3: Rumrunners' Row

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U><B>1:  New Orleans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: Mary Margaret"><U><B>2:  Mary Margaret</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>3:  Rumrunners' Row</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U><B>4:  Speakeasy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Sys Deal"><U><B>5:  Sy's Deal</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U><B>6:  Reunion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Disaster"><U><B>7:  Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U><B>8:  Petofi</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Cuddeback"><U><B>9:  Cuddeback</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U><B>10:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id65.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Making Plans"><U><B>11:  Making Plans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U><B>12:  Chicago</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Nora"><U><B>13:  Nora</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: The Gypsy"><U><B>14:  The Gypsy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: The Trap"><U><B>15:  The Trap</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: The Gift"><U><B>16:  The Gift</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Beth"><U><B>17:  Beth</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Together Again"><U><B>18:  Together Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> 3:  Rumrunners' Row</div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Quentin liked the flat in Greenwich Village.  He'd never had a roommate before, but he was used to the bachelor lifestyle and Cholly's habits were not that much different from his.  There were a few differences.  Apparently, Cholly had a steady supplier of not only marijuana but some other drugs as well.  He was happy to share, and didn't seem to suffer from any lack of money as many musicians did.  He hinted to Quentin that his family was very wealthy.  Maybe their backgrounds were similar, then, Quentin thought, but he didn't ask.</div> <div>      He did ask one question, though.  He watched as Cholly set up paraphernalia on the small kitchen table: a length of rubber, a needle, a spoon, matches, and some white powder.  Cholly went through the same routine at least three times a day.  The powder was heated until it was liquid and then he'd put it in the syringe.  He'd tie the rubber piece around his arm tight enough to make the veins pop out and then would inject himself with the liquid.  His head would nod for a few seconds, and he'd get a blissful look on his face.  "How can you stick yourself like that everyday?"  Quentin wanted to know.</div> <div>      "Doesn't bother me anymore," Cholly answered.  "Want to try?"  He wasn't hesitant to offer to share whatever he had.  Quentin would occasionally agree to a marijuana cigarette, but this just didn't look like fun to him, so he shook his head.  "It actually feels really good, Frank.  And I don't have to stick you in the vein.  I can just pop it under the skin. That feels good, too."</div> <div>      "No, thanks."</div> <div>      Cholly shrugged.  He didn't seem to care one way or the other.  It didn't seem to affect his ability to play, and he played weekends at a club downtown.  He seemed to have plenty of money to support himself, so during the week, he liked to go "slumming" with Quentin or hang out at one of the other clubs downtown.  Quentin found that he liked splitting his time between friends.  It kept life interesting.  On Sundays, he went to the Fishers' for dinner.</div> <div> Because he'd helped down south, Quentin didn't hesitate to bring Jamison to the Village flat to discuss plans to try a little rumrunning from Canada.  Cholly was interested in helping, too, and offered to come along when they went out on a run with Jamison's rich friend.  Jamison was going to make the arrangements and then get back in touch with them.  They'd been drinking some of the good beer Cholly always seemed to have around.  He had bathtub gin, too, but he only rarely brought that out.  "Listen, let's go to Tony's and celebrate," Cholly suggested.</div> <div> There were about a hundred places in New York called Tony's, but Cholly actually meant an establishment in Brooklyn.  Apparently, this was in Cholly's old neighborhood, because everyone seemed to know him.  He had a card to get into the place.  The first floor was just an enormous foyer, and Cholly led them upstairs.  The bar took up almost the entire second floor.  It was a huge oval, its wooden top polished to a shining gleam.  Little swivel stools with cushions were set all around the huge bar.  In the center of the bar was a table with bottles stacked in a high pyramid.  There were uniformed bartenders all around the oval, to make sure each customer was served quickly.</div> <div> There were lots of women here--girls, really.  Heads literally turned as they took their seats.  Quentin knew they were looking not only at him, but also at Cholly.  Cholly had handsome, patrician features.  His olive features bronzed to a glorious brown during the summer, and the sun always bleached his normally sandy hair blonde.  His blue eyes usually twinkled with humor, and he always seemed to be laughing.  He was definitely competition for Quentin, in spite of his own handsome features.  No one glanced at Jamison, but he didn't seem to notice or care.</div> <div> "Lots of prospects here," Quentin commented.</div> <div> "Well, until six anyway," Cholly said.  "After six, we all have to leave if we are without dates."</div> <div> "Are you kidding?  Let's not waste any time, then."</div> <div> "Frank," Jamison said in a warning tone.  "I didn't come here for that.  I thought we were going to celebrate.  Maybe I'll just have the one drink and go and let you two go hunting."</div> <div> "It's no big deal.  Sy has another two bars in this place.  One for men and one for women.  Dining rooms, too.  There's a dining room off this bar, too, but it's only for couples," Cholly said.</div> <div> "Cholly," said a voice from behind them, slapping a hand on Cholly's back.  