Amelia and Jenny reclined on the deck of the Adelaide, their fingers wrapped around the stem of crystal glasses filled with potent elixirs, adorned with frivolous umbrellas. Amelia, her eyes glinting with curiosity, leaned closer to Jenny, her voice oozing with intrigue, and posed the question that danced on her lips, “Jenny, my dear, this libation tantalizes my senses. Pray reveal its name, won’t you?”
“‘Tis called the Bahama Mama Cocktail, my dear Amelia,” Jenny replied, her voice carrying the echoes of a smoky lounge singer. She took a slow sip, savoring the blend of flavors dancing on her tongue. “An ode to my dear companion, Dottie Lee Anderson—a calypso crooner and dancer, born and raised in the heart of Nassau. It’s a symphony of fine rum, raspberry and banana liqueur, crushed ice, the nectar of pineapples and oranges, all kissed with a splash of grenadine. A concoction fit for sweltering days, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely,” Amelia affirmed, her voice as smooth as aged bourbon. “While we were trading memoirs, I took the liberty of investigating your enigmatic past. The Lucerne Hotel, it beckoned me. And there, they whispered, ‘She doesn’t cling to a single origin, oh no. She weaves a different tale for each inquisitive soul. Born in the golden hills of California, or was it amidst the colorful tapestry of India? Perhaps she wandered as a free-spirited gypsy? Ah, but no, they say she grew up amidst the cornfields of the Midwest.’ Which rendition do you choose, Jenny?”
Jenny let out a throaty chuckle, a smoky haze of mystery shrouding her words. “Ah, Amelia, I do relish the art of keeping folks guessing,” she confessed. “Yet, within the pages of my memoirs, I strive to unravel the truth. I emerged into this world in 1888, Bowling Green, Ohio, as the youngest sprout of a sprawling brood of ten. Fate robbed me of my ma at a tender age, and with my pa unable to wrangle the chaos, we were left teetering on the precipice of orphanhood. Determined to carve my own path, I embarked on a journey that led me to the sinewy heart of New York City. I started my ascent as a stenographer, tirelessly pounding away at typewriter keys, until I scaled the jagged rungs of the corporate ladder, landing a post as a junior accounts clerk at none other than Haig and MacTavish, esteemed purveyors of the finest Scotch whisky.”
“When the dark shadow of Prohibition crept upon our land, I sowed the seeds of opportunity within the fertile soil of my employer’s mind. I convinced them that smuggling liquor from the balmy embrace of the Bahamas would be a venture rife with riches. In Nassau’s seedy underbelly, I orchestrated the arrival of European vessels, their cargo brimming with the forbidden elixir. Deals were struck with the rum-runners, my influence casting a clandestine veil over the transactions. Business flourished, my dear, flourishing to the tune of a 400 percent surge in sales.”
Amelia’s eyes sparkled with intrigue, her voice hushed with reverence. “Tell me, Jenny, why do they bestow upon you the moniker of Pirate Jenny?”
Jenny’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, wrapped in a cloak of mystique. “Ah, my dear Amelia, that was a twist of fate, a happenstance that clung to me like barnacles on the worn hull of a pirate ship. Some wretched soul christened me with that name, and it seeped into the very marrow of my being. There exists a haunting melody, a ballad known as ‘Pirate Jenny,’ which I find myself drawn to, like a moth to the flickering glow of a forbidden flame. I may not possess the gift of silver-tongued oration, but allow me to share a glimpse of its verses, if it pleases you:
By noontime the dock
is aswarming with men
Coming out from the ghostly freighter
They move in the shadows
where no one can see
And they’re chaining up people
and they’re bringing ‘em to me
Asking me, “Kill them now or later?”
Asking me, “Kill them now or later?”
Noon by the clock, and so still at the dock
You can hear a foghorn miles away
And in the quiet of death, I’ll say,
“Right now. Right now!”
And they pile up the bodies, and I’ll say,
“That’ll learn ya!” And the ship
The black freighter
Disappears out to sea, and on it is me
Ha!
“It’s a somber song, ain’t it? I gotta admit, bein’ named after such a gloomy tune don’t exactly thrill me.”
