A Glibertarians Exclusive:  Sweetheart, Part V

Waterloo, Iowa – August 1933

Mid-morning, on her third day of captivity.  Maggie heard two voices outside the bedroom door.  One was whiny, high-pitched for a man’s voice: “Do you really think they’ll repeal Prohibition?  Because that will hurt us.”

“Shut up,” the other, deeper voice replied.  “If it’s repealed, it’s repealed.  Boss will figure out what to do next.”

Still at least two men, standing outside my door, Maggie realized.  The old man really doesn’t want me going anywhere.  Must be some big deal he’s hatched.  Just goes to show, steal big enough and you’re above the law.

I hope Paul figures out what’s happened to me.  I hope he can do something to get me out of here.  Next time, I’ll make sure we get beyond Grandfather’s reach.

The door burst open.  “Grandfather?” Maggie asked, startled by the sudden entry.

“Get dressed up.  Nice and pretty.  We’re going to meet your fiancé.”

***

Black Hawk County, Iowa – the previous afternoon

Now I know where to go.

There were advantages to working for a newspaper.  Most of his colleagues had heard of the Gilliards.  A couple of them knew where the ‘family’ home was, on a sprawling, run-down estate in Waterloo, about sixty miles away.  Forewarned, Paul climbed into his Hudson that afternoon and set out, his old Army .45 stuck in his jacket pocket.  He had toyed with the idea of stopping at a gun store he knew in Marshalltown; they had a 1928 Thompson submachine gun in the rack, but Paul had figured that was too obvious, and he couldn’t afford it in any case.

Right after pulling onto the state highway that led east to Waterloo, Paul was surprised to hear a sharp bang from one of his rear tires.  The old Hudson immediately dragged to the right, so he guided it over to the side of the road and stopped.

He got out and walked around the auto.  Sure enough, he thought.  Must have hit a nail or something.  How am I going to fix a flat with this leg?  He reached down to where his leg ended and the prosthetic leg began, tapping idly on the straps that held it in place.  Get the patch kit and tools out, then detach my leg?  Might be easier…

He heard the rattle of an engine, growing closer.  When he turned, an old Model A Ford was pulling off on the shoulder just behind the Hudson.  A man got out, a small man in trousers, shirt and tie.  His hands were work-roughened, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent behind round spectacles.  “Need a hand?”

“I sure could,” Paul said.  He rapped on his wooden leg.  “Kind of hard with this leg.”

“The war?”

“Belleau Wood,” Paul agreed.

“Heh.  Marine, eh?  I joined up, too, in 1917.  Army.  Never got farther than Camp Johnson, down by Des Moines.  Was on KP one day, the Colonel came in with some quail he had shot, asked if someone would cook them for a function he was hosting.  He had to ask, see, as it was personal, not a duty thing.  I said I’d cook ‘em, and he liked ‘em so much he kept me there as a cook for the duration.  Anyway.  Let’s have a look at that tire.”

Two young boys spilled out of the Ford.  Paul guessed them at ten and twelve.  A woman’s voice called from the Model A: “Neil?  What is it?”

“Going to help this fellow fix his tire, Clara,” the small man – Neil – called back.  “Won’t be a moment.  Donald, Loren,” he said to the boys, “Get back in the car with your mother.  I won’t be long.”

Thirty minutes later, the job was done.  A patch on the inner tube did the trick.  “I sure do thank you,” Paul said.  The two men shook hands.

“All in a day’s work for me.  I’m a mechanic.  Been out west visiting my brother.  You drive safe, now.”

Neil walked back to his Ford.  Paul got back in the Hudson, started it up, and got going.  A horseshoe nail, he reminded himself.  Can’t remember the last time I saw a horseshoe nail.  Then he thought for a moment and slapped the steering wheel.  “Hah!  That’s it!  Just hope I can find a hardware store still open.”

He found one, in the little town of Dike, west of Cedar Falls.  The owner of the small store was just locking the door when Paul rolled up, but a folded ten-dollar bill persuaded him to open it back up, and when Paul bought an entire twenty-pound keg of nails, his face broke out in a large grin.  Paul loaded the nail keg in the back of the Hudson and drove on. I should get there well after dark, he thought.  I’ll want to wait until late to make my move.