Looking around, they saw a well-dressed man in a suit, hair slicked back.</div> <div> "Sy!"  Cholly shook hands.  He introduced Jamison and Quentin.</div> <div> "When did YOU get back?  I thought you said you weren't showing your face in Brooklyn no more."</div> <div> "Well, never say never," Cholly answered.  He added, "Sy here is the owner of this dubious joint."</div> <div> "Dubious, hey?"  Sy motioned the bartender over.  "Make sure these guys get the best in the house.  On me, tonight only."  The bartender nodded.</div> <div> "Thank you," said Jamison</div> <div> "Well, Cholly and I been friends since we was kids.  And any friend of Cholly is a friend of mine.  So enjoy your drinks, gentlemen.  See ya later, Cholly?"</div> <div> Cholly nodded, and Sy moved on.  Jamison only had one drink.  He really wanted to get going back to Collinsport.  He'd call his rich friend from there and try to set something up as soon as possible.  He spoke again of also contacting his brother-in-law, John Healey.  He thought they could stay with the Healeys on Long Island before going out on this run with the rich friend.  Quentin walked with Jamison down to the first floor.</div> <div> "Are you really sure your friend can be trusted?" Jamison wanted to know.  "Maybe I'm just being overly cautious.  He seems like a brash kid to me."</div> <div> "Maybe so, but he's okay, Jamison.  He's been in with me and Dave and the others since New Orleans," Quentin reassured him.</div> <div> "Okay, well I'm the novice in all this, so I'll just go with what you say," Jamison said, shaking hands with his uncle.  "You don't mind if I tell Ruth, do you?  We won't say anything to Father."</div> <div> Quentin was a little disconcerted.  "Well--"</div> <div> "Ruth's not a yakker.  She won't tell if I ask her not to.  We don't keep secrets from each other."</div> <div> Quentin shrugged.  "I'll have to trust you in that area, then.  I wouldn't know anything about it."</div> <div> Jamison smiled a little ironically.  "Too bad for you.  You don't know what you're missing.  I'll talk to you soon."</div> <div> When Quentin went back upstairs, he saw two attractive young women had taken the seats he and Jamison had been sitting in, and Cholly was in active conversation with them.  He didn't have to worry, though, because he was approached by a redhead, who boldly told him she didn't remember seeing HIM here before.  She looked like fun, so he sat down with her.  She was drinking old-fashioneds, so he ordered another for her and a scotch for himself.</div> <div> By six, Quentin and the redhead, whose name was Ann, had decided that some Chinese food in the privacy of the Greenwich flat would be very nice indeed.  Cholly came over and leaned over to whisper to Quentin:  "You staying or coming upstairs with me?"</div> <div> "Oh, I'm going.  Out.  To eat," Quentin said, with a lustful smirk at Ann.  Cholly got it.</div> <div> "Don't eat too much," he said, grinning.  "See ya tomorrow." When his friend looked startled, Cholly explained, "Oh, I'll probably be busy later too.  See ya."</div> <div> Even more promising.  Now they didn't have to worry about being interrupted by Cholly.  Chinese food, Ann, an apartment to themselves, and Trojans in his pocket--what could be better?  It was an arrangement that Quentin and Cholly repeated over and over.  Maybe once in a blue moon, Cholly would signal to Quentin that he needed the apartment which was the only thing that kept Quentin from wondering why Cholly never seemed to be as lucky in the evening as he was.  Even though women always surrounded Cholly, Quentin didn't remember him ever leaving with one or bringing one home unexpectedly--as Quentin sometimes did.</div> <div> Jamison called with the details for the trip to Rumrunners' Row.  They would take the train way out east as far as it went.  They would be met by the rich friend and driven to the speedboat.  Then they'd go out and make their pick up and run it back to Montauk Point. Quentin was excited, and so was Jamison.  Cholly wanted to go, and Quentin mentioned it to Dave.  Dave, however, was not interested.  "Uh uh uh, not this, Franky, and you shouldn't be messin in this, either," Dave advised.  "This business is for the big boys, not for a kid playing games like you."</div> <div> "Look, it's fine if you don't want to get in on this," Quentin said irritably.  "But don't insult me."</div> <div> "Hey, I apologize.  I'd just rather stick with the music right now.  These guys are dangerous, Frank.  I'm just looking out for your ass, OK?"</div> <div> "I can look out for myself."</div> <div> "Okay, okay, Franky.  Come back out to the club when yall get back then."</div> <div> They left it at that.</div> <bR> <div> The man who met them at the train looked like a disguised aristocrat.  Although he had good-looking Irish features, he had an air of wealth about him in spite of his dress-down attire.  Jamison called him Joe.  On the drive out, Joe explained how he ran his business.  Someone would deposit a certain sum of money into a bank account.  Joe would have his agents go into Canada on a schooner, buying cases of whiskey, scotch, gin, and whatever else was in demand.  The schooner would "park" outside the boarding zone, and the little speed boats (Joe called them "blacks") would come out to make their pick-ups and run them back to Montauk Point or the Hamptons.  Once the liquor was delivered, the sum of money would be transferred to his account for goods bought and delivered.</div> <div> There were actually two speedcraft going out.   They got into one of the unusual looking speedboats and Joe took the wheel. It was very dark.  There was another man there, holding a pair of binoculars.  Joe introduced him as Pat.  "Since you fellas are along for the ride and to learn, you'll need to help once we get out there," Joe said.  They began to move out onto the bay.   The other craft was only a silhouette, and the skippers had to keep looking at their instruments to check their positions.</div> <div>  There was no moon to help light the way and Quentin wondered how they'd find anything in this dark.  Pat, though, stood next to Joe at the wheel, binoculars ready.  