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after him for unpaid liquor export taxes. They had his name on a few shipping documents, but had no conclusive evidence. The prohis had their eye on him as well, but had even less evidence.”
    â€œBut there was no Prohibition in Canada,” Kaz said. “Surely an American could be in the liquor business there.”
    â€œYeah, and he was. Kennedy owned a liquor distributor called the Silk Hat Cocktail Company out in Vancouver, British Columbia. They exported liquor overseas and paid the export tax. The excise agents said they suspected some of the ships never left port. Instead of steaming off to Mexico or Japan, the skipper would simply dock at another berth and unload directly onto trucks.”
    â€œWhich would then smuggle the alcohol across the border,” Kaz said, staying one step ahead.
    â€œRight. Nice and clean. That way the books balanced. Then Kennedy got greedy, according to the Canadians. Their theory was that he’d set up operations on the East Coast, bringing in booze on small boats, skipping the fiction about legal exports.”
    â€œWhat evidence did they have?” Kaz said.
    â€œNot much at first. Kennedy did supply all the booze for his Harvard class’s tenth year reunion in 1922. Cases of the stuff. That brought him to the attention of the Treasury boys, but even they couldn’t go up against that kind of influence. Half the guys at that reunion had enough cash and clout to shut down any investigation. But when the Canadians came calling with a lead a few years later, it was a different story.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œIt was an open secret that toughs from Southie—the Gustin Gang—were bringing in booze from ships out in international waters.”
    â€œRumrunners, yes?” Kaz asked.
    â€œThat’s what they were called,” I said. “Small, fast boats that could be beached and unloaded easily. The Gustin Gang—named after the street where they hung out—distributed to speakeasies all over Boston. Then they decided there was an easier way to do business.”
    â€œWhat?” Kaz asked.
    I smiled, challenging him to figure it out.
    â€œEasier than unloading from ships at sea,” he said, thinking out loud. “While still ending up with the liquor. Of course! Steal it from other gangs, yes?”
    â€œI’ll make a cop of you yet, Kaz. Or a criminal. Hard to say which we are, in this business. Yeah, the Gustin boys started knocking off rival shipments. Worked great for a while, but then the other gangs began to fight back, and soon no one was getting their booze.”
    â€œThere must have been angry customers,” Kaz said.
    â€œAs well as angry mob bosses. The big guys, not street thugs like the Gustins.”
    â€œLet me guess,” Kaz said. “Someone was eliminated.”
    â€œWell, yeah, but how? The gangs had already been fighting, but no one had scored a knockout blow.”
    â€œHmmm,” Kaz said, drumming his fingers on the table. “I have it! A sit-down, yes? Is that not what a meeting among gangsters is called?”
    â€œYep. An Italian gang offered to arrange it. Frank Wallace and Dodo Walsh were offered safe passage to discuss a truce. They were gunned down as they walked in. That’s a Mafia truce. Hard to argue with it.”
    â€œThis is a fascinating story, Billy, but what does it have to do with the senior Boyle and Kennedy?”
    I was about to get to that when an RAF officer came for us. The rain was pelting down, but the sky to the east was clearing, and that was where we were going. I was groggy from too much time in the air and not enough sleep, but I was aware enough to understand what that meant. The wide Pacific Ocean and a new enemy, one even more alien than the Germans. All of Europe could be swallowed up and vanish in the broad stretches of sea and sky conquered by the Japanese.
    â€œTo be continued,” I said.

Chapter Five
    The Sunderland was