Paul parked in the small lot of a public park a few blocks away from the Gilliard mansion and waited, dozing, until an hour past midnight.  He idled the Hudson carefully up to the road in front of the Billiard estate; as he suspected, there was one light on in an upstairs bedroom, and a light on over the front door.  He didn’t see anyone standing outside on watch.

Amateurs, he thought bitterly.

He pulled the nail keg out of the back of the Hudson.  There was a big garage on the rear of the property, and a big black Packard parked in the drive.  Paul scattered nails around the Packard and in front of the garage, paying particular attention to getting them in front of and behind the Packard and away from the doors.  Hopefully no one will see the nails in the dark until they run over them.  Now – how do I get Maggie’s attention?

Then, a stroke of luck; a face appeared in the one window where a light was on.  A feminine face: the light behind struck a coppery halo from her red hair.

Paul picked up a pebble and shied it at the window.  The face looked down; then the window opened.  A stage whisper: “Paul?  Is that you?”

“It’s me.  Can you be ready in five minutes?”

“I can.  There’s a side door.”  She pointed to the west side of the big house.  “Meet me there.  We’ll have to move fast, though!”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Paul stumped back to the Hudson, started it up, left the lights off.  He ticked off the time on his watch.

When five minutes was up, he drove straight across the moth-eaten lawn to the side door.  Maggie appeared throwing a small carpet bag and a leather briefcase into the back of the car.  Leaping in the front seat next to Paul, she said “Go!  Go!”

Paul hit the gas and let go of the clutch.  As lights came on in the mansion, the Hudson dug two grooves in the yard of the big house as he ran across the lawn to the street, turning right and heading for the highway.

“They’ll be following us,” Maggie warned.

“Not right away,” Paul said, and explained why.  For the next mile, he had trouble driving, as Maggie’s arms were around his neck, as she kissed him repeatedly, crying all the while.

Finally, she calmed down, and explained all that had happened.  “We can’t go back to Marshalltown,” she said at last.  “What are we going to do?”

“Well,” Paul said, “I brought all the cash I had.  I should be able to get us to the Dakotas, at least.  If I can find some kind of work…”

“I have a better idea.”  Maggie turned and dragged the leather briefcase out of the back seat, put it in her lap, and opened it.

“Holy Moley!  How much money is that?”

Maggie grinned.  “Twenty thousand dollars.  That was part of Grandfather’s deal with the Chicago bunch – my dowry.  I figured it was mine, anyway, so why not bring it along?”

Paul laughed.  “Well, that changes things.  So, where do you want to go?”

“How does Hawaii grab you?

***

Honolulu – December 1934

The money Maggie had brought along paid for fare to Hawaii, and enough was left for a down payment on a business that would support them – a block of apartments along Honolulu’s Ala Wai Canal.  “It should be a good investment,” Paul said.  “I can take care of most of the maintenance.  You can handle the business end.  The fellow selling says all the apartments are full now, except of course for the owner’s apartment.  Mostly Navy nurses from the hospital at Aiea.”  Now they sat side-by-side on wicker lounge chairs, on the small veranda of that owner’s apartment, having only that day moved their few possessions in.

“That sounds good.”  Maggie looked up to where the breeze was fluttering the fronds of a palm tree.  “It’s like paradise here, isn’t it?  And just you and me.  I’ll be happy here forever, Paul, as long as you’re here with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.  Not after all it took to get here.”

“As long as I’m finally away from that family.  If I stay away from the States, then we’ll be safe.  Who could find us, here, in Hawaii?  I don’t see how we could have gone much further from Waterloo, by God, Iowa.”

“Hell, hon,” Paul said, “it will be 1935 soon.  Imagine that.  And we’ve got a good place.  Good new start.  I mean, what the hell could ever happen to Honolulu or Pearl Harbor?”

He put his arm around her.  She leaned into him.

***

Got to be an important person to be in here, honey.

Got to have done some evil deed.

Got to have your own harem when you come in the door.

Got to play your harp until your lips bleed.

 

They say that patriotism is the last refuge,

To which a scoundrel clings.

Steal a little and they throw you in jail,

Steal a lot and they make you king.

There’s only one step down from here, baby,

It’s called the land of permanent bliss.

What’s a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?