Once they began to move out of the bay, Pat began looking through the darkness with the binoculars. After what seemed a long time, Pat said:  "There she is!"  He gave some coordinates.  The same message must have been given to the other skipper because both boats began idling as they approached a large dark shadow--the schooner.</div> <div> Quentin could see a dim light on the deck of the schooner and realized it must be a hurricane lamp covered over with a barrel or something.  As they drew closer, he could see the dark forms of men standing on the schooner.  Joe pulled some cash out of his pocket, held it up, and called:  "Hundred cases each!"</div> <div> "Oh, it's you again, is it?  Like to take crazy risks, don't you?"  a deep voice replied from the sloop, laughing.  "Okay, guys."  Some of the forms on the ship began moving around.</div> <div> "Get ready," Joe said to his guests.  "They're going to hand you the booze."</div> <div> Quentin realized that a pair of hands was reaching down with a burlap sack.  He took it and set it on the deck.  In this manner, the sacks were passed man to man from the sloop onto the little speedboats until all the cases were loaded.  Their vessel rode considerably lower in the water, Quentin noted.</div> <div> "Now's the fun part," Joe said. Pat used his binoculars again as they pulled away from the schooner.  "He's going to watch for patrols," Joe explained.  "He also needs to look for the buoys so we can get into the inlet."</div> <div> It seemed like they were almost there, when suddenly Pat let out a startled cry.  From the side, a large vessel appeared.  The guests ducked, hearing a zinging sound as shots were fired across their bow.  All of them were thrown off balance as Joe veered the wheel and headed out for open sea again.  Right behind them was the shadowy huge vessel, chasing them.</div> <div> A roaring sound filled their ears, and the little boat seemed to leap forward.  Behind them, a thick dense cloud of smoke billowed out from the little speedboat.  Joe was laughing like a maniac, zigging and zagging to and fro.  He turned suddenly again and raced for what turned out to be the shelter of a shallow bay.  Joe was still laughing when he slowed and finally stopped the boat.</div> <div> "What the hell happened?" Jamison asked.</div> <div> "Oh, that was a CG-103," Joe said with a large, satisfied grin.  "Coast guard."</div> <div> "They shot at us?"</div> <div> "Don't be naïve.  We're breaking the law.  Of course they shot at us."</div> <div> "Where'd all that smoke come from?"  Quentin asked, curiously.</div> <div> "This baby has two reconverted Liberty engines in it.  Uses jet fuel.  That's where the smoke came from.  That's how we were able to outrun them. First we blinded them, and then we ran into the bay.  That vessel's too big to get in here.  So Long Island won't be dry tonight!  Any other questions, gents?"</div> <div> "How much did you give the skipper of that schooner?" Jamison asked.</div> <div> "Twelve thousand.  But I have more than twice that waiting for me once this shipment is delivered."</div> <div> Jamison whistled.</div> <div> "Of course, this is the dangerous way to do it.  If you want to supply your little friends, I suggest you get yourselves a little schooner.  Go up to Canada and buy your cases.  Schooner'd cost you maybe at most, sixteen grand.  You go to your connection in Canada and get your cases at about $8 each.  Come out to Rumrunners' Row and park.  Let your customers come to you in the blacks--these things.  They'll pay you as much as five or six hundred per case. It depends on how bad they want your stuff. It won't take you long to earn your investment back."</div> <div> "What's the risks?"  Jamison asked.</div> <div> "Well, you've got the Coast Guard, of course.  And I suggest you arm your crew.  You don't want to get hijacked by pirates," Joe advised.  The three would be partners looked at each other and grinned. Joe grinned, too, and then said, "All right boys, I did you a favor.  Now you do me one.  We've got to get these bottles on shore, and we're not even at the pick-up point yet.  Now you really get to work and sweat."</div> <bR> <div> There were seven partners in all: all of the original group from New Orleans and Jamison.  Jamison and Quentin provided the bulk of the cash investment.  They bought a small schooner, which Quentin and Jamison christened the <I><U>Beth C.</U></I>  Jamison was to be the silent investor; he wasn't too interested in making any of the arrangements or taking any physical risks. Dave had finally given in and agreed to join the group because everyone else from New Orleans was in, and he decided he didn't want to be left out. Quentin and Cholly would take turns piloting the schooner; and the others would act as lookout, security and muscle, although Dave thought that was very amusing. "You gonna get a gun for ME?  Franky, I don't know how to shoot no gun.  I'd shoot my own foot off."  </div> <div> Jamison, Cholly, and Dave also made contact among friends and family running small speakeasies and approached them with the idea of doing business.  Jamison's brother-in-law was totally enthusiastic; he was tired of being charged exorbitant sums by this or that rumrunner, and he knew of others who felt the same way.  Dave brought them another customer or two and so did Cholly; Quentin was surprised that Sy was not among them.  He'd thought Sy and Cholly were such good friends.</div> <div> It didn't matter.  They easily got a return on their investment on the <I><U>Beth C.</U></I> within a couple of trips.  Quentin and Cholly were thrilled with the excitement of the planning and execution; the others were more thrilled with the extra money in their pockets.  They went on through the summer of 1924 in this manner, thoroughly enjoying themselves.</div> <bR> <div> Jamison had begun to stay closer to home, anticipating the birth of his second child in July.  He'd portrayed Ruth as a strong, cheerful, delightful person and Quentin was looking forward to meeting her; however, she was experiencing more and more difficulties as her pregnancy advanced and Jamison wanted to stay close to her.  