fiction
The Superior Gatsby By John Smolens
He was employed in a vague personal capacity—while he remained with Cody he was in turn steward, mate, skipper, secretary and even jailor, for Dan Cody sober knew what lavish doings Dan Cody drunk might soon be about and he provided for such contingencies by reposing more and more trust in Gatsby. —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
D
an Cody envisioned himself a gentleman bootlegger. Much like the gentleman farmer who hires others to toil in the fields, he wished not to dirty his hands while reaping the harvest. Jay Gatsby ran the operation, purchasing confiscated liquor from customs officials who worked the border on the St. Mary’s River, and then running it to ports on the Great Lakes. The benefit for Cody was that he had access to an unlimited supply of booze, the result being that Gatsby would lock him in his cabin during lengthy binges. The lesson for the young man was that alcohol is a deterrent to one’s deepest hopes and dreams. Cody provided another lesson while prostrate in his teak berth. “You’re going to make your first fortune working this yacht.” “My first?” “There will be others. They come and go, like women. You win, you lose.” “Lose?” Gatsby said. “I lose?” They had dropped anchor in Marquette’s Lower Harbor, cluttered with ore boats, fishing shacks, and schooners. Masts and rigging stitched the air, and the Tuolomee’s contraband could be offloaded in broad daylight without fear of local constabulary that had been sufficiently compensated. Gatsby drove Cody’s rented Duesenberg filled with crates of contraband whiskey to hotels near the train station, making deliveries at the Merchants Hotel, the Hotel Janzen, the Hotel Brunswick. His last stop was the Adams Hotel, where Lila Banks sang torch songs in the lounge and her network distributed booze to various outlets as far inland as Michigamme and Republic. Cody was much taken with her, which was the reason why the Tuolomee frequented Marquette. But this time he did not come ashore, citing self-preservation. The reason for this rare act of discretion waited in the alley behind the hotel: Lila’s long-time paramour Tuukka Hautamaki. “Where’s your boss?” he asked as his man Emmet Jones unloaded the crates from the wagon. “Mr. Cody is predisposed to attend to other business.” Hautamaki had a hard empty face and looked like a man whose favorite pastime was hunting bear. “You tell Mr. Cody he wants to get paid, he comes himself.” Emmet unloaded the last crate and Hautamaki shut the hotel door, leaving Gatsby in the dark alley. He began the drive down to the Lower Harbor but stopped when he saw Lila Banks step out from the shadows on the corner of Front and Main. She climbed up on the Duesy’s running board, and from a pocket in her fur coat produced a tiny sequined purse. “Consider this a down payment.” She handed Gatsby a folded Ben Franklin. “A C-note’s not enough, Lila. You know how Cody gets.” “It’s not for the hooch.” Lila’s voice was husky from crooning over speakeasy echolalia. “It’s for my passage.” She leaned so close he could smell cigarettes, Chanel No. 22, and gin. “You must take me away from here.”
36
Marquette Monthly
October 2021
