Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“To shoot at what?”

“You might come upon wildlife.”

“Or them Johnsons.”

“Same thing,” Laurel said under her breath. “Alter your route a little each time so you don’t create a noticeable path. If you see anyone showing an interest in the shack, or the same vehicle frequently driving past, be sure to caution Ernie.”

“What’s he like?”

Laurel hesitated. “Rustic.”

* * *



Following their introduction, the moonshiner and the former prostitute sized each other up, and it was clear to Laurel that both found admirable traits lacking in the other.

Ernie had reacted to the news about Irv with the expected concern. Laurel had assured him that his friend would heal. “But I’m afraid it will be several weeks before he regains full use of his arm, if ever. While he’s out of commission, Corrine will be assisting you in the distillation and bottling process.”

A taut silence followed that announcement. Then Ernie said, “She whut?”

“It’s a temporary arrangement,” Laurel said. “She’ll work with you only until Irv is able.”

Corrine piped up. “Don’t forget that he’s old and already has a bum hip.”

“I ain’t forgot,” Ernie snapped.

Laurel could have done without Corrine’s contribution and Ernie’s retort. She said, “The point is, his convalescence can’t be rushed, Ernie. You wouldn’t want him to return to work too soon and do further damage to himself.”

“’Course not.” He picked up a stir-stick and moved it around in a barrel of mash. He aimed his pointy chin in Corrine’s direction. “Does she know squat about making whiskey?”

“I’ve got ears,” Corrine said, “and I’m standing right here. You want to know something, ask me d’rectly.”

“Do you know squat about making whiskey?”

“Irv said it was up to you to teach me. That’s what Laurel said, too.”

He harrumphed. “It ain’t as easy as it looks.”

“It don’t look easy at’all. In fact, I’ve never seen a more rickety pile of junk as that still.”

“It’s my great-granddaddy’s design.”

Before Corrine could comment on that, Laurel stepped in. “Ernie, let me stir the mash. You walk Corrine through the process.”

It took him an hour to explain all the still’s components and their various functions. Lesson over, Corrine asked to be excused to seek a private spot to relieve herself.

Ernie said to Laurel, “Wouldn’t have taken half as long if she hadn’t asked so many dadgum questions.”

“They were good questions, Ernie, about things she needs to know.”

“She always rattle on that much?”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I doubt it. What happened to her eye?”

“She took a beating from the late Wally Johnson.”

He looked in the direction Corrine had gone. “She’s the whore?”

“Don’t use that word again.” After her sharp rebuke, she set her hand on his arm in conciliation. “Listen, Ernie, when Mr. Hutton brought Irv home last night, I thought he was dead. I’m sure you were fit to be tied when he didn’t show up for work. It was a rough night on all of us. Fair to say, we’re feeling the strain?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry to spring Corrine on you,” she continued, “but it was actually Irv’s idea, and at first even I was resistant to it.” She recapped for him the conversation she and Irv had had early that morning. “We’ve got to keep up production or we’ll soon be out of business. In fact, our supply is already low. I’ll walk back to the shack and bring the car around. Irv said you had some crates stashed away. I need to take them back with me.”

“They was stole.”

Her breath escaped her. “What?”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you, didn’t want you worrying.”

She backed up to an upended crate and sat down. “Well, I’m worried now. When were they stolen?”

“Night before last. I’d added a crate to the stash that day. Went back yesterday to add another one. They’s all gone.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

One hundred and twenty jars of one hundred proof. She did the math. Her heart sank over the amount of the loss.

Ernie said, “I would’ve told Irv last night, only he got shot.” He raised his bony shoulders.

“Where was this stash hidden?”

“Over in that cedar break.”

She looked in the direction he’d pointed. “That nearby?”

“Thirty yards, maybe. I’d dug a hole big as a grave, thought I had it covered up good with brush.”

“Who could have gotten that close without your knowing?”

Another shrug. “I wasn’t doing a run that night. Did some tinkering on the new still. Shored up the firebox with more rock. Crawled into the tent pretty early. Never heard a thing.” He pushed his hands into the deep pockets of his overalls. “You trust those twins?”

“Yes.” Then she gave a shrug of her own. “I suppose.”

“Irv says they’re half drunk half the time. Randy as goats. Lightning rods for trouble.”