He also said that Edward had begun to complain and wonder about Jamison's frequent trips away.  Quentin missed his nephew.  He still went to see Dave and his family, but he also began to hang around with Cholly more often.  Cholly was fun to be with, and his use of heroin never seemed to harm his faculties--not that Quentin could see, anyway.</div> <div> There had to be a time when things didn't go their way, and that happened on a day they stopped into what was supposed to be a restaurant/bar that sold "near-legal" beer and soda.  They ordered thick sandwiches and had real beer instead of the "near-legal" stuff, which was okay to sell but not satisfying to drink.  Cholly wanted to go slumming that evening; that was all right with Quentin.  He enjoyed going to Harlem because he enjoyed the bands and the clientele there more than he did the clubs uptown.</div> <div>  Last night, they'd gone to the club where the Washingtonians were playing, and he'd seen Mary Margaret there with her friends.  They all were with young men; still, Quentin managed to sneak a dance in with her.  He hoped no one had noticed and--even if they did--that they wouldn't tell Dave.  He was wondering whether he ought to just go ahead and tell Dave about it, rubbing his cheek ruefully.  He didn't look up when the door opened.</div> <div> "I hope I never let myself go like that when I get old!" he heard Cholly whisper in his ear.  He looked down the length of the counter to see what Cholly was talking about.  A very short, very obese man had come into the place.  He was sweating profusely and asking the man tending the bar for a nice, cool drink.</div> <div> "You want lemonade or a coke?" the man behind the counter asked.</div> <div> The fat man rolled his eyes.  "Do I need this aggravation?  Lemonade?  Pal, I'm a hardworking agent.  See how hard I'm working?  I don't want lemonade or a coke!  But if you've got a pint, I'll take that."</div> <div> The counter man laughed uproariously, obviously thinking it was hilarious.  He produced a pint from under the counter and plopped it on top. "Want a lollypop with that, pal?" </div> <div> The fat man opened the top, sniffed it, and pulled his gun.  "Yeah, sure, pal, and you're under arrest."</div> <div> "The hell you say!" shouted the man behind the counter.</div> <div> Quentin and Cholly were too stunned to move.  Their jaws dropped open.  The fat man smiled at them pleasantly.  "Enjoying your lunch, gents?"  He waved his hand through the window of the place, and several policemen entered.  The fat man said:  "See what these nice young gentlemen are drinking.  I have a feeling it's not ginger ale."</div> <div> "Oh, shit, we're gonna get arrested," Cholly whispered, barely audible.</div> <div> "Great," Quentin was irritated.</div> <div> Two policemen approached them.  "Mind?"  One asked.  He picked up Quentin's glass and took a sip.  He made a face.  "Shame on you!" he said mockingly.  "Nice looking kid like you! And I'll bet you've influenced your young friend, too, haven't you?"</div> <div> The other policeman had tasted Cholly's drink.  He made a tsk, tsk sound.  "Okay, boys, up and out," he said.   Quentin and Cholly were taken away in the same car; the unfortunate counter man left in another car with the fat man and another heavy set looking man.</div> <div> "Who are those guys?" Quentin asked.</div> <div> "Best agents the city's got, Izzy Einstein and Moe Smith," one of the policemen answered.  He wasn't nasty like the fellows in Mississippi.  He even seemed to be somewhat sympathetic.  "You boys just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Those guys are disguise artists.  They've made more busts than anyone I know. Half the time they bull their way in telling the truth right up front.  No one believes 'em when they say they're agents."</div> <div> "What's going to happen to us?" Cholly asked.  He sounded frightened.</div> <div> "Ah, not much.  You spend the night with us, you pay a fine, you're gone in the morning."</div> <div> Cholly didn't say anything more.  He was very, very pale.</div> <bR> <div> After being processed, Cholly and Quentin were left alone in the same cell.  There were a few other people in some of the other cells but it was still early in the day.  Cholly sat down on the hard mattress of one of the cots, dropped his head in his hands, and rocked himself back and forth.  Quentin sat down across from him and sighed, looking at his hands.  It was going to be a looooong night.  "You've never been in jail before, Cholly?"  he asked, finally.</div> <div> "Never," Cholly moaned.  "I'm scared."</div> <div> "Gee, Cholly, you don't have to be scared.  No one is going to hurt us as long as we cooperate with them.  They don't seem like gorilla types," Quentin said reassuringly.  "You mean you've never gotten caught in ANY of these other places or buying that stuff you buy?"</div> <div> "Ssh!  Frank!  Come on!"</div> <div> "Cholly, no one can hear us."</div> <div> "I hope no one recognizes me."</div> <div> "Would your family be angry with you?"</div> <div> Cholly looked up.  "They wouldn't care if I was dead," he said dully.</div> <div> "Oh, so we have that in common," Quentin said, a little bitterly, thinking of his family.</div> <div> "No, Frank, you don't understand.  You're popular. You do the right thing. You haven't committed offenses against God."  Cholly covered his face at Quentin's confused expression.  "Frank, I'm glad you're here with me.  I couldn't stand it if I was in here alone.  I think I'd die."  He really sounded terrified.  Quentin got up and sat down on the cot next to Cholly, patting him on the shoulder, wondering what it was that was scaring Cholly so.  Cholly put his hands down and looked at Quentin.  He was shaking.  He took Quentin's hand and squeezed it.</div> <div> "Why do you think you offended God?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div> "I can't tell you that.  You'll hate me, too, and I couldn't stand it."</div> <div> Now Quentin was curious as well as puzzled.  He couldn't imagine what someone like Cholly could have done that was so awful.  "Did you kill someone?" he asked, doubtfully.</div> <div> "Kill someone!  Me?  No!"