“Listen, see, Low-Dive Jenny, she’s a downtrodden dame, workin’ her fingers to the bone as a maid in some godforsaken inn. She craves vengeance against them scoundrels who mock her day in and day out. That’s the part I can relate to, ya know? The rest might be exaggerated, but I ain’t gonna lie, sometimes the thought of slicin’up my enemies gives me a bit of comfort. Maybe I’m a tad paranoid, but there are folks out there who wanna see me six feet under.
Somethin’ else that really got me was divin’ into the tales of pirates, thanks to Captain Charles Johnson. His stories entertained me with the adventures of Anne Bonny and Mary Read—fierce dames who didn’t play by nobody’s rules. These gals defied every damn societal norm thrown their way. Captain ‘Calico Jack’ Rackham, along with Anne and Mary, took hold of an armed ship in Nassau, leavin’ a trail of pillaged vessels scatterin’ across the Caribbean’s shores. It was out on them rough seas that Read and Bonny showed their unmatched skills, outshinin’ even the most seasoned buccaneer. None among their crew possessed a greater resolve or willingness to face danger head-on than these two women. When their vessel was assaulted and the clash grew near, it was only Mary and Anne who stood their ground upon the deck. Mary, with her fiery spirit, beckoned those lurking below to rise and fight like men. Yet, met with silence, she unleashed a hail of gunfire upon them, claiming the life of one and leaving several wounded in her wake.
“Amidst the tumultuous sea of piracy, Mary Read’s lover found himself embroiled in a bitter dispute with one of his fellow buccaneers. Their ship, anchored near a desolate island, became the chosen battleground for their showdown, adhering to the ruthless code of the pirates. Mary, consumed by an anguished restlessness, feared for her lover’s fate. She could not bear the thought of him being labeled a coward if he were to decline the challenge. Yet, on the other hand, she harbored deep apprehension, for she suspected the adversary might prove too formidable. Driven by her unwavering loyalty, Mary resolved to confront the antagonist herself. She issued a direct challenge, electing to face him onshore, deliberately setting the rendezvous two hours ahead of the appointed meeting with her lover. With sword and pistol in hand, she engaged in a deadly duel, clashing with her foe, and ultimately claimed his life in an instant, extinguishing his presence from this world.
“Jenny, darlin’, those words you spin, they reach down into the pit of my stomach. I got this sensation stirrin’ within, deep in my gut, tellin’ me I got the strength to take control. I ain’t gonna be shackled by no man. You’ve awoken a savage force in me, and I’m itch in’ to let it loose, see what chaos I can stir up. I’m fixin’ to grab this whole damn world by the throat.”
“Well, Amelia, that sure does put a smile on my face. I always knew beneath that delicate facade, there burned the fire of a true renegade. You’re a pirate through and through, my friend.
“In some ways, the flappers of our time got that same rebellious spirit. Not by brandishing swords but by flipping the bird at convention, lightin’ up their smokes with a big ol’ ‘screw you,’ raisin’ their glasses to lips society deemed forbidden, and dancin’ their hearts out. These modern sirens fought for women’s freedom—socially, politically, and, hell, even sexually. The older folks called ’em wild, rowdy, a stain on the decent fabric of society, but they reveled in their unapologetic liberation, embracin’ a life others deemed disgraceful.
Amelia asked, “Tell me about you and Jim. You two got a long history.”
“Yeah, see, me and Jim, we’ve been buddies for a good while now. We’ve had our share of ups and downs, ya know? But we respect each other, sharin’ similar ideals and dreams. No romance between us, though. Jim, he’s into younger dames, ya catch my drift? In 1919, at the ripe age of forty-two, he tied the knot with a gal barely twenty winters old. But that gal skipped town just six months later. As for me, I ain’t lookin’ for no weddin’ bells. My love life is lively, and it suits me just fine. Now, I can see there’s a soft spot for Jim in your heart, doll. So go ahead, take your shot. Enjoy life while you can, ya know? The times we’re livin’ in, they’re damn chaotic and dangerous. That’s why I reckon it’s time for me to hang up my hat and retire.”
Amelia pondered, her thoughts drifting in a haze of nostalgia and desire. “This kind of life, it creeps into your bones, doesn’t it? Soaking in the vastness of the ocean, savoring cocktails on sandy shores, or perhaps aboard a grand vessel.”
