Page 11 of Killer Moonshine

“Not to worry,” smirked Bull. “Alvin’s accompanying the boat.”

“Gaspar, Nine, what y’all doin’ here?” asked the deputy.

“Trying to find information on him if we can,” said Nine. “How’d he die?”

“Looks like he shot himself. Left a note that he was responsible for the death of his friend, some guy named Duckie.”

“Damn,” muttered Gaspar. “We wanted to speak to him about that. We think he was operating an illegal still and gave some of the liquor to Duckie, which is what killed him.”

“Well, the boys found some empty bottles that had a pretty powerful smell. They were looking for a still in the woods back there but didn’t find one. They did find a flattened space that looked like maybe it did have a still there at one time.”

“Can we take a look?” asked Gaspar.

“When have you ever asked me for permission?” laughed the deputy.

“Turning over a new leaf, Charlie.” They laughed as they walked toward the woods and followed the worn path to the flat patch that he spoke of. There were two stacks of wood, several empty bottles, and some random pieces of copper tubing lying around.

“Well, it definitely looks like he was making moonshine,” frowned Nine. “But why get rid of the majority of the evidence and then kill yourself?”

“Good question,” said Gaspar. “And where did he put it? He didn’t have a garage or shed.”

“I’m thinking someone else came and took the evidence,” said Nine. “And if that’s true, I’m going to bet that he didn’t shoot himself at all.”

“He didn’t,” said the coroner, walking toward the men. “Charlie said you were back here. The angle of the bullet is all wrong to be self-inflicted. Plus, John was left-handed. The shooter was right-handed. Also, he’s been dead between forty-eight and seventy-two hours. The dogs were fed this morning. There’s still food in their bowls, and there’s fresh piles on the floor.

“Now, unless John came back from the dead, fed his dogs, let them shit on the floor, and then went dead again, someone killed that man, came back and took the still and felt bad for the dogs, so they fed them.” Gaspar stared at Nine, then back at the coroner.

“So, we’ve got an animal-loving killer with a conscience. Great.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“What kind of fresh hell is this?” mumbled Bull.

Trak looked at him, then at Otto. The shack was sitting on several barrels used as floatation pontoons. The wood looked rotten and cracked, and as the big men stepped onto the covered porch, they worried it would split beneath their weight.

The entire structure was nothing more than an open-air deck floating in a swamp. There were no walls, just a bar if you could call it that. There were a few make-shift tables and chairs pieced together from old wooden pallets and metal and a railing to hopefully keep anyone from falling off and drowning.

Two men and a woman were sitting on old milk crates at a wobbly wooden table. The man behind the bar looked to be close to eighty. He wasn’t shy about showing that he had a shotgun behind him, lying out in the open and ready on the counter.

“Help you, boys? And just so you know I don’t take no plastic. You pay cash or move along to somewhere else,” he said.

“Just lookin’ for somethin’ to drink, and don’t worry, we have cash,” said Otto in his best good old boy accent.

“Well, I got whiskey, beer, or somethin’ stronger if you want it.”

“Beer for me,” said Bull.

“Same,” said Otto. The old man looked at Trak, and he shook his head.

“He ain’t drinkin’?” he asked.

“He’s not much of a drinker. We’re just makin’ our way back through the bayou after a disastrous day of catching fucking nothing. We were fishin’ out in St. Mark’s bayou. Thought we’d come in before the rain hits.”

“That’s smart,” nodded the old man. “Could be a bad one tonight. Weather is always somethin’ fierce in the spring and early summer.”

“Hey, you said you have something stronger than whiskey,” said Bull. “What’s stronger than whiskey?”

“Good homemade shine,” he smiled with jagged teeth. Bull stared at the old man, realizing that he was jaundiced, probably from his own still. His teeth were rotting out of his head, and his skin was showing signs of his kidneys failing.

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