Private Eye: 8

 

“So,” says Eugene, “we are headin’ down to the Bahamas. What’s in store for us?”

McCarthy responds, “I will be meetin’ with other gents in business at the Lucerne Hotel in Nassau. Rum, whiskey, and gin, they’re all legally shipped in from the United Kingdom, see?”

“By gents in business, you mean other fellas in the rum running game?”

“There’ll be some rum runners there, but also representatives from Scottish and other UK distilleries, see? It’s gonna be dull, real dull. Ain’t your kinda thing. But Nassau’s got plenty to offer, pal. Eugene, I ain’t known ya for long, but I can tell you’re all wound up. The city does that, especially New York; the noise, the chaos, the danger. Ya gotta learn to unwind, my friend. Right across from the Lucerne is the Allan Hotel. They got dancin’ and top-notch grub, both local and international. No secret joints ’cause there ain’t no prohibition here. Maybe ya meet a fine dame or a fella if that’s more your speed. Ever tried snorkelin’? It’s a sight to behold, swimmin’ with the fish, the turtles, and believe it or not, even pigs. But if that’s too much effort, just plop yourself on a beach chair and let the drinks roll in.”

“I gotta admit, that does sound mighty appealin’, ‘cept for takin’ a dip with them pigs. A chair on the beach with a waiter fetchin’ me drinks is more my speed. I reckon Murphy here agrees with me on that one.

“Murph, care to join me on the beach? We’ll grab ourselves a couple of chairs, an umbrella, and have a waiter bring us our drinks. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds swell, boss. Beats anythin’ else I can think of. Look, here comes Amelia. Seems like she’s got the same idea as us.”

“Good day, Amelia. Ya certain that swimsuit of yours is on the right side of the law? Showin’ off some mighty fine pins there.”

“Yes, Eugene, I’m sure it’s legal. Bought it from a shop near the beach. The salesclerk assured me that in Nassau, they ain’t got no beach coppers measurin’ the distance between a lady’s swimsuit bottom and her knee. Did ya know the Wharton School of Business came up with this ‘hemline theory’? Claims that in good economic times, women raise their skirts to flaunt their silk stockings. But when times are tough, they lower ’em to hide the fact that they ain’t wearin’ any.”

“Well, I’ll be damned, did not know that. Suppose from a man’s perspective, we should always hope for good economic times. But when would we not? Gotta say your getup is the cat’s pajamas.”

“Here comes the waiter. What’s everyone havin’ to drink?”

Amelia speaks up, “I’ll have a Bee’s Knees.”

“What in tarnation is that?”

“It’s a cocktail made with gin, lemon, and honey. It’s got a zesty flavor, lightly sweet, and an all-around delightful drink—hence the name.”

“How ’bout you, ‘Reaper’ and ‘Thunder’, name your poison.”

“I’ll keep it simple, Eugene,” said Reaper, “just give me a straight rum.”

Thunder agreed, “That sounds good to me.”

“And you, Murph? Stickin’ to our usual scotch neat, or feelin’ a bit adventurous today?”

“I’ve always wanted to try a French 75. It is gin topped with Champagne. They named it after the French 75-mm field gun used in the War.”

“Alright, since we’re feelin’ adventurous, I heard ’bout a drink called the Southside, the preferred choice of Al Capone and his crew. It has gin, lime juice, syrup, and mint leaves. If it is good enough for Al, it is good enough for me.”

Captain McCarthy came down to the beach and said, “I would like to invite you all for supper at the Allan Hotel. They got top-notch grub, and there’s someone I wanna introduce ya to.”

The whole crew stumbled and bumbled their way through the sand ’til they reached the Allan Hotel. At the joint’s entrance, the host greeted ’em and showed ’em to their private table, tucked away in a quiet nook, far from the other patrons. He says to the bunch, “Welcome to the Allan Hotel. As a gesture of our appreciation, we got a bottle of our finest champers waitin’ for ya. A server will be here soon to take yer orders. Can I pour ya some bubbly?”

“Thanks, Gilbert, that’s mighty generous of ya.” He pours a bit in Captain McCarthy’s glass, and after givin’ it a nod of approval, he fills up the other guests’ glasses.

“Gilbert, I’m expectin’ another guest. When she shows, kindly escort her to our table, capisce?”

“Sure thing, Captain. What’s the name of yer expected guest?”

“Pirate Jenny.”

“Certainly, sir. We know Miss Jenny. I’ll bring her right over.”

McCarthy raises his glass and proposes a toast. “If youse could all raise yer glasses with me, I propose a toast to friends old and new.”

“To friends!” the crew chimes in.

“Before we start orderin’ grub, I highly recommend the Fillet of Native Grouper Meuniere. But lemme tell ya, everythin’ on the menu is delectable.”

Soon enough, Gilbert escorts a stunning dame to the table. McCarthy introduces her, “Folks, it’s my honor to present a close friend of mine, Miss Jenny, known in these parts as ‘Pirate Jenny’. Can’t remember how that moniker got started, maybe it has to do with that pistol stashed in her belt. She represents Haig and MacTavish, a British Scotch Whisky wholesaler. We’ve done a ton o’ business together.”

“Thank ya, Bill, for such a flatterin’ intro. I ain’t sure if I can live up to it. Also, thank ya for agreein’ to ship me and 5000 cases o’ Scotch to New York. This may be my last trip, Bill, I’m worried that my luck is runnin’ out. Pinched once fer smugglin’ a thousand barrels o’ whisky and rum into New Orleans. The bulls dropped the charges. But I ain’t countin’ on Lady Luck smilin’ on me next time. So far, I ain’t doin’ a stretch in the joint, and I ain’t pushin’ up daisies. I aim to keep it that way. Got enough dough to buy anythin’ I please and live the high life ’til the end of my days. It’s time fer me to cash in my chips and take a hike.”

“Gee, Miss Jenny,” piped up Amelia, “I’m real pleased ta make yer acquaintance. Ya got yerself quite the reputation, like a damn movie star. I’d be thrilled to hear more ’bout yer wild escapades.”

“Much obliged fer the flattery, but I ain’t one fer stealin’ the spotlight. We’ll have ample time ta jaw on the Adelaide. Bill says yer lookin’ to be a wordsmith. I dabble in writin’ myself. Might even jot down my memoirs one day. At the Lucerne Hotel, them newspaper scribblers and yarn spinners would plant their butts at the bar for hours, gatherin’ juicy material ta spin into tales.

“Bill ‘n’ me been huddlin’ up with them other rum runners all damn day. The meetin’ got real heated, I tell ya. Each one of ’em only lookin’ out fer their own pockets, tryin’ to squeeze out every last penny they can. We don’t know how long this here prohibition gonna drag on, nor how trigger-happy them Coast Guard fellas gonna get. You’ve seen ’em blastin’ their cannons at the Adelaide. Where’s it all gonna end? On top of that, them Purple Gang rats are comin’ at us, pilferin’ our precious cargo. Anyway, enough of that, now’s the time to chow down and wet our whistles, puttin’ our worries off ’til tomorrow. I’d like to propose a toast to my new shipmates. Bottoms up!”

…

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