears until he was able to relax. It would still be a while yet.

I I

AN HOUR LATER he heard a key slide into the lock and his door swing slowly open. He got up and followed a thin figure quietly down the dark steps. Only when he reached bottom at the corner of a lit hallway did he realize it was an old black woman. She was in a long, loose, rag dress and sandals. She turned her head around to reveal a little scrunched up smiling face. Her eyes were wet and glazed and a tight leather helmet that looked brand new covered her head. A small tuft of gray frizz stuck out over her forehead and above this sat a pair of shiny goggles. She turned back around and he followed her into the entry room where Morgan with billy club in hand stood behind the jailor who slept on a chair. Reggie grinned and nodded and Morgan grinned back as he gestured the two out the door. Then it was a hustle down a few dark alleys before they hit the dirt road that led through the woods to Hogganbeck’s farm. Morgan picked up a lantern under a tree and lit the path that was chiseled on either end from wagon wheels. The black woman began to walk in one of the ruts until Morgan spat and said “Not this time Mrs. Tibs, we’re in a hurry.”

A mile or so down the road the woods broke into open field on the right and Hogganbeck’s farm came into view. Large piles of haystacks lay scattered across the field like monoliths, casting long shadows from the moon. As the three were walking near one of these dark mounds, the sound of a starting engine roared over the field. Morgan dropped the lantern and began sprinting towards the barn. Mrs. Tibs, shouting and clapping her hands, began skipping after him. Reggie, with the longest legs, reached the lit barn first to find the biplane inside with its propeller spinning and an old man and boy in the cockpits. The boy was standing up and shouting into the old man’s ear and pointing at the controls. Reggie shouted and waved his arms but they didn’t notice him. Then the plane started to go forward and that was when Morgan, red faced and puffing with stocky legs looking ready to bulge out of pants that were too tight for running, arrived on the scene. With a short hop he was up the side steps of the plane and reaching down at the controls at the old man’s legs. The engine stopped and when the propeller stuck there was a moment when not a sound was made. Even the field crickets were silent. Then a racket of voices began. The boy shrieked in dismay, plopped back down in the cockpit and began to pound the front seat in a tantrum with his fists, his hair flying every which way as he shook his head. Morgan began to shout at the old man who just sat and looked forward, his eyes out of focus. By this time Mrs. Tibs had reached the barn and she began to jump up and down, clapping her hands until Morgan pulled a jug of whiskey out of the old man’s cockpit. Then she let out a sharp squeal and rushed over muttering “M’ whiskey, m’ whiskey. How much he drink? How much he drink?”

“What were you thinking you fool!” Morgan shouted at the old man. “You know they can hear that in Sparberry? You wanna get us caught? You stupid fool!”

“We was jest gonna ride it round th’ field,” the boy cried. “N’en you had t’ show up n’ spoil all our fun!”

Morgan pulled the boy out by the collar and dropped him on his rear end into the dirt. The boy grabbed a fistful of the dirt and threw it into Morgan’s face, who in turn hollered and in trying to leap off the step to chase him, landed badly and began rocking back and forth on the ground, clutching his ankle. This was when the old man, Hogganbeck, leaned his head over the edge and vomited all down the side of the plane. Upon seeing this, Morgan screamed so loud that he went hoarse and with face as red as ripe tomato, stood up only to buckle over in agony. All this time Reggie had just stood and stared, not knowing what to do. Then he walked over to Mrs. Tibs who was sitting on a stack of milk cans with her whiskey jug on her lap.

“Kin I take a swig o’ that, mam?” he said.

“Sho you can,” Mrs. Tibs said. “Pleny left.”

I I I

THE NEXT MORNING, Reggie and Morgan sat at the kitchen table of Hogganbeck’s farmhouse. The sun shone in and glinted off the empty plates and forks and lit up the specks of dust floating in the air between them. Morgan’s leg was propped on a chair with his ankle wrapped in a bandage.

“So how many sewing machines’d you sell fore you got caught?” Morgan said.

Reggie sighed and brought his fist down on the table lightly, “Bout fourteen I bleeve. It was a women in th’ last town I sold in that sent word that the machines was faulty. Golly damn I was jest on my way outta Sparberry too.”

“Y’d still be there twernt for Miss Hemple sending word,” Morgan said.

Reggie smiled, “My sister is sure fine ain’t she? Golly damn dint even get a chance to see ‘er on m’ way out. N’ my nephew who I ain’t even met yet. Golly damn what a mess.”

Morgan then asked about the money and Reggie said that when he saw the marshal coming towards him with that cold look in his eye, he grabbed the cigar box with the money out of the wagon and began to run. The marshal and two of his men started to chase him but were slowed down trying to get past all the women who were clustered around the sewing machine on display.

“When I came round the corner,” Reggie continued, “that was when I saw the stables and ran inside. I put the box in th’ corner o’ the closest stall and covered it good w’ hay. I hid out fer a while n’ then when I felt all was clear, I stepped out n’...”

