6 minute read
Fiction John Smolens
The Superior Gatsby
By John Smolens
He was employed in a vague personal capacity—while he remained with Cody he was in turn steward, mate, skipper, secretary and even jailor, for Dan Cody sober knew what lavish doings Dan Cody drunk might soon be about and he provided for such contingencies by reposing more and more trust in Gatsby. —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Dan Cody envisioned himself a gentleman bootlegger. Much like the gentleman farmer who hires others to toil in the fields, he wished not to dirty his hands while reaping the harvest. Jay Gatsby ran the operation, purchasing confiscated liquor from customs officials who worked the border on the St. Mary’s River, and then running it to ports on the Great Lakes. The benefit for Cody was that he had access to an unlimited supply of booze, the result being that Gatsby would lock him in his cabin during lengthy binges. The lesson for the young man was that alcohol is a deterrent to one’s deepest hopes and dreams.
Cody provided another lesson while prostrate in his teak berth. “You’re going to make your first fortune working this yacht.”
They had dropped anchor in Marquette’s Lower Harbor, cluttered with ore boats, fishing shacks, and schooners. Masts and rigging stitched the air, and the Tuolomee’s contraband could be offloaded in broad daylight without fear of local constabulary that had been sufficiently compensated. Gatsby drove Cody’s rented Duesenberg filled with crates of contraband whiskey to hotels near the train station, making deliveries at the Merchants Hotel, the Hotel Janzen, the Hotel Brunswick. His last stop was the Adams Hotel, where Lila Banks sang torch songs in the lounge and her network distributed booze to various outlets as far inland as Michigamme and Republic. Cody was much taken with her, which was the reason why the Tuolomee frequented Marquette. But this time he did not come ashore, citing self-preservation. The reason for this rare act of discretion waited in the alley behind the hotel: Lila’s long-time paramour Tuukka Hautamaki.
“Where’s your boss?” he asked as his man Emmet Jones unloaded the crates from the wagon.
Hautamaki had a hard empty face and looked like a man whose favorite pastime was hunting bear. “You tell Mr. Cody he wants to get paid, he comes himself.” Emmet unloaded the last crate and Hautamaki shut the hotel door, leaving Gatsby in the dark alley.
He began the drive down to the Lower Harbor but stopped when he saw Lila Banks step out from the shadows on the corner of Front and Main. She climbed up on the Duesy’s running board, and from a pocket in her fur coat produced a tiny sequined purse. “Consider this a down payment.” She handed Gatsby a folded Ben Franklin.
•
“How did you know Tuukka was back in town?” Gatsby asked after Billings served his steak and eggs in the yacht’s saloon.
Cody’s traditional hangover remedy was a Mai Tai, and he wore steampunk sunglasses against the morning glare off the Lower Harbor. “I have this sixth sense, and well-paid informants. So, old sport, what should we do?”
Cody shook his head with great care. “Next time we return to Marquette, the problem will still be here. And worse, such lassitude will encourage others to not pay what’s due. We have to deal with Hautamaki.”
Cody massaged his temples, a sign that he was thinking, and it was doing dreadful things to his already damaged face. “You ever—?” He removed his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. “Ever kill a man? You look like you have.”
Gatsby shrugged. “It’s a quality I have.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“I am, old sport, and it’s time you learned. Remove Hautamaki from the equation and problem solved. But •
After dark, Gatsby parked so the Duesy was concealed behind an enormous pile of coal near the cinder pond. Lila unbuttoned her fur coat as she slid across the front seat and put her arms about his neck, her breath warm on his ear. “Know what I want, darling?” she whispered.
Lila took gentle hold of his face; she had the profound fingers of a jazz pianist.
Her kiss was tender, tasting of top-shelf gin. “Do we need Cody, darling? After we set sail, could he manage to disappear in the lake?”
Gatsby looked out across the harbor, where he could see the bow lights of Cody’s yacht, swinging on its anchor, the green starboard light alternating with the red port light. “Then what?”
“We could winter in the Caribbean.”
“Emmet tells me Tuukka’s stockpile is more than substantial. He and Billings are alike, secretly obstinate men who are willing to be serfs until they can overthrow their masters. Everyone has a price.” She laid her head on his chest while her fingers played subtle minor chords in his hair. “Now, darling, tell me what you want.”
This question had long tormented Gatsby. A grand house, a fine automobile, custom-tailored suits and imported silk shirts, and most of all the love of a woman who could never love another man. And respect. The kind of respect that caused others to pause when he walked into a room, their awe and silence acknowledging that they were suddenly in the presences of a god. “What do I want?” Gatsby said as his arms tightened about her fur coat. “I want it all.” He gazed out toward Cody’s yacht, the red and then the green light signaling their enigmatic code. About the author: John Smolens, NMU professor emeritus, has published 12 books, including Cold, Out, Fire Point, The School Master’s Daughter, Quarantine, and Wolf’s Mouth, a Michigan Notable Book selection. In 2010 he received the Michigan Author Award from the Michigan Library Association. His most recent novel is Day of Days.
This is the second installment of a multi-part series written by John Smolens. The third part will appear in the November 2021 edition of MM.
