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    Moonshine for Three
    By
    Lauren Gallagher
     
     
    November 1938 – Off the coast of Long Beach, California
     
    The night's too damned cold to be out in a boat. Even for this time of year. Wind's been whipping through Long Beach since noon, and the farther this creaking water taxi takes us out to sea, the worse it's getting. The waves are high and white-capped. If my partner Danny gets as seasick as he says, then it's a damn good thing he didn't come along.
    Gentleman next to me lost his hat a mile from shore. Says maybe that's a sign he shouldn't be playing the tables tonight—not if Lady Luck ain't on his side. Let's hope she's on mine.
    The ship's there up ahead. Doesn't look like much: just an old merchant ship some moonshiner anchored off shore and converted into a floating casino. Been almost a year since this one showed up. There were others back then, and there's loads more now. More gambling here than there is in Monte Carlo, they say.
    Boat's rocking hard tonight, and creaking and groaning over the music and voices coming from the upper decks. There are others around, boats like this, some bigger, some smaller, but the Miss Fortune is where I'll find Alice Durham.
    That's what my partner says, anyhow. Don't know how I'm going to pick her out from the other broads on board, but she ought to be here tonight. Danny said she'd be, and he's got boys on the inside who say they know.
    "You can't miss her," he'd insisted when he left me to board the water taxi. "Unless there's another dame who looks like Ginger Rogers on that bucket of rust."
    I've seen some pretty girls getting on and off the water taxis, but none like Ginger. Not yet.
    The taxi's moored, and one by one, we disembark and walk onboard the Miss Fortune . My badge is tucked away. I don't have jurisdiction out here anyhow—not three and a half miles off the California coast. Flashing a badge in these parts is a good way to find out just how cold the ocean really is tonight. Especially down there at the bottom.
    I get to the uppermost deck as quick as I can. Up here, cards shuffle, slap, and slide. Chips rattle. The roulette wheel whirs and the ball bounces. Men cheer and curse, and bartenders pour liquor like there's more liquid behind the bars than under the boat.
    And there she is.
    I give her a good look, just to be sure, but that's Alice, all right. If Danny hadn't told me what to look for, I'd have thought it was Ginger Rogers herself, all wrapped up in red with long, black gloves. That cigarette holder's like an arrow pointing straight to her lips, and now I see why Danny didn't want to come along. Bet he ain't the type to get seasick like he says. He just can't talk to beautiful women.
    I'm not so sure I can talk to her neither, but if she can get me to Robert Parker, I better get my tongue untied. Tug at the cuffs, straighten the tie, and I'm on my way to her. Past the tables and the gamblers, right toward the bar where she's sitting.
    I slide up next to her and put a hip against the stool and an elbow on the bar. "You Alice Durham?"
    She looks right at me with eyes lined with dark kohl, and purses her lips as she blows smoke straight in my face. "Who wants to know?"
    "Maybe someone who wants to do some business with a friend of yours."
    She taps the cigarette over an ashtray. "Yeah? And what friend is that?"
    "I'm looking for Robert Parker."
    His name startles her, but just barely. Just enough to make her pause while she's bringing that cigarette up to her mouth. "What makes you think I know him?"
    "You saying you don't?"
    "Why?" Her eyes narrow. "You gonna arrest me if I'm lyin'?"
    "Arrest you?" I laugh. "I ain't a cop, sweetheart."
    "Then what do you want?" She sucks the end of the cigarette holder. This time, she turns her head and blows the smoke out of the corner of her mouth.
    "I want to have a chat with Robert."
    She laughs, that defiant, one-beat laugh of a woman who don't let anyone push her around. "You want to talk to