Magnolia City (23 page)

As 1928 bubbled over into 1929, people all over Harris County began referring to Garret and Odell as the Tequila Kings. The bartenders even invented cocktails using the exotic new ingredients: Milk o’ the Lily involved cream in some way, and the Dry Snake was a popular mix of citrus, salt, and silver garnished with a coiling twist of lime.

Hetty enjoyed their success thoroughly. Never had she known a New Year so spangled with promise, a winter so cushioned with luxury. Her husband was making thirty times the average salary, so she no longer had to restrain herself. There were new fur coats to snuggle into, new rings sparkling at her fingertips, new gowns of a breathless elegance to wear out dancing at clubs where the bandleaders were their customers. Garret spent $488.99 on one ring alone, hoping to show her that Lamar wasn’t the only one who could afford to buy diamonds. The flow of money reached flood stage, and they spent it recklessly, happily, feeling wildly rich and more in love than ever.

Christmas day dawned mild and sunny, as it often did in Houston. On a trellis overlooking the driveway, climbing roses bloomed, while in the still-green post oak shading their bedroom, she heard a redbird trilling his traditional spring song. The screen was broken on one of the windows of their bedroom, so Hetty reached through and hung a Japanese lantern in the branches. She would light a candle in it to signal when she was feeling amorous, which was often.

Garret wanted to go on living in the apartment over the garage so he could be near the thriving business downstairs. Hetty agreed on one condition, that she could take some of the thick wads of cash he handed her every week and give the place a little more swank. She wanted a whole new kitchen and bathroom. As soon as the renovation was finished, she promised Garret, they would start saving toward a well. Odell had told them about a mysterious new syndicate that promised to discover “an ocean of oil” somewhere in Texas. Garret wanted to get himself a lease in the field right away, but Odell refused to disclose the location of this important new find. He seemed to enjoy tantalizing Garret with the news, saying only, “I have bought myself a share.” Meanwhile, Hetty hired Henry Picktown for the heavy work of updating their carriage house, spending the cold rainy months of February and March picking out paint colors and going on shopping sprees downtown at Munn’s.

At nine a.m. every morning except Sunday, Pick showed up for breakfast, then spent the day sanding woodwork and stripping off the old, faded wallpaper. They lacquered the walls the color of lipstick and the woodwork black as mascara to match Hetty’s Chinese dresser. He added a closet in the bedroom, muscled her new golden oak kitchen cabinet up the stairs, and helped the plumber wedge clean white fixtures into the bath. While Pick worked, he sang one of the spirituals he’d learned singing in the choir at Elijah Missionary Baptist Church, his deep-set voice booming over the drum of rain on the roof:

The apartment was finished by mid-April. Hetty began having the Weemses up for Sunday dinner every week to toast the completion of the weekly run to Duval County. She gloried in the new elegance around her, spreading out elaborate feasts on a round pedestal dining table. Even Pearl was impressed by the luster of the service Hetty set, gleaming with candlelight across diamond-cut crystal and Stieff sterling silver. Oriental carpets spread underfoot, a portiere hung over every door, and music drifted by from a new Silvertone Radio. Hetty was in her element. Small though they were, these four rooms became home. She could call them “a carriage house” now with complete confidence. She even mailed in the application for the Cupola Club.

In early May, Garret and Odell were late coming back from a liquor run. They always returned by Friday afternoon, in time to unload the Lincoln and make deliveries for the evening shift. When they hadn’t returned by five p.m., Hetty began to fret. She called Pearl to see if she’d heard anything.

“What can’t be cured must be endured, I always say. I wouldn’t worry if I was you, hon. It’s probably just the pack train being late.” Pearl chattered for a while, her words taking the edge off Hetty’s fears. But she still spent a restless night, curling into the sheets, listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She had good reason to be worried. She had just that day read in the
Post-Dispatch
that Congress had passed a law elevating the selling of liquor to a felony punishable by ten years in prison and a ten-thousand-dollar fine. She remembered the name because it sounded so innocuous. The Jones Act.

