corner was a pulley lift that rose to the alleyway between the mercantile and the bakery next door. Thankfully for Jeffers, the tough times that had struck Silas Aldridge’s business meant that the room had been nearly empty at the time his daughter agreed to open the speakeasy. That left plenty of room for Jeffers to begin filling it.
Crates full of liquor bottles were stacked three high across the room. Heavy oak barrels lined the wall opposite the lift; the contents of each had been painted on the side. A few loose bottles of whiskey were stacked on top of one of the barrels, the amber liquid dark in the faint light. Sitting beside the door was an open crate packed with straw, which held the bottles he’d set aside for the speakeasy’s bar, the bottles he sold by the drink to help along his lie.
A lie that’s makin’ me rich…
When Prohibition had been enacted, most of the drinkers in Colton had bitched about the loss of drink, whining about how unfairly the new law punished them. Jeffers hadn’t seen it that way; all he saw was opportunity. Wherever there was a demand for something in low supply, money was just waiting to be made. Now that selling alcohol was illegal, thirsty folks would spend plenty to get it. That was where he would step in. It hadn’t taken long for him to make contact with others who thought the same way.
The border between the United States and Canada was thousands of miles long, far too great of a distance for all of it to be watched. This was especially true of the wilderness of Montana. Hundreds of pack trails, dirt roads, animal crossings, rivers, and creeks wormed their way through the thick forests that stretched between the two countries. For someone like Jeffers, a man who knew every nook and cranny of the area, it seemed impossible that someone could find him if he didn’t want them to; he was a needle in a hundred-mile-wide haystack.
When Jeffers was first introduced to Jimmy Luciano, he had no idea the man worked for Al Capone. Listening to what the gangster wanted, Jeffers had a bit of trouble concentrating; with his fine clothes, cigar, and jeweled rings that dazzled from almost every finger, Jimmy was everything Jeffers aspired to be. It wouldn’t have mattered what was being asked of him; he would’ve done most anything to be involved.
The plan was simple. Connections of Capone’s in Canada would meet Jeffers near a little-used horse trail right on the border under the cover of darkness. Casks and crates of liquor would be transferred to a truck that Jeffers would procure. He would then drive it back to Colton and store the liquor, holding load after load until Jimmy came to retrieve it all in one fell swoop. For his work, Jeffers would be paid a lot of money.
The problem had been finding a place in Colton big enough to store the booze. He’d considered keeping it in a barn outside of town, leaving it in the truck covered with a tarp, and even stashing it beneath a bridge. In the end, none of them seemed safe enough. But getting caught wasn’t an option, either; if the cops didn’t lock him up forever, he could only imagine what the Mob would do to him. It was then, while walking down the street at a loss as to what he should do, that he passed in front of Aldridge Mercantile. Through the front window he’d seen Maddy standing behind the counter, and an idea had struck him like a lightning bolt from a stormy sky.
He’d hide the liquor right in the heart of town.
Jeffers was certain that the mercantile’s cellar would have plenty of room. Not only could he hide the booze there until Jimmy came to get it, but it even allowed him the opportunity to make some money on the side. Operating a speakeasy would be nothing but profit; after all, there were plenty of thirsty people in Colton. All it took was cutting a side deal with the Canadians for a couple of crates of his own and he was in business.
He just needed Maddy.
When she’d finally given in, Jeffers had
Crates full of liquor bottles were stacked three high across the room. Heavy oak barrels lined the wall opposite the lift; the contents of each had been painted on the side. A few loose bottles of whiskey were stacked on top of one of the barrels, the amber liquid dark in the faint light. Sitting beside the door was an open crate packed with straw, which held the bottles he’d set aside for the speakeasy’s bar, the bottles he sold by the drink to help along his lie.
A lie that’s makin’ me rich…
When Prohibition had been enacted, most of the drinkers in Colton had bitched about the loss of drink, whining about how unfairly the new law punished them. Jeffers hadn’t seen it that way; all he saw was opportunity. Wherever there was a demand for something in low supply, money was just waiting to be made. Now that selling alcohol was illegal, thirsty folks would spend plenty to get it. That was where he would step in. It hadn’t taken long for him to make contact with others who thought the same way.
The border between the United States and Canada was thousands of miles long, far too great of a distance for all of it to be watched. This was especially true of the wilderness of Montana. Hundreds of pack trails, dirt roads, animal crossings, rivers, and creeks wormed their way through the thick forests that stretched between the two countries. For someone like Jeffers, a man who knew every nook and cranny of the area, it seemed impossible that someone could find him if he didn’t want them to; he was a needle in a hundred-mile-wide haystack.
When Jeffers was first introduced to Jimmy Luciano, he had no idea the man worked for Al Capone. Listening to what the gangster wanted, Jeffers had a bit of trouble concentrating; with his fine clothes, cigar, and jeweled rings that dazzled from almost every finger, Jimmy was everything Jeffers aspired to be. It wouldn’t have mattered what was being asked of him; he would’ve done most anything to be involved.
The plan was simple. Connections of Capone’s in Canada would meet Jeffers near a little-used horse trail right on the border under the cover of darkness. Casks and crates of liquor would be transferred to a truck that Jeffers would procure. He would then drive it back to Colton and store the liquor, holding load after load until Jimmy came to retrieve it all in one fell swoop. For his work, Jeffers would be paid a lot of money.
The problem had been finding a place in Colton big enough to store the booze. He’d considered keeping it in a barn outside of town, leaving it in the truck covered with a tarp, and even stashing it beneath a bridge. In the end, none of them seemed safe enough. But getting caught wasn’t an option, either; if the cops didn’t lock him up forever, he could only imagine what the Mob would do to him. It was then, while walking down the street at a loss as to what he should do, that he passed in front of Aldridge Mercantile. Through the front window he’d seen Maddy standing behind the counter, and an idea had struck him like a lightning bolt from a stormy sky.
He’d hide the liquor right in the heart of town.
Jeffers was certain that the mercantile’s cellar would have plenty of room. Not only could he hide the booze there until Jimmy came to get it, but it even allowed him the opportunity to make some money on the side. Operating a speakeasy would be nothing but profit; after all, there were plenty of thirsty people in Colton. All it took was cutting a side deal with the Canadians for a couple of crates of his own and he was in business.
He just needed Maddy.
When she’d finally given in, Jeffers had
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