</div> <div> "Well, I was just fishing," Quentin ventured.</div> <div> "I'm afraid to tell you, Frank.  You'll hate me and you won't be my friend."</div> <div> "Cholly, I can't believe you've done anything that bad," Quentin declared.  He meant it.  "You aren't the type."</div> <div> "You don't know what type I am," Cholly said miserably.  "You don't know me."</div> <div> "Do you mean the--" Quentin broke off, but made a motion indicating the use of drugs.</div> <div> "Well, that, too.  St. Paul said we shouldn't defile our bodies," Cholly answered.</div> <div> "St. Paul?  That monk?  The man who's against any kind of pleasure?"  Quentin said with contempt.</div> <div> "Don't be blasphemous, Frank," Cholly said, looking around as if he expected to be struck dead.</div> <div> "Oh, come on, Cholly.  You're not a church goer, are you?"</div> <div> "No, I can't.  I'm a sinner."</div> <div> Quentin rolled his eyes.  Another victim of small- minded preachers like Gregory Trask.  He stood up, exasperated.  "Cholly, for God's sake, EVERYONE is a sinner!  But doesn't Jesus forgive our sins?"</div> <div> "Some people can't be saved."</div> <div> "Oh, come ON, Cholly!  You're a nice guy.  I've never heard you say or do a mean thing.  Why can't you be saved?"  Cholly looked like he was going to cry.  "Look, Cholly, I've known a lot of evil people in my life, and you aren't one of them.  So there's nothing you could tell me that is so terrible that I would hate you."</div> <div> Cholly swallowed hard again.  "Frank, you're a good friend.  I need you to be my friend."</div> <div> "But I AM your friend."</div> <div> Cholly closed his eyes and whispered,  "I just wish we could be more than friends."  Quentin's brows rushed together.  Slowly Cholly's meaning began to dawn on him.  He gulped, stunned.  He didn't know what to say. Cholly opened his eyes and looked at him.  "You hate me now, don't you?"</div> <div> "Ahh--no.  I just--I mean, I don't--I mean--Cholly, YOU?  What about all the girls that hang all over you?"</div> <div> Cholly sighed.  "Well, it helps make me look good, doesn't it?  I mean, I like the girls, they're friendly.  I like talking to them.  But I don't feel anything with them.  I mean, I've never even--" He blushed furiously, then looked down.  "I've never been with a woman."</div> <div> "You haven't?"  Quentin was shocked.  "Well, how do you know you don't like it, then?"</div> <div> "Because I haven't wanted to.  I don't feel that way about them.  I kissed some girls, pretty ones.  But nothing happens.  I don't feel anything."  That was incomprehensible to Quentin, but he didn't want to say so and hurt Cholly. He sat down again across from Cholly, looking at him.  "Please don't stare at me like that, Frank.  I know what I am."</div> <div> "You aren't anybody but Cholly.  I'm sorry I was staring."</div> <div> "So you don't think I'm shit?"</div> <div> "Hell, no, Cholly, why would I think that?  It's not my business what you like or don't like."</div> <div> "But, Frank, I like YOU."</div> <div> That stumped Quentin.  "I like you too, Cholly, but not the same way I like women. I mean, HOW do you know you like me?  Like that, I mean."</div> <div> Cholly sighed.  "Well, the easiest way I can explain it is like this--when you look at a pretty girl, what happens to you?  You feel like you want to be with her, right?  And sometimes you think about what it would be like to be with her, and maybe you get hard, right?"</div> <div> Quentin understood and blushed.  "But I don't feel like that when I look at you."</div> <div> Cholly groaned.  "I know you don't.  It's all right.  Just don't hate me."</div> <div> "I don't."</div> <div> "So it won't matter to you?  We can still be friends?"</div> <div> "Of course," Quentin said automatically.  He didn't say it, but he wondered how those things worked.  He remembered what Dave said to him about Mary Margaret, about how he shouldn't stay if he couldn't keep his pants zipped around her.  But Cholly was different.  Until now, Cholly had never approached him, never asked, never gave any indication that he wanted Quentin. Maybe this was different.  He just didn't know.  Cholly looked very relieved and Quentin thought he'd better just let it go. "I guess our night is off," he ventured to change the subject.</div> <div> Cholly laughed, half in relief, half in sorrow.  "I guess!  Want to go tomorrow night instead?"</div> <div> "Yeah, sure," Quentin shrugged.  Why not?  Things didn't really have to change, did they?  He knew how Cholly felt, and it was strange, but Cholly also knew how he felt, so it didn't matter, did it?</div> <div> They spent the night in the cell, and Quentin found the cot very uncomfortable.  He also had a disturbing dream and woke up in a cold sweat.  He wasn't sure what he'd been dreaming, but he thought he heard the echoes of a familiar voice from the past…laughing…</div> <div> The following evening they went "slumming" to the club Dave's band was playing.  There were a couple of young attractive women there already, and Quentin approached them immediately.  One reason these clubs were more fun was that there was a more "anything goes" attitude here.  One of the girls had tried flattering Cholly, but he seemed to be in another world, so both of the girls were giving their attention to Quentin, teasing him and taking turns dancing with him.  He was trying to decide which one he'd prefer to be with.  "Can I talk to you?" Cholly leaned over and whispered.</div> <div> They went to the mens' room.  "Frank, I know how you feel, but I need to ask you something," Cholly said.  He looked pale and desperate.</div> <div> "What?"</div> <div> "Have you ever been part of a threesome?"</div> <div> Quentin looked around.  They were the only ones in the restroom, fortunately.  "Threesome?  You mean, the two girls and me?  I've done that."</div> <div> "I thought you, me, and one of the girls."</div> <div> "Why not both?"</div> <div> "Too crowded."</div> <div> Quentin frowned.  He was drinking, so he had to think hard.  "But one girl?"</div> <div> "I thought--well, I thought you and she could, you know, do something together, and I could--well, you could make love to me."