The Bootlegger’s Legacy (17 page)

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

The next day brought a glorious New Mexico sunrise. Pat paid the bill for the plane and quickly ran through his preflight checklist. In a short time the plane was airborne and headed into the beautiful sunrise, toward Oklahoma.

Like most early morning flights, there was little turbulence. They took a more or less direct route due east, following the highway, which they could see below. Since they were enjoying the flight and dreading it being over, it naturally seemed to go by quickly.

The landing into Wiley Post was not one of Pat’s best, but no one complained. He taxied into the hangar area and waited for one of the field hands to open his hangar so he could park the plane. His Cadillac was parked inside, so they transferred their luggage from the plane to the car—all the while not saying much.

After a short trip to downtown, they pulled up in front of Sally’s apartment. She got out and began unloading her luggage. Pat came around to help her. She put her hand on his arm. “I can handle it from here, Pat. I’ll just leave the key with the apartment manager and tell him that you’ll be by to pick it up. I guess, you know, we should probably just say goodbye and not drag this out.”

Sally seemed to be fine, but Pat was starting to tear up a little. “Sally I wish—”

Sally stopped him by placing a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, I wish things could be different too, but they can’t. I’ll always remember you, Pat. And our great adventures. Now you need to go. Please.”

Pat kissed her gently and got into the car. He drove off without looking back. He sure hoped he was doing the right thing, because he felt like shit right now.

The next few days seemed like a blur to Pat. He went about his business without giving it much thought. Bugs and Mike seemed glad to see him, but they weren’t aware of all of the things that had happened—it was just him coming back after one more of his business trips. They acted normal, and after he’d been home a few hours, started to ignore him, just like usual.

Emerson called him and said he had a message from the Mexicans—they wanted to see Pat in a couple of days and would be in Oklahoma City. Pat called Juan Martinez. He said he and his brother, along with Manuel Reyes, would be in Oklahoma City on Saturday and wondered if they could get together. Pat agreed. They’d be staying at the Skirvin, and they made arrangements to meet in the lobby at about four on Saturday afternoon.

Pat was anxious to know what they wanted, but also reluctant to deal with all the issues of the last week. He knew he couldn’t hide from what was happening, but at the same time wasn’t real eager to jump back into the snake pit that his business dealings had created. He was now one hundred percent sure that he needed to get out—find a life that would never include the kind of tension he’d gone through for the last several days. He had an old acquaintance who was trying to sell his hardware store—maybe that was something he should think about. He knew for damn sure he couldn’t sit at home and listen to Bugs assign him home projects.

He didn’t know anything about the hardware business, but the store had been in Oklahoma City forever and was an institution—“the best little hardware store in OKC.” It would give him a new identity and a place to go. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He got on the phone, called the buddy who owned the store, and set up a meeting for the next week. Now the hard part. He had to get out of the booze business—before it killed him.

The Skirvin was an Oklahoma City landmark. Opened in 1911, it was the most glamorous hotel in Oklahoma City, located right downtown on Park Avenue. The lobby alone was worth the price of admission—soaring ceilings with amazing chandeliers. It was elegance far beyond anything most of the local cowboys had ever seen. Pat was in awe whenever he entered.

Walking into the lobby, Pat immediately saw Manuel Reyes. Looking very much at home in the splendor of the hotel, he was sipping something and reading the paper. Pat walked over and Manuel jumped up and shook his hand. “So good to see you, Mr. Pat. Let me call Juan and Francisco and let them know you have arrived.”

Pat couldn’t help himself, he really like the Mexicans’ manners. For all he knew they might be bad guys—like Giovanni, but more polite—and their next move would be to drop his body in the hotel pool. But there was no question that they sure seemed nicer.

Manuel came back and told Pat that the Martinez brothers wanted him to join them in the presidential suite, where they would be able to conduct their business in private.

Well, maybe not the pool. They would just shove him out the fourteenth story window. They headed to the elevator to ride up to the top floor.

The presidential suite was something to behold. It looked like something out of a movie and it was a little hard to believe that he was still in Oklahoma City. The Martinez brothers greeted him and seemed genuinely glad to see him. There was a large, round table in the middle of the room and they all took seats.

“Pat, we are so sorry you and your lovely companion had such a bad time in El Paso. We feel especially bad that you had been in town to see us.”

Pat said he appreciated their concern. In some ways he was reluctant to ask, but it would seem odd not to inquire about Giovanni. “Do you think Giovanni will give up trying to get my business, or is he still out there waiting?” He was nervous and it showed.

“Mr. Giovanni will not be bothering you any further, Pat. You can just forget about him.”

There was a tone to that statement that led Pat to believe that he shouldn’t make any further inquiries about Mr. Giovanni.

“Pat, you have been a good customer of ours for many years, and we have appreciated your business. During some of the recent unpleasantness you indicated that you were ready to sell and that all you wanted was to be left out of any future business dealings—isn’t that correct?”

“Well, yes, Juan. That’s what I was thinking when I had Giovanni threatening me. Time for me to retire and enjoy my remaining years—why, what are you thinking?”

“We would like to buy your business.”

Pat was a little stunned. He wasn’t sure what that might mean. “Well, I am a bit surprised. How could you guys run the business in Oklahoma?”

“Our friend Manuel Reyes will be the manager. We are going to ask you to assist us in a transition for maybe six months or so—and then maybe be available if we have questions. We are not the hard-nosed type of business people like Giovanni. We believe that customer service and a good product will work better than strong-arm tactics. We will not come in here and try to disrupt things. We will want everything to stay very much like it is now. Manuel has spent a lot of time in Oklahoma and has many relatives in the bar business here and in Texas—we think he will do an excellent job.” Sitting at the table Manuel just smiled.