“Aye, but sooner or later, lass, ye might find yourself yearnin’ for a more gainful occupation. If ye be inclined, I reckon I could set ye on the path of a rum runner. ‘Tis a treacherous trade, no doubt, but one that can reward ye handsomely. There are darker roads to wander, ye ken, and the payoff can be mighty fine.”
“Marvelous, so when do we embark?”
“We’re headin’ towards Rum Row, lass. It is the perfect place to commence our venture.”
“In that case,” inquired Amelia with a touch of intrigue, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion, “what’s the inside scoop on this gig, see? I ain’t one for heaving hefty cargo, I’ll tell ya that.”
“No need to fret ’bout that, doll. We got our muscle to handle the heavy lifting onshore and aboard the ship. The big shot in charge, Captain Jim, he’s the top dog, callin’ the shots when it comes to loading and unloading the goods. There’s a young whippersnapper, the Ship’s Mate, takin’ care of all the damned paperwork involved.”
“The hooch is packed tight in six bottles, wrapped in straw, stacked up all fancy. Three at the bottom, two in the middle, and one toppin’ it off, all bundled up snug in burlap. We got ourselves some fancy nicknames for ’em, like ‘burlocks’ or ‘sacks’ or ‘hams’.”
“Now, here’s where you come into play. We dangle the price lists over the ship’s side, lettin’ the buyers know what’s on offer and the price they gotta pay. We allow two buyers aboard at a time. They’ll give you their order, and the young cargo officer collects it. You’ll jot down a bill of sale, and those fools hand you the cold, hard cash, just like in a regular store. Once they’re off the ship, two more chumps take their place. Easy as pie, see?” Amelia’s voice quivered with a tinge of unease, “Sounds like a dangerous business, boss.”
“Don’t you worry, dollface. We got you covered. Up front, we got a hidden machine gunner, ready to deal with any funny business that comes our way.” Amelia hesitated, her doubts etched upon her face, as she spoke, “All this talk of guns ain’t my cup of tea, see? I’ve led a sheltered life, never had to resort to firearms. If I had a squabble with someone, I’d let out a scream, give ’em a slap, maybe even a scratch. But pullin’ a trigger? It ain’t my style.” “I understand where you’re comin’ from, sweetheart. Truly, I do. I ain’t sayin’ you gotta go blastin’ folks left and right. Just the sight of a gun can make those scoundrels think twice. You dig?” “I know it’s a heavy burden to bear, and I see it’s rattlin’ ya. Tell you what, I’ll fetch ya another drink. We’ll gaze out at the ocean, watch them dolphins dancin’, and come supper time, you’ll see things in a whole new light. We can have a chat with Captain Jim, or as you prefer to call him, Jimmy. Maybe he’s got some ideas to calm your nerves, see?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Captain Jim’s voice boomed across the joint, capturing everyone’s attention, “we got ourselves a special treat from our top-notch cook tonight. To kick things off, he’ll be servin’ a mean Prawn Cocktail, followed by a damn fine Conch Salad. Now, for the main event, prepare your taste buds for some mouth-watering’ Grilled Chimichurri Pork Roast, accompanied by Baked Rice Milanaise. And to satisfy your sweet tooth, we got a heavenly Bahamian Rum Cake. As for your drinks, the choice is yours, but we’ll be showcasin’ the Side Car. Bon appétit!”
“Amelia,” the captain leaned in, his gaze smoldering, “would you do me the honor of sittin’ by my side?”
“Sure thing, Captain,” Amelia responded coyly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“Amelia, word is that Jenny let it slip ’bout trainin’ ya to take over some of her duties. She’s thinkin’ ’bout retirin’ from the rum game. How does that strike ya? Somethin’ you fancy?”
“It sounds like a real challenge, Captain. I’d be thrilled to give it a whirl.” “Glad to hear that. Trustworthy folks are as scarce as hen’s teeth in this line of work. The Mafia’s always tryin’ to muscle in, and those Purple Gang hoodlums are causin’ havoc for the go-fast boats loadin’ from our ship. And don’t even get me started on them thievin’ vultures over in Nassau.”
“You sure know how to pitch a job, Captain. Just hope I make it out alive.”
