“Please don’t break his arm like the last guy,” Meghan said. There wasn’t a last guy for Lester. Planting the idea in someone’s head was mean, but drinking in a dry town was illegal. It was cruel, but Meghan knew she couldn’t get fired twice.
Eugene repeated the words Meghan said, only it came out, “Mass my?” because Lester had Eugene’s lips against the wall.
“So, Gene, it appears you’ve been drinking,” Meghan said.
She moved around Lester’s feet as he pinned Eugene in the hallway. She went into his bedroom and retrieved the plastic bottle of cheap whiskey—the bootlegger favorite for Kinguyakkii, purchased by the case in Anchorage and smuggled out to the villages. The 750ml bottle sold between $250 and $300. It was a lucrative and thriving business. In all the time, Meghan worked as Police Chief, she never plugged the hole where the creeps go into town.
Meghan collected the bottle in Eugene’s bedroom. She made a ‘random’ search of his jacket on the coat rack by the front door. Meghan carried both bottles to the side table near the front entrance.
“Where did you get them?” Lester asked.
As Eugene made noise, Lester put pressure on his neck. Meghan walked back to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Blinded by rage, Lester fought two demons, himself, and the bootlegger who continued to poison the North Slope.
“You can’t come into my house. You ain’t got no right,” Eugene said.
“Actually, this isn’t your house, Gene,” Meghan said.
While Lester kept the man in check, she continued to scan the rest of the house. She found another bottle of gut-rot whiskey in the kitchen cupboard next to the box of cookies and cereal. It still had a seal, full and unopened. Meghan carried it back into view of Eugene. She saw Lester look at the bottle. There was a change in his eyes. Meghan moved it from his sight.
Lester handcuffed Eugene and pulled on his elbow to make him sit on the couch. Meghan collected the rifle from the hall closet. She pulled the bolt and emptied the chamber of the bullet. Meghan put the bullet in her coat pocket.
“So, you’ve got an unopened bottle of booze, Gene. You know what that is?” Meghan asked.
“It’s one to five years for bootlegging,” Lester said. He was out of breath. Meghan suspected it was stress more than the arrest.
“It’s my bottle; I wasn’t going to sell it.”
“How do we know that?” Lester asked. “The way I see it, we charge you with possession, bootlegging, and distribution.”
“I didn’t sell any booze,” he said. Eugene whimpered.
“What about the other guy drunk downtown?” Lester asked. “Did you see him buy the bottle?”
Meghan waited, watching Eugene. There was recognition on his face. Lester didn’t tell her he arrested someone else for alcohol possession. She wasn’t a cop anymore, so it wasn’t any of her business.
“Where did you get the booze?”
“This is stupid. It’s legal everywhere else.” He squinted at the two of them. Meghan suspected Eugene saw more than two people standing in front of him.
“What have I always said, Gene?” Meghan asked. “Every time we have a social event that gets everyone together, what do I always say to everyone?”
He looked at his knobby naked knees. “It’s illegal to drink in the Borough, if you don’t like it, move out.”
“That’s right. So, you’re listening.” Meghan waited because it wasn’t her show. Lester looked bleary with anger. “Where were you the last few days?”
“I went out hunting. I got some traps north of here.”
“Gene, you can’t trap this time of year. You know it’s illegal,” Lester said.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry. Please, let me go. I won’t do it again.”
“Which part are you sorry about, Gene? Killing animals out of season or bootlegging?” Lester shook his head. “We’ve been trying to call you since Saturday night.”
“People saw you at the dance, Gene,” Meghan said. “You’re telling us, you left the dance and drove out of town trapping?”
“Yeah, I was, that’s what I did.”
“I don’t believe you,” Meghan said. “Do you believe him?”
Lester shook his head. “Where’s your phone?”
Eugene shook his head. “I dropped it in the mud. Go check. It’s in the pocket of my pants. I want to have the phone company repair it, or I guess they replace it.”
Meghan left the living room. She went into Eugene’s bedroom. A collection of clothes covered the faux wood laminate flooring like a makeshift throw rug. Meghan didn’t bring surgical gloves. She used two fingers to lift each set of pant legs to shake contents out of the pockets. Eventually, she got to the last pair of pants. Muddy and damp. She shook loose the smartphone. A cracked screen and caked with black mud.
Meghan turned to carry it back to the living room when something caught her eye. Eugene had a set of bedside nightstands. She saw something under one nightstand on the side where he spent most of the time sleeping. Meghan squatted to look under the nightstand without touching. It was a ringed hardcover notebook. The kind of department store inexpensive plain black cover notepad with a ringed binder that people bought when they couldn’t afford better quality paper. Meghan saw a pen on the top of the nightstand.
Using the pen hooked through one of the rings of the binder, Meghan pulled the notebook from under the nightstand. It had stickers on the cover. They were the kind of labels that appealed to little girls, fairies, and unicorns, with cats and dogs. Meghan flipped open the top page using the pen.