“Sounds like you’ve thought this through. My main concern is that we don’t turn this into a booze war in the state.”

“Giovanni was a thug. He didn’t know how to do business except by threatening and hurting people. I hope you know, Pat—we do not do business that way. The last thing we want is conflict. We know that we need to keep paying the cost of doing business with the fees you are paying to the officials. We need your help to make a transition. But we guarantee you that if anything goes wrong we will not cause problems. If for some reason it turns ugly, we will just pack up and head home—we will not drag you or anyone you care about into any kind of violence.”

“You’ve both always been fair with me, and I trust you. I’m agreeable in principle to sell you my business. How about the details?”

“Could it be we are talking about money?”

“Yeah, it could be.” Pat was grinning.

“We are going to take your business in good faith in the expectation that we will be able to continue operating the system that you have built over the years, so it makes sense to pay you out of what comes in the future. We propose paying you 5% of the gross revenues for five years. And, let me mention, that we feel we can expand the business from where you have it today. That could be a lot of money, Pat, for your retirement.”

Wow. Pat was quickly calculating in his head. Wow. Without much effort, Pat would reach over a million in that span of time. This was better than anything he had thought.

“I probably owe you my life—and the life of my friend, Sally. This deal is almost too good. Are you sure you want to pay me this much?”

Juan and Francisco laughed. Manuel smiled—he probably thought it was too much also.

“Pat, we will make a handsome profit from what you have built here and in Texas. Plus, we want your goodwill. We want you to be willing to assist us in the transition and also to have a vested interest in helping with any problems that might happen in the future. We think it is a fair price. We appreciate your attitude and think we can make very good business partners. We are ready to do the deal, are you?”

“Yes!” Pat was joyously happy. If only Sally were here to help celebrate. He couldn’t call his wife—she wouldn’t even know what it was they were celebrating. He just sat at the table, grinning.

They sat around the table and discussed details of the deal. Pat told them that he owned buildings in Oklahoma City, El Paso, and Las Cruces. He would continue to operate that part of the business. They said they had understood all along that the buildings would not be included in any deal. They agreed that a handshake was sufficient to close the deal. They would follow up with a vague legal document that would give them both some protection against anyone changing their mind and from any misunderstandings that might come up.

Pat told them about the buildings he owned in Deep Deuce, and they agreed that they would send Pat’s share of revenues to him each month at the address he provided them in Deep Deuce. He suggested they celebrate this new beginning at Trevas Supper Club, one of the buildings he owned, and they agreed.

Trevas Supper Club was rocking with a new jazz band from Chicago. They entered, and Pat and his friends were treated like royalty. The dinner was one of the best Pat had ever had at Trevas. His guests were impressed and seemed to enjoy the music. They were not a rowdy crowd though. His new partners were much more laid back than Pat was used to, but they had a very enjoyable dinner together and then he left them at the hotel at a very early hour. They agreed to stay in touch to finalize any last minute issues. He and Manuel Reyes agreed to meet Monday morning at the hotel to begin the first steps for the Martinez brothers to take over Pat’s business. Pat was elated.

The next week Pat spent quite a lot of time with Manuel, and he was very impressed with the man’s understanding of the bar business, as well as his rapport with the customers. Pat didn’t care much about people’s ethnic background, so he hadn’t really paid attention to how many of his customers were Mexican, but it was more than he would have guessed and they warmed up to Manuel immediately.

The first month passed and the paperwork was signed. Pat spent less and less time with Manuel, and after only a month he was starting to think that his sense that he’d been indispensable to the business had been exaggerated. In another month they might not remember his name.

Pat had contacted Willy Trevas and told him that he was expecting personal shipments of supplies to arrive at the restaurant on a semi-regular basis. When a shipment came, he requested that they place it in the basement and then to let him know it was there. Good news came quickly: within a few weeks he was notified of the first shipment. In the future he needed to think about how to handle these deliveries, but for now this approach would work.

Pat drove over to Deep Deuce to see what they had sent. He always got a kick out of taking his Cadillac into the Deep Deuce—it created quite a stir of envy. But lately he’d been thinking about getting something a bit more low key. Maybe a Ford. He parked in an open spot and went into the building. The shipment had been placed in the basement.

The crate was well sealed and indicated on the outside that it contained restaurant supplies. Once Pat was alone he broke it open—and could not believe his eyes. Stacks and stacks of bills, mostly hundreds and twenties. Exactly how much, he really didn’t care—it was a lot, and in only one month. He was going to have to figure out a way to keep this secure. He had some ideas, but he needed to get it done soon because it looked like the Martinez commissions could add up pretty fast.

Pat had purchased two buildings in Deep Deuce. One was the building leased to Willy Trevas for his nightclub—the other was a vacant building next door. He had bought the one next door for pennies on the dollar because of its history. He’d thought that Willy might want to expand into the vacant building, but that hadn’t happened. The vacant building was going to be his solution to the need for a more secure location for his commissions.

The second building had at one time been a high class hotel. In the 20s it had been one of the nicest small hotels in Oklahoma City—and one of only a few where blacks were welcome. Over the years it had fallen on hard times and operated as a brothel for a while. The police had the property closed when they discovered that a major drug running operation was headquartered there. Since then the city had denied all building permit applications for renovations to it, and it had remained vacant. When Pat purchased it he had thought if he found a tenant he would be able to handle the political battle—but no tenant had emerged, so he had just left it vacant. Now it would be a perfect place to store his fortune.