BOOTLEG LOVE

1

Toronto, Ontario, 1922...

            The music was loud, and the joint was hopping. The little jazz lady on stage was putting on a hell of a show. The booze was flowing, and Payton was making a tidy profit. He was standing in a known underground nightclub held in the basement of a once empty coffee shop. It was in a bad neighbourhood, and the proprietor was going under until Remington Kingston had paid the owner a percentage of his profit from the nightclub.

            The Kingston boys had underground jazz clubs all over the city and in Ottawa. Colton was heading up the clubs in Ottawa, Trenton was in production (high volume), their father was handling distribution, and Payton was overseeing the clubs in Toronto. Over the last four years, the Kingston boys had become the biggest bootlegging operation in Ontario.

            Business was good, and they had moved up to the big leagues. They had left Ottwell behind and moved into the cities, buying themselves nice houses and transportation. Nice cars to drive around in and trucks to ship their moonshine. They traded their overalls for fashionable suits to better blend into the trendy nightlife.

            Yes, indeed, Payton was a big shot now. He had gone from small-town pauper to a moderately wealthy bootlegger in the big city. Though the cops were on to them, they had absolutely no evidence. The cops could do nothing to stop them. The Kingston boys were providing a service that was in high demand despite the laws. Though people were law-abiding and hypocritical during the day, by night, they danced and drank the night away.

            Payton stood by the bar overseeing the activities. He was dressed for the night in a blue-grey double-breasted sacque suit complete with patent leather shoes, a fashionable black bowler hat, and a sharp silk tie.

            Payton glanced at his pocket watch. It was getting late, and the club would be closing down soon. Looking behind the bar, he quickly counted the remaining bottles. They had gone through their stock quickly. Another hour and they would be dry.

            Payton returned the watch to his pocket, and taking his drink, he headed for a table up front by the small stage to enjoy the show. The number was hot and fast, like the little lady that was performing it. She was the very picture of flapper fashion in her short shapeless sequence dress. The black shinny skirt coming just below the knee, her stockings pulled up to her knees. Her fashionable black boots with the buckles clapped across the floorboards. Her midnight black hair was cropped short, which was the fashion and greased back slick and shining with hair gel. On the left side of her head, a black-feathered hair fastener.                             

            She was a pretty thing. Thin and flat-chested, which was the popular look for young ladies these days, personally Payton preferred a few curves, but society didn’t seem to agree with him these days. Her complexion was pale, a stark white with her face painted up with thick black eyeliner and blood-red lipstick.

            When the show ended, Payton got up from his seat and walked over to the side of the stage where the little lady was cooling off from the performance. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, dipping his head low. He kissed her, and she melted against him. “What a show.” He smiled down at her.

            “I always put on a good show.” She said, playfully slapping him on the arm. “I’m a star, after all.” Payton had been seeing Wanda Derricks for almost a year now. She played in his clubs, entertaining the patrons. He had fallen for her the night she auditioned. She was just as he liked his women. Pretty and easy. Their relationship was based purely on s****l appetite.

            “Come on. We are shutting down for the night. I will walk you home.” He offered, picking up her waistcoat. Holding it up, Wanda slipped into the garment and, wrapping it closed, she buttoned it up on the right side. She then laced her arm with his. “Are you going to come up for a nightcap?” She asked as they went up and out the cellar door leading up into the back alley.

            “I think we could arrange something.” He smiled as they walked down the dark alley and came out onto the street. It was three in the morning, and the streets were empty. The street lights dimly lighting the neighbourhood. Wanda didn’t live too far away. She had a small room in the apartment building four blocks from here. Just a small one-room suite with a bed and a phonograph, a small table and a tiny kitchenette. It was enough room for a single woman, and she paid for it by performing.  

            Reaching the building, Payton walked Wanda up to the third floor and waited for her to unlock the door. Once the door was opened, he followed her inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “Just let me change into something more comfortable.” She said, disappearing into the bathroom.

            Payton looked around the small suite unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off. He tossed it over the back of the chair at the table. He worked his cufflinks free and loosened his tie. He might as well get comfortable he was going to be here for a while. He pulled the tails of his white starched shirt from his pants and began to unbutton the front when the washroom door opened and out stepped Wanda.

            She was looking good in her peach camisole; she had stripped away her dress and headdress. Her stockings were gone, and she was barefoot, her hands on the doorframe as she posed seductively for him, a naughty smile curving her lips. “You ready for me, big boy?”

            Payton grinned and took off his shirt. “Anytime, Darling.” She crossed the small gap between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, her left knee coming up around his hip. She kissed him with heated desire, and Payton lifted her in his arms and carried her to the small single bed. He didn’t need much room to do what he had in mind.

            They burnt away the rest of the night until the sun started seeping in through the drapes. Wanda fell asleep, and Payton got out of bed, got dressed, and left the apartment. He stood on the stoop, buttoning up his jacket, watching the neighbourhood slowly come to life as the sun rose up over the buildings. Payton walked back to the coffee shop and found his car, where he had left it just around the corner and out of sight.

            Getting in, he started the engine and pulled out into the street. It was twenty minutes to his place, and he was tired. His bed was calling to him. He hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when the sound of a siren behind him caused Payton to look over his shoulder. He cussed and pulled over.

            Getting out of the police car behind him came Detective Quincy Hamilton, a vice cop. He had been working on busting Payton’s family for two years now. The guy had a hard-on for Payton’s father, called him the kingpin of the liquor trade in Ontario. If it were booze-related, the Kingston boys had a hand in it, although Hamilton could never prove it.

            Hamilton and his boys had raided a few of Payton’s clubs, but thanks to a secretary in the police department, Payton always had a heads up, and he had each club cleared out and abandoned before each raid, leaving the police with nothing but their tails to chase.

            Hamilton was a seasoned detective, ten years on the force with a brief four-year break when he was drafted during the war, but he had returned and became as driven as he was before the draft. He was tall and lean with short brown hair. He was always clean-shaven and dressed in a suit looking all proper. He was known for being hard on crime. The man was hoping for a promotion to Mayor on a platform that he was going to personally clean up the streets and put an end to the flow of illegal liquor in this town.

            Payton sighed and rolled down the window as the Detective came up alongside the car. His hand on the roof, Hamilton leaned over and looked in through the driver’s window. He looked Payton over and then looked around the interior of the car. “Morning, Detective,” Payton said politely.

            “Early, isn’t it, Mr. Kingston?” Hamilton asked.

            “Last time I checked, getting up with the sun wasn’t illegal. Did you stop me for a reason or just to say hello?” Payton asked with a smile.

            “You were going a little fast.”

            Payton shook his dark head. He was not, but there was no point in arguing the matter. Clearly, the guy was fishing for a reason to take him in. “Well, I wasn’t aware of that, so thank you for stopping me. I promise to pay better attention to my speed from now on.”

            “Where are you coming from?” The Detective asked.

            “I was with a girl.” He said with a cheeky grin. “We were up all night knocking boots. You want to question her?”

            “Chasing loose women.” The Detective shook his head.

            “Ain’t anything illegal about loose women. I rather like them.” Payton said cockily. “Tell me, Detective, do you have nothing better to do than to follow me around?”

            “I’m not following you; this is just a happy coincidence.”

            “Well, I do love these little chats, but my bed is calling me, so if there is nothing else pressing, I think I will be on my way.”

            Detective Hamilton looked less than pleased to have nothing to hold him on. “One of these days, Kingston, you will be riding in my backseat.” He promised.

            “Not without dinner first Detective, I’m not that easy.” Payton turned the engine back on. The detective stepped aside and allowed him to pull back out on the street, and he left the persistent cop behind him.