The seconds dragged on like a sea snail trying to slime its way across the sand, back into the water. Henry had to force himself to remain still.
When Betty finally dropped her hand and started walking toward them, he shot forward, right through the dancing couples crowding the dance floor.
He grasped her arm. “What were you thinking?”
She looked at him and grinned. “I was thinking that you needed proof, and that I could get it.” She waved a slip of paper near his face. “And I did.”
He cared more about her than he did any information. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He wasn’t mad at her for helping; he’d just been scared that something could have happened to her.
“Yes, you did.” She flashed him a smile. “Oh, wait, that was when you thought I was more than a coincidence.”
He bit his tongue at the sassy grin she flashed him, as well as the wink.
“So, spill!” Jane hissed as they all sat down. “What happened? What did he say?”
Henry’s neck muscles tightened as he glanced at the excitement shining on the faces around the table. This was the most unorthodox team he’d ever worked with. Three flappers, a newspaper reporter, and him, an FBI agent. No one in the agency would believe this. No one in the agency had better learn about this. He’d be fired for bringing so many civilians in on an undercover case.
“I told the bartender that my sister and brother-in-law had just gotten married, and that I want to throw a party in their honor, but that I only want Minnesota Thirteen and have been having a hard time finding it,” Betty said, leaning over the table. “I made sure the mole heard me.”
“Oh, I like that name,” Jane whispered. “The mole.”
Henry pressed a hand to his temple and the sting of pain at how she’d exaggerated the word mole to sound like a monster in a story told to a child. “What did he say?”
“He asked me how much I wanted. I told him ten cases.” Betty shrugged as she looked at him. “I wasn’t sure how much you’d need for evidence, but assumed that would be sufficient.”
She’d assumed right. One or two cases could be picked up here or there, but not ten. Only a supplier could provide that many. “Ten cases would be sufficient, and expensive,” Henry answered.
“That’s what he said,” Betty replied. “I told him money was of no concern, and that I might be having another party soon, and would need more then.”
She was good, making Elkin think she had no idea who he was, or that he knew Lane.
Handing him the slip of paper, she said, “Here’s the address. I’m to meet him there night after tomorrow. Nine o’clock, with six hundred dollars.”
“Six hundred dollars!” Jane exclaimed. “Baloney!”
“That’s what he said,” Betty replied, biting on her lip as she looked at him. “Six hundred dollars.”
“I have the money.” Henry picked up the slip of paper. “But you aren’t meeting him.”
“I have to,” Betty argued. “When I told him that I’d have someone with me to help me load it in my car, he said no, that he’d help me load it.”
She would not be meeting Elkin, but Henry wasn’t going to argue that point right now. He examined the address on the paper, then handed it to Lane. “Do you know this place?”
“That’s the railroad district. I know the general area, but not this exact address,” Lane said. “It’s north of the warehouse district by a few miles, but along the shoreline. You can’t miss it. There are trains and trucks everywhere. There are some docks there, too.”
Made sense. The rail yard would be the perfect place to unload and hide an entire shipload of whiskey. Henry took the slip of paper back and put it in his pocket. He’d check out the area tomorrow and have a full plan in place by the next night, including who would take Betty’s place.
“Are you going to be able to arrest him?” Betty asked.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Jane asked her sister.
“Because the FBI doesn’t arrest bootleggers,” Betty explained.
“She’s right,” Henry said. “Normally, we don’t.” It was confusing for those who didn’t know the specific departments under the justice system. “Bureau of Investigation agents are assigned to gather facts and evidence for the Department of Justice in what are considered federal crimes. Fraud, treason, espionage. Over the past few years, with the increase of criminal gangs expanding across state lines, there have been a large number of racketeering cases that we’ve, the Bureau, become involved in because of multiple jurisdictions.”
“What’s racketeering?” Betty asked.
“Various activities most often conducted by the mobs. Smuggling, counterfeiting, and certain aspects of bootlegging. Prohibition laws have numerous loopholes. It’s not illegal to consume alcohol, but it is illegal to sell, manufacture, or transport it. Mobs are making millions of dollars by being middlemen. They purchase the supplies needed to manufacture the alcohol, then give it to someone who actually makes the brew, private citizens, whole blocks of them. These people will make and bottle the moonshine. The mob will then distribute it to the speakeasies, under the pretense that no funds were exchanged for the alcohol. That any monies paid by the tavern to the establishment, meaning the mob, were for the protection of their business. The speakeasy is who actually sells the product. The mob, the middlemen, the establishment, as they often call themselves, actually broke no laws.”
Betty nodded, yet frowned. “What about Elkin? If he sells me the whiskey, then you can arrest him because he’s not a middleman, he’s the seller?”
It was a complex system, but everything within the government was complex. “Yes, I have the authority to arrest him, but for selling ten cases of whiskey, he’d merely get a slap on the wrist. A local judge could