</div> <div> That possibility had never occurred to Quentin before.  He frowned a little, wondering how it was done.</div> <div> Cholly misunderstood the expression on his face and said rapidly, "I know what you told me, Frank.  You just don't understand how it feels to want someone so bad and know that they don't want you. "</div> <div> "Yes, I do, Cholly," Quentin answered softly.  He knew.</div> <div> Cholly looked relieved.  "You're not mad?"</div> <div> "No, I'm not mad-I just don't know how, well, how would I make love to you?"</div> <div> Cholly explained.  Quentin reddened.  He thought it had something to do with putting his hand or mouth on Cholly's penis.  He thought he'd heard everything. He exclaimed incredulously, "You've gotta be kidding me!"</div> <div> "Frank, listen," Cholly pleaded. "All I've thought about since we've talked is you--I can't help myself.  But I know how you feel-I mean, don't feel, about me, and that's why I thought if we had this other girl along you could be with her, you know, think you're doing it with her and I could be with you."</div> <div>  "How is that going to help you, Cholly, if you know I'm pretending I'm making love to a woman?"</div> <div> "Because I would be pretending, too, Frank-that she's not there."</div> <div> Quentin felt dizzy.  "Jesus, Cholly.  I have to think."</div> <div> "Well, you didn't say no!  And you didn't spit in my face.  All right, Frank.  Thank about it.  It might be fun for all of us.  That's not so bad, is it?  To have fun?"</div> <div> "No, but--Cholly, I really have to think, okay?"</div> <div> "Sure, sure!" Cholly said ingratiatingly.  "Not tonight--it doesn't have to be.  You take as long as you need to think about it, okay?"  He left Quentin alone.  Quentin had never been in a situation like this one before.  It was making his head hurt.  </div> <div> He left the bathroom and walked unsteadily back to his table.  Cholly was sitting there, chatting amiably with one of the girls.  Quentin plopped down in his chair.  He didn't hear the other girl prattling at him.  He gulped at his scotch and asked for another one.  The band went on break, and he saw Dave beckoning to him.  Now what?  "Excuse me, sorry," he said, getting up and following Dave behind the stage.</div> <div> Dave turned and was looking at him, brows drawn together in a frown.  Oh, great, Quentin thought, just what I need.  Someone's told him before I could.  He approached Dave warily, half expecting to have his ears pinned back again.  "Are you mad at me?" he asked tentatively.</div> <div> Dave's expression changed to one of confusion.  "Mad? Where'd you get that idea, kid?  I was gonna ask you, what is wrong with you?"</div> <div> "What's wrong with me?" he echoed, stupidly.</div> <div> "Franky, all of a sudden, you are as white as a ghost.  All of a sudden, you're sittin there like a block of wood.  What's the matter?"</div> <div> Quentin hesitated.  Then it came out, the words tumbling over each other.  Maybe Dave could help him figure it out.  Dave looked, by turns, stunned, amused, disgusted, and then pensive.  "What should I do?"</div> <div> "What do YOU want to do?" Dave asked.</div> <div> "I don't know!  I've never done anything like this before.  I've never had this happen to me before!"</div> <div> "Well, he wants you to do it to him?  Not the other way around?"</div> <div> "That's what he says."</div> <div> Dave shrugged.  "Lord have mercy, Franky, you get yourself in the strangest messes!  You ain't like no kinda white man I ever--"</div> <div> "Yeah, I know, I know, Dave!  Help me, would ya?  What would YOU do?"</div> <div> Dave raised his brows.  "Well, it's Cholly, and he's a swell fella.  Thing is, those girls at that table ain't the type to go for something like that.  You need a professional."</div> <div> "Would that make me--"</div> <div> "No, Frank, 'course not!  You'd be the man in this, you see?"</div> <div> "So you think it's all right?"</div> <div> "I'm not saying it's right or it's wrong.  I'm just saying that people try all kinds of things these days.  And 'long as you the man in the situation, then you're still the man--a man, I mean." </div> <div> That made some sense, Quentin thought woozily. "Would YOU do it, Dave?"</div> <div> "Hell, yeah, I think I would. I think I could pretend well enough to try it.  I wouldn't want to be Cholly, though."</div> <div> "No?"</div> <div> "No, that ain't natural.  And guys like him get beat up all the damn time.  Hard for him to trust anybody, you see?  And if people find out about him, shoo!  I wouldn't to BE him, see?"</div> <div> "But you'd do this for him?"</div> <div> "Yeah, I probably would."</div> <div> "You know a girl who wouldn't mind--uh--"</div> <div> "Yeah, we can find one, Frank."</div> <div> "Okay."</div> <div> "Frank, you all right with this?  You look kinda peakish even for a white boy."</div> <div> "I think I need to get used to the idea."</div> <div> "And you probably done had too much to drink, too.  Sit down here, Frank."  Dave pulled him onto a chair.  "Put your head down.  You look like you gonna faint."  There was a sound and Dave went toward the door rapidly.  "Hey, what's up, Cholly?"</div> <div> "Is Frank all right?"</div> <div> Dave blocked the way with his body.  "Yeah, he's fine, Cholly.  Drank too much. You think you could maybe go to the kitchen and see if the cook has any coffee?"</div> <div> "Yeah, yeah, but are you sure he's all right?  He's not upset?"</div> <div> "Upset? Hell, no, Cholly, wha'd he be upset about?  He just drunk, that's all.  You may have to carry him home."  Dave returned to Frank's side.  "Look, Franky, I know how you feelnall and if you can't do this, then don't.  But don't hurt his feelings.  He don't mean no harm."</div> <div> "I know," Quentin replied.  "Thanks, Dave."</div> <div> Dave laughed.  "My life should be so interesting, kid."</div> <div> Cholly returned with a cup of coffee, and Quentin managed to look and act very drunk.  "Thanks, Cholly," Dave said.  "I gotta get back for the next set.  If he don't sober up, take him home, okay?"  Dave looked at Quentin.  "Frank!  If you're not too hungover, you'll come for dinner tomorrow, right?"</div> <div> "I ain't gonna be too hungover," Quentin said, slurring his words.  