By Saturday afternoon, she was beginning to get calls from their clients. Garret had tutored her in the language of liquor dealing. She was never to offend the customer by using direct speech; she was to keep everything vague and impersonal while still delivering the necessary information. Some of the voices she recognized; others were strange. Most were polite; a few were rude and pushy. She would have stopped answering the phone altogether, but every time it rang, she hoped to hear her husband’s voice on the other end.

Later, she turned on the radio and tried to distract herself. She stretched out on her new chaise lounge and listened to “the RKO Hour,” then caught an episode of
Amos ’n’ Andy
. Andy was giving Amos a hard time about not working.

“Where yo’ taxi?”

“At de mechanic.”

“Is dat automobile broke?”

“Nosir, it fixed.”

“Den how come yo’ ain’t driving it?”

“Ain’t got de money.”

“How yo gonna make de money widout de taxi?”

“Yo’ gonna float me a loan.”

“A loan? I tell yo’ what. Yo’ don’t get dat car out yo’ gonna be alone awright. All alone.”

Laughter relaxed her and, without realizing it, she drifted off, dipping into a shallow sleep in a warm bubbling pool, waking only hours later when the phone echoed through her hypnotic dreams. Static crackled from the radio. Half awake, she turned the knob off and fumbled for the receiver, thinking it would be Garret at last.

Instead, it was Pearl. “Any news?” Hetty asked sleepily.

“Nothing but bad to tell,” Pearl sobbed.

Hetty threw the receiver back onto its sleeve and slid off the chaise, wide-awake. She shoved her feet into shoes and rushed down the stairs. It was a clear spring evening, the air soft, slightly scented. She looked up. The crescent moon cut its way through the stars, razor-sharp. Gleams of white light glinted along the driveway, which was empty. No brougham.
Pearl must have gotten a phone call,
she told herself. The big house loomed over her, lightless from the looks of it. Hetty felt her way to the screen door, edged into the kitchen, and stood perplexed.

Darkness chilled the room. Only one ceiling fixture had been flicked on, out in the hallway, driving a stake of light across the breakfast nook. Garret sat there alone, his face in his hands.
What’s he doing here?
Then, something moved in the shadows. A hand, all bone and nail, grappled onto Hetty’s arm.

“Nothing but bad to tell,” came the strangled voice. Hetty put her arm around Pearl’s frail shoulders and felt them shaking. She took the woman in her arms and held her tight while she cried. She kept glancing over at Garret for an explanation. The skin on his hands had been torn. She held on to Pearl while the sobs came choking out, stroking her back. “They got Odell, hon,” she was finally able to say. Hetty lowered Pearl onto a kitchen stool in the dark and went over to Garret. She slid her hands into his and pulled them away from his face. She gasped. It was horribly scratched.

“Honey, what happened? Where’s Odell?”

His eyes were lowered. He wouldn’t look at her. “Odell’s still there,” he said in a dry, hollow voice. “They almost got me, too.”

Pearl rocked back and forth, repeating, “I’ve rolled snake eyes again.” Then she started moaning. Hetty held Garret, not knowing what to say. The moans welled in the gloom, raw and distressing, then settled into quiet weeping that ended with a hostile whisper. “You left him, didn’t you?”

Anguish twisted Garret’s face as he looked across the room. “I’m sorry, Pearl. I’m really sorry. But there wasn’t anything I could do—you got to believe me.”

“Just tell us what happened,” Hetty breathed.

“I need a drink first.”

Hetty went into the dining room and retrieved a bottle of mescal from the sideboard. She found some snifters in the china cabinet and poured them each a generous shot. Garret downed his in two gulps. In a tense, ragged voice, he tried to explain to Pearl what had happened.