“Look, I ain’t here to sugarcoat things or lead ya down the garden path. What we do here ain’t no child’s play. Among the folks guzzlin’ our hooch are the big-shot bootleggers who control and stock thousands of speakeasies across the nation. I’m talkin’ ’bout names that send chills down your spine like Big Bill Dwyer, that slippery snake “Lucky” Luciano in New York, and that infamous son of a gun, Al Capone, holdin’ court in Chicago. These ain’t the kind of people you wanna cross, my friend. Trust me on that one.” The captain’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, his gaze intense. “They got connections, power, and an army of thugs ready to snap your neck if you so much as give ’em the evil eye. So, tread carefully, keep your trap shut, and make damn sure you don’t ruffle their feathers. It’s a dangerous game we’re playin’, and the consequences can be deadly, see?”
“Another thing, kid. You gotta think about your sister. How’s she gonna take the news if you decide to go through with this?” Amelia’s expression turned pensive as she weighed the implications.
“Well, my sister’s always been a tough nut. She’s got her own dreams and ambitions, ya know? I reckon she’ll understand that this is an opportunity for me, a chance to make somethin’ of myself in this cutthroat business.” The captain nodded, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.
“I hope you’re right, sweetheart. Family ties can be a double-edged knife in this line of work. But if you’re willin’ to take the risk, I’ll have your back every step of the way.”
Amelia smiled, determination glinting in her eyes. “Thanks, Captain. With you watchin’ my back, I won’t let anyone down, especially my sister.”
“Alright, enough jawin’ for now. I’ve spilled the beans and laid it all out on the table. Take your time, sleep on it, and give me your answer come mornin’. Tomorrow’s gonna be a damn big day, mark my words. Rum Row’s gonna be swarmin’ with up to a hundred ships like ours, loaded to the gills with hooch. We’ll be packed in there like sardines, elbow to elbow, trippin’ over each other just tryin’ to get our business done. It’s gonna be a madhouse, a real three-ring circus.” The captain’s voice trailed off, leaving a thick cloud of smoke hanging in the dimly lit room. He leaned back in his worn-out chair, the creaking sound echoing through the air. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, locked onto mine, and a sly grin slithered across his weathered face. It was the kind of smile that held secrets and promises, a glimpse into the twisted dance of shadows and secrets that plagued this city.
“But you know, kid,” he drawled, his gravelly voice slicing through the silence like a switchblade. “What separates the men from the boys, or in your case, the tough cookie dames from the little dolls, is somethin’ special. It’s that coolness, that level-headedness that sets the winners apart from the losers. When the whole damn world turns into a cesspool of trouble, it’s the ones who keep their heads straight that come out on top. Could be smoother than a silk sheet, or it might spiral into a hellish nightmare. We never know until we’re waist-deep in the muck. So, kid, get some shuteye, gather your wits, and gird yourself for what lies ahead. Tomorrow, we unveil the hand fate’s dealt us.”
The room exhaled a heavy breath, carrying the scent of whiskey and desperation. Shadows danced on the peeling wallpaper, casting their eerie ballet across the cracked linoleum floor. The world outside these walls was a chaotic tango of corruption and despair, and we were the last bastion of order in this crumbling city. I knew his words held weight, heavy as a lead pipe wrapped in desperation. The captain, with his scarred soul and eyes that had seen too much, had a knack for cutting through the smoke and mirrors. In this twisted game of chance and deceit, he was the only one who truly knew the rules. As I left the captain’s office, his warning echoed in my mind like a haunting refrain. The city streets beckoned, an urban jungle teeming with predators and prey. I tightened my grip on the collar of my trench coat, the fabric a shield against the lurking darkness. Level heads, that’s what I needed. Coolness under fire, a steely resolve to navigate the treacherous alleys and backstabbing alley cats that awaited me. I stepped into the night, the moon peeking through the clouded sky, casting an ethereal glow on the city’s twisted architecture. Tomorrow, when the dawn broke and the city awakened, I would plunge headfirst into the heart of this labyrinth. The cards would be dealt, the game would begin, and I would be damned if I didn’t come out on top. In the streets of this urban jungle, I would find the truth. Whether it led to redemption or ruin, only time would tell. But one thing was certain – in this world of smoke and shadows, I was about to play a dangerous game, where every step forward could be a step closer to salvation or a plunge into the abyss.
…
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