Dave patted him on the shoulder and left.</div> <div> Cholly looked at Quentin doubtfully.  "Are you upset about what we talked about, Frank?"</div> <div> "Wha? 'Course not," Quentin said.  Now that he'd been thinking about it, he thought one try wouldn't kill anyone.   It certainly would be different.  He let Cholly take him home.</div> <div> There was one distinct advantage now to sharing the flat with Cholly--total privacy.  Dave knew of a girl--named Helga--who was interested in participating, and he also contributed a few ounces of marijuana.  Cholly was thrilled and excited about the whole evening.  He went out and bought a couple of bottles of the most expensive wine he could find. Quentin helped him roll up marijuana cigarettes to share with Helga.  Quentin felt increasingly nervous about the whole thing, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the knock at the door came.</div> <div> Helga herself was beautiful; a big, chesty blonde, blue-eyed girl.  She took to Quentin immediately and was very pleased with the marijuana cigarettes and wine.  She pushed Quentin back on his bed and climbed on top of him, pulling her blouse off.  Her breasts were huge, like grapefruit.  Quentin massaged each one, and Helga arched her back and moaned.  Then she fell forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, and put her mouth on his.  She began exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue.  It seemed to be everywhere.  Quentin felt dizzy from the wine and tea, but he felt himself becoming very aroused.  He also felt a mouth on his penis, and felt himself become harder.</div> <div> Helga was sitting upright again, rubbing her nipples with her fingers.  "Would you like a taste?" she asked throatily.  Quentin nodded dopily. She was feeding him her breast; at the same time, she was also rolling his nipples between her fingers.  He shivered with delight.  He couldn't see, but it was as if she had lowered herself onto him and was moving up and down.  He became more excited and tried to move himself.  He heard several moans of pleasure and didn't know from whom or where they were coming from.  He felt his climax coming and cried out.  He fell back, spent.  He also still felt very dizzy and closed his eyes.</div> <div> He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he felt a hand on his penis, stroking it gently.  He felt light feminine hands stroking him and opened his eyes.  Helga was lying on her side beside him to his left, stroking his face and chest.   Cholly was to his right, his own erection pressing against Quentin's hip.  Helga leaned over to kiss Quentin deeply.  He returned the kiss, reaching out to stroke Cholly's cock.  Cholly moaned softly.  "Franky," he whispered softly and then put his mouth over Quentin's cock, sucking insistently.</div> <div> "Jeeeez, that's good," Quentin groaned.  He kept on stroking Cholly; Helga kept kissing him and caressing him.  This was so exotically different that he could feel himself building to another climax.  As he felt himself come, he could feel Cholly's cock swell and then retract a little just before he felt warm wetness spurt over his hand.  Cholly moaned and shuddered.</div> <div> The next time Quentin opened his eyes, Cholly was gone.  Helga was lying next to him, smoking, very relaxed.  She handed him the rolled marijuana cigarette.  "More?" she asked.</div> <div> "I think I had enough, thanks." Quentin said, handing it back.  He felt very dizzy and nauseated.</div> <div> "That's okay, baby, you were great.  I wouldn't mind going round with you and your friend again."</div> <div> "Where is he?"</div> <div> "I don't know, baby.  He looked kind of green.  Sort of like the way you look now-"</div> <div> "Oh, God," Quentin moaned.</div> <div> "What's the matter, baby?"</div> <div> "I think I'm gonna be sick--"</div> <div> She jumped off the bed.  "Up, up!" she urged, pulling on him.  She half dragged him into the toilet--just in time.  Everything came up. "Gee, baby, I guess wine and tea don't mix well with you, huh?"</div> <div> "I guess not," Quentin moaned again.</div> <div> She was very efficient.  She ran some cold water and wet a towel, wiping his face.  She flushed the toilet he'd gotten sick into, and then pulled him back to his bed.  She tucked him in and then gave him a deep kiss.  "Sleep it off, sugar.  And call me again, hey?"  He closed his eyes, and she was gone.</div> <div> The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the smell of dinner cooking.  Steak.  How could that be?  And onions.  He pulled on his pants and stumbled down the hall.  Cholly was fixing them dinner--steak, onions, and mashed potatoes.  Quentin looked dully at the food, still feeling very nauseated.  Cholly looked over his shoulder at Quentin and smiled a gentle and tender smile.  "Hey, hope you like this."</div> <div> "Cholly, I--I think the wine and tea made me sick--"</div> <div> "It did that to me, too," Cholly answered.  "You do look green still, Franky." Cholly put his hand on Quentin's face, very gently, tenderly caressing him.  Quentin felt the room spinning.  "Listen, thanks.  I appreciate what you did for me. "</div> <div> Quentin collapsed into a chair at the table.  He held his head in his hands.  "Well, that's what friends are for, Cholly," he mumbled.  </div> <div> He felt Cholly pat him on the back and heard him say, "You're the best friend I ever had, Frank."  He closed his eyes again.  "Was it a little fun?"</div> <div> Quentin opened his eyes and raised his head.  "Well, actually, it was a lot of fun, Cholly."  Cholly turned pink, looking both embarrassed and pleased.  Without warning, he leaned over and kissed Quentin gently on the lips and then turned back to the steak.  Quentin looked at Cholly thoughtfully, wondering if their friendship would change now.  Cholly behaved as if nothing had happened.</div> <div> He still slummed around with Cholly, and one evening they ran into Helga again.  "Hey, baby, you feeling better" she asked, sitting herself down on Quentin's lap and kissing him deeply.  Her hand stole under the table, moving between his legs and down to rub him gently.  