“D’ anyone see you walk out of th’ stables?” Morgan said, lowering his head a little and staring hard at him.

“Don’t bleeve so,” Reggie said.

“How much was in that cigar box?” Morgan said.

Reggie scratched his greasy head and blew air out of his cheeks, “Musta been...I’d say it musta been ‘bout seven-hundred dollars.”

Morgan’s mouth parted slightly at this and his stare went out of focus. Then he put his hands to his forehead and stared hard at the table space between his large elbows.

“What you s’gest we do bout gettin’ that money?” Reggie said.

Morgan rubbed his eyes and then stared hard at him, “Well I can’t walk blast it, you’ll have to go back in there t’night n’ get it.”

I V

THAT NIGHT shortly after midnight, Reggie crept into Sparberry. The town was all dark and quiet as its inhabitants slept. When he worked his way through back alleys to the stable, he found the doors locked.

“Golly damn,” he muttered. Then he worked his way through shadows to the other side and it too was locked. This time he said it a little louder, “Golly damn.” Then he heard people coming down the street and dashed quietly around the corner and pressed his back against the wall. It was two men who approached. They were walking slow and talking in low tones as if speaking any louder would wake the silent town.

“I hear folks sayin’ they heard n’ seen an airplane fly over t’other night when the devil ‘scaped,” one of the men said.

“Caught wind o’ that too. Never heard it m’self but hear lotsa folks did,” the other man said.

There was a silence, then a slapping sound. “Damn skeeters,” the first man said. “Some say they bleeve the plane landed in Hogg’nbeck’s field.”

“Why’re they sayin’ that?” the second man said.

“Say they heard the engine stop ‘steada fadin’ out,” the first man said.

“May jest have to pay a visit over to old Hogg’nbeck’s in the mornin’,” the second man said.

“Cain’t hurt,” the first man said. “Folks is sayin’ the marshal ain’t doin’ enough bout that devil, say you is givin’ up much too early.”

“I ain’t come close to givin’ up yet...,” the second man said. Then they were out of hearing range. Reggie crept down the alley in the other direction and when he reached the street, he paused, looking up at the moon. He looked in the direction of Hogganbeck’s and then in the opposite direction and then scratched his chin. He chose the latter way and walked silently down the street.

V

EARLY THE NEXT afternoon, Reggie came dashing frantically into the barn and upon spotting Morgan, sitting under the plane with leg propped on a stool, began to shout that the marshal was coming. Morgan cursed and told him that the marshal had already come and gone and asked where had he been all this time and where was the money.

“Went to my sister’s place to visit. Was gonna get back before dawn and warn you ‘bout the marshal but I done o’erslept. They lock the stables up at night so I could’t git th’ money. Golly damn what a mess, golly damn,” Reggie said.

“You done and went to yer sister’s brothel when we has sevun-hundred dollars stashed somewhere? You stupid fool! Shoulda sent the boy n’stead! Well it be a good thing you wasn’t here cause that marshal and his men searched all o’er the place lookin’ fer you. Told ‘em I was Hogganbeck’s cousin n’ I was stayin’ fer a while.”

Morgan went on to say that it was also a good thing that Hogganbeck and Mrs. Tibs were still asleep and the boy was out in the woods when the marshal and his men arrived because there would surely have been trouble then if they weren’t. He also said that the boy kept threatening to ride the plane and that was the reason why he had been sitting under it for the last three hours, guarding it.

“What do we do now ‘bout the money?” Reggie said, his hands in his back pockets and looking down at the tip of his boot as it dug a small circle in the dirt. Morgan sighed and laid his forehead on the backs of his hands that were over the stick he was using for a cane. After a full minute he raised his head and spat.

“Well the boy can’t be trusted and the old man’s still celebratin’ harvest. Looks as if it’s gonna have to be Mrs. Tibs,” he said.

“But she be drinkin’ too,” Reggie said.

“You got that right but see, she don’t have a secret stash like Hogganbeck does. All she’s got is that cursed jug o’ whiskey.”

So Morgan gave the boy four quarters to go and hide Mrs. Tibs whiskey in the woods while Reggie went upstairs and waited for her to wake up. He sat in a chair at the doorway and looked up when he noticed the quilt that she lay under start to stir. Then a black arm flopped out from under the covering and searched around on the wood floor.

Then Mrs. Tibs herself was searching the floor on hands and knees in one of the late Mrs. Hogganbeck’s long night gowns that didn’t fit Mrs. Tibs well because Mrs. Hogganbeck had been a large woman. When Mrs. Tibs noticed Reggie sitting at the doorway with his leg bent across it she stared at him for a moment with her wet little red eyes. Then she stood up and charged after him crying “Where my whiskey, where my whiskey!” This was when Reggie locked the door like Morgan said he’d probably have to do and all day and all night they listened to her wail in the room until the next day they let her out when she promised she’d be good. Then when she was in the kitchen she began throwing plates at Morgan and it wasn’t until she had landed one good on his head that Reggie was able to stop her and drag her kicking and shrieking back up into her room and lock it again.