“First of all, the pack train was delayed. It didn’t get there till yesterday—late afternoon. We made the exchange as usual. Odell was over at the trough paying Seca. The car was backed up to the live oak tree—the one we always parked under for shade. I had climbed into the trunk to lift up the false bottom when I heard a shout:
¡El lobo!
”

“The wolf—” Hetty whispered.

“Then there were gunshots. I crawled into the cavity where we put the bottles and pulled the false bottom over me. I lay there in the dark, breathing axle grease, trying to figure out what the hell was going on from the sounds. There was a lot of gunfire, back and forth. I heard screaming in Spanish, horses running by. Then, everything became quiet. Deathly quiet.”

“What happened to Odell?” Pearl asked.

“I couldn’t see what happened. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I just lay there, utterly still, hoping they wouldn’t discover me. I was afraid to breathe too loudly. Then the other sounds started.”

Hetty took a long shot of liquor before asking, “Other sounds?”

“Yeah.” Garret swallowed. “The sounds of the wounded men. It was awful, honey. I’ve never heard such piteous cries. They must have been in unbearable pain. I just kept thinking, a few minutes earlier and that might’ve been me out there, bleeding to death. They would cry out, begging, then I’d hear a dull thud, and the voice would be silenced. Before long, all was calm again. I waited until the voices drew away and I knew it must be growing dark. I slipped out without a sound and made sure no one saw me. I peered around the hood and saw rangers in the lighted windows of the ranch house. Two others patrolled the cars, making it impossible for me to drive away. I hid behind the tree, then tiptoed into the brush.”

“The brush?” Hetty knew what that meant.

“Yeah! The brush. Chaparral up to my hips, no gloves on, hardly any light left. That’s why I got scratched so bad.” He groped in his pockets, wincing as his wounds stung. “You got a smoke, honey?”

Hetty was about to say no, when a bony hand lifted a red pack of Lucky Strikes into the light. “Thanks, Pearl.” Garret latched on to a cigarette with obvious relief, gulping smoke a couple of times before going on. Pearl sat opposite them in the nook.

“I looked for a
sendero
—paths they cut along the fences. I made it into town, went to Rodriguez Grocery. The store was closed, but I knew he lived in the back. I knocked on the rear door. Severino answered—that’s Mr. Rodriguez. I must have looked a fright because he crossed himself when he saw me. I had blood dripping down my face. But he knew who I was and let me in. He told me some things. The raid came from
los federales,
he said. They sent in Lone Wolf Gonzaullas, a sergeant in the Texas Rangers. The Mexicans fear him more than anybody. One of their own that defected to the other side. He led the raid. It’s part of a crackdown.”

Hetty nodded. “It was in the paper. Running’s now a felony. The Jones Act. But why did they kill Mexicans?”

“Told to. The governor’s declared war on
tequileros
. He made an announcement, Severino said. They are now considered an armed invasion of the United States, to be destroyed like any other foreign army would be. That’s why they sent in the Wolf.”

“They’re serious about this, aren’t they?” Hetty said, lighting herself a Lucky.

“ ’Fraid so. It was a slaughter. Just like that song said—they hunt them down like rabbits.”

“Did they get Seca?” Hetty asked.

Pearl cursed in the darkness. “I don’t care about some snake. What happened to Odell?!”

“The Anglos are alive. All of them.”

“Thank God, thank God,” Pearl moaned.

“Sheriff locked them up, but nobody believes they’ll be there for long. Not in Duval County.”

“So Odell can come home soon?”

“I think you can count on it, Pearlie.
El Patrón
will get them out. When I heard Odell was all right, I figured the best thing I could do was leave town. Severino doesn’t have a phone, and I couldn’t be seen at the hotel. That’s why I didn’t call. He drove me into Alice, where I caught the afternoon train just as it was leaving.”

“And the car?” Hetty asked.

Garret sniggered. “I think you can kiss that good-bye—five thousand dollars’ worth of machinery. Along with a small fortune in mescal.”

They talked for a long time, drinking mescal and passing the Luckies around, reassuring each other in the arms of light that reached down through the smoke floating over their heads.