He immediately responded.  He moved to her ear and whispered, "Are you game?"</div> <div> "Same deal, sugar?" she wanted to know.</div> <div> Cholly was studiously sipping his drink and looking toward the band.  "Cholly!" Quentin said, a little hoarsely.  Cholly looked at him.  "Cholly, listen, you want to do the same thing we did before?"</div> <div> Cholly's eyes lit up.  "Really?"</div> <div> "But no tea.  And no wine," Quentin said.</div> <div> "It's a deal!"</div> <div> It was a different experience, and it did make for variety. Until the end of the summer--when Jamison's baby was born--Quentin tried this new experience a few more times.  The loss of the boat the first week of September stopped the sexual experimentation, but no one saw that one coming.</div> <bR> <div>  It was supposed to be a good trip. Jamison's son had been born almost six weeks earlier, a healthy eight pounder.  Ruth was doing well, and Elizabeth was pleased with her surprise birthday present.  A baby brother was just as good as a baby sister, to her, Jamison said.  On this particular trip, Dave begged off.  He didn't go out very often with them; he claimed boats made him nervous, that he couldn't swim, and that he got seasick easily.  Cholly took his place, and Quentin piloted the boat to Rumrunners' Row.  It was a quiet evening; there weren't many other schooners out.  It was another moonless evening.  They'd never been comfortable with the idea of carry Tommy guns--which is what Joe recommended that they carry, and had never had a problem all summer.  George put a barrel over the hurricane lamp to dim it.</div> <div> Within the hour, they could hear the first of their "blacks" approaching.  The motor cut off and began idling, and the boat pulled alongside the schooner.  Cholly stood by shrouds, ready to start handing over the burlapped cargo.  George leaned over the rail to take the order.  There was a startled shout, and suddenly the schooner seemed to be full of men.  Something had gone wrong.</div> <div> Quentin moved from behind the wheel of the schooner and stopped short; the barrel of a shotgun had been thrust into his face.  "What is this?" he demanded.</div> <div> "This is a message to let you know we've had enough," a rasping voice answered.  Quentin couldn't see his face; he was wearing a mask.  "You boys have had fun this summer, haven't you?  But you don't belong out here, and we know it.  So summertime's over, sonny, and we've come to tell you the party's over."  The man pumped the shotgun to let Quentin know it was now ready to blast his face off.</div> <div> "Okay, sir," said Quentin, very quietly.  "What do you want?"</div> <div> "You going to look for the buoys and take us to the Sound," the man ordered.</div> <div> "Okay, sir.  Take it easy with that thing.  I can't move with it in my face."</div> <div> "Sure, I understand that, sonny.  I'll move it."  He moved off to one side, and stuck the barrel just under Quentin's chin.  "If I was you, kiddo, I'd move real carefully."</div> <div> "I'll need someone to spot for me," Quentin said.</div> <div> The man called out an order. Cholly said, "I'll do it."  With Cholly spotting through the binoculars for the buoys, Quentin prayed for the appearance of the Coast Guard.  Other schooners were moving into place; other blacks were on their way out to meet them.  Where was the frigging Coast Guard?  They didn't show. "I've got the light for the Port Jeff lighthouse," Cholly said.</div> <div> "You, Sambo, get on up there and haul down that flag," one of the other men ordered.  Someone got up off the floor to pull down the flag.   "Put this one up.  This way, if we get stopped, we won't get boarded."</div> <div> They were entering the Sound now and approaching the shore. They could see town lights. "Okay, sonny, stop here.  I'm sure you kids are all good swimmers.  You can make it on your own from here." The man with the shotgun said.  Before Quentin could say another word, the man had walked him to side.  He gave one hard shove, and Quentin went over the side and under the water.  He came up, sputtering.  Around him in the dark, he could hear the others gasping and spitting out water.  "Hey, boys, get out of the way so we don't run you over!  We'll give you five minutes, children!" </div> <div> "Everyone all right?" Quentin called out, furious at what had happened but concerned for his friends.</div> <div> "Right here," Jack said, at his elbow.</div> <div> "Okay," George called.</div> <div> There was the sound of splashing, and then Cholly joined them. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, sounding furious.</div> <div> "What difference does it make?" Jack snapped. "Let's get out of here."</div> <div> They swam off, and after exactly five minutes, the motor on the schooner started up and moved off.</div> <div> The men swam toward shore until they were sure they could stand up and walk in.  They could feel the rocks under their feet.  "Where in the hell are we?"  Jack grumbled.  "Anyone know anything about this godforsaken freaking island?"</div> <div> "That was the lighthouse at Port Jefferson.  That's the town ahead of us," Cholly explained, as if anyone really cared.  "Do you think those guys were pirates, Frank?"</div> <div> "I think pirates would've killed us," Quentin answered.  "I think maybe they were competition.  Didn't want us weaseling in."</div> <div> "Well, that's it for us then."</div> <div> "At least until we can figure something else out."</div> <div> "This boy don't give up," George said.  He and Jack turned on Quentin and ducked him under the water.  They pulled him up again, sputtering and fighting, but they were laughing.  Cholly threw himself at George and they both went under the water.  Jack threw himself at Quentin.  They spent the next fifteen minutes wrestling each other and throwing each other into the water, like a pack of wild schoolboys.  They might have lost this battle, but all were eager to get started in a new one.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: Mary Margaret"><U>2:  Mary Margaret</U></A>    <A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U>4:  Speakeasy</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>