The next day, after the boy and Hogganbeck were caught starting the plane again, Morgan managed with his cane to get up the steps and talk to Mrs. Tibs under the door. When she didn’t answer he sent Reggie inside and it was a good thing he did because she had her gown and sheets and quilt knotted together and tied to the bedpost and had just swung one naked leg out the window as he was walking in. Then when they had her dressed again and the sheets and quilt were hidden away, Morgan threatened he’d tell her son back home about her behavior and then she’d never be allowed to fly in her son’s plane ever again. This got her to behave and for the next two days she didn’t try anything and was allowed outside the room. And during this period she didn’t drink a drop of whiskey even though every time she saw Hogganbeck she asked him for some of his liquor and every time he’d say no he couldn’t spare any not because Morgan and Reggie told him to say this but because Hogganbeck was really stingy about his liquor. And even though Mrs. Tibs looked all over the house for his secret stash when Morgan and Reggie weren’t around, she never found it and Morgan and Reggie thought that soon she’d be dried out enough to go into town and find the money.

V I

THE NEXT DAY Morgan and Reggie told Mrs. Tibs what she was to do if she wanted her jug of whiskey back. She looked at them with her cheeks sagging like a bloodhound’s chops. Her wet little red eyes looked first at Morgan, then at Reggie, then back at Morgan.

“I ain’t goin’ noweh w’out my cherry lipstick. N’ at boy, he swipe it out my pouch.” So Reggie hunted all over for the boy and when he found him sitting on a wood stump at the edge of the forest, he had the cherry lipstick smeared over his mouth.

“He won’t give up the cherry lipstick,” Reggie said when he had managed to drag the boy kicking and screaming back to the house, “n’ the devil bit me when I tried to take it off ‘im.”

“Give us the cherry lipstick, boy,” Morgan said. The boy shook his head, “I be keepin’ it. Mizz Tibs give it to me. I be keepin’ it.” Then Morgan’s face got all red and he grabbed the boy by the throat and started to squeeze until Hogganbeck walked in and Reggie stopped him.

“What on earth you doin’ to my granson?” Hogganbeck said. Then he got a closer look at the boy’s mouth and said, “You lookin’ to be spanked boah? I’s fit to spank you, wi’ heat too.” Then the boy handed over the cherry lipstick and ran out of the house before Hogganbeck could catch him.

Soon Mrs. Tibs had changed out of the over-sized nightgown and into her dress and had the cherry lipstick on and said she was ready to go to town. Morgan gave her a bag to put the cigar box in for when she found it in the stable and then she was crossing the field of haystacks, her white bonnet fluttering a little from the breeze. Morgan and Reggie watched her leave from the front porch.

An hour later, when Morgan was sitting in his chair under the plane and Reggie was pouring gasoline into its tank, the boy walked into the barn and stood in front of them with a gap toothed grin on his face. Morgan and Reggie looked at him.

“Here’s yer four quarters,” the boy said and put them in Morgan’s hand.

“What er you givin’ these back fore?” Morgan said. The boy grinned at him.

“Mizz Tibs gave me six of ‘em for tellin’ her where I hid the jug in the woods,” he said. Morgan stood up on his good leg and looked down at him, his eyes wide and staring. “You what?” he cried. Then he told Reggie to run as fast he could and stop her. Reggie asked where the jug was hidden and the boy grinned.

“I’ll tell ya for a quarter,” the boy said.

“Jees Christ!” Morgan cried, his face getting redder. He handed the boy a quarter. The boy grinned and pointed in the direction of the dirt road that led to town, the way Mrs. Tibs had gone.

“Bout ten yards in on th’ right is a big stump,” the boy said, “Hid it inside.” Morgan told Reggie to go find her quick and Reggie sprinted out of the barn. When he had crossed the field and found the stump on the side of the road, the jug was gone. “Golly damn, golly damn,” he said and started to run down the road. When he came out of the woods, he stopped and squinted down the short slope where the outskirts of Sparberry began. He could hear some kind of uproar going on within. He crept closer and ducked into an alley. The sound of townspeople cheering and laughing got louder and louder as he crept along. Then he reached the main street and peeking his head around the corner of a brick store, his eyes went wide at the spectacle before him. There sat Mrs. Tibs atop a mule, riding it slowly down the street, and throwing greenbacks into the hundred or so screaming townspeople that swarmed around her. She lifted the whiskey jug to her mouth and raised it straight up into the air, her throat working and whiskey streaming down the sides of her cheeks. Then she lowered the jug, threw her little bonneted head back, and cackled into the sky.

Reggie turned around and walked back down the alley. He looked up the slope to the entrance to the woods. Then he looked the other way, in the direction of his sister’s house. He closed his eyes and imagined what would be waiting for him either way. Then, checking the street again to make sure it was still empty, he began walking with head down, the latter way.

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