Prohibition

Chapter 17: Raymond

The next day, Raymond visited Mr. Matthews at the hospital. When he asked the nurse on duty how his friend was, he learned that Mr. Matthews had suffered three cracked ribs and minor cuts and abrasions all over his face, neck, and arms. "He also has a bad case of pneumonia," the nurse added as Raymond headed for Mr. Matthew's room. "And he inhaled a very unhealthy amount of smoke and ash."

Mr. Matthews was propped up in bed, reading a newspaper when Raymond entered his room.

"How are you?" Raymond asked, pulling a chair over to sit beside Mr. Matthews.

"I've been better," the old man replied with a wry smile. "Is the boathouse...?"

"Burned to the ground," Raymond finished. "Along with part of the dock."

"And my boat?"

"Mostly intact. Some paint peeled, and some parts of the deck were singed, but nothing worse than that."

Mr. Matthews sighed heavily, then broke into a fit of coughing. "How long do you think it will take to rebuild everything?" he rasped when his coughing subsided.

"A few weeks—at best," Raymond answered. "But the rubble and debris will have to be cleared away, and the police want to examine the boathouse to make sure it wasn't a case of arson."

"They think someone set that fire?" Mr. Matthews exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

"No," Raymond soothed, pushing Mr. Matthews back onto the pillows. "But it was a very large fire that started at a very odd time. Most big fires do not happen in the dead of winter. So they want to check.

"I see." Mr. Matthews' body was wracked by another fit of coughing. "When can we start rumrunning again?" he asked between coughs.

"I don't know. Not for a month or two, I would think," Raymond replied. "But don't worry about that now."

"Raymond, I have to worry. I..." Mr. Matthews' voice cracked. "I'm broke. And in a lot of debt."

"What!" Raymond exclaimed. "But you're—how—?"

"Gambling, overspending, helping out other equally broke friends, and James. Turns out his wife is an even bigger spender than I am. I've been paying all his expenses for more than a year now."

Raymond stared blankly at Mr. Matthews, shocked into silence.

"That's why I can't stop rumrunning," the old man finished grimly. "I have to pay for him and his wife. I have to pay for me. And I have to try to pay off my debt."

"Mr. Matthews, even if that boathouse was repaired tomorrow, you're in no condition to be rumrunning," Raymond said firmly. "The nurse told me you have a bad case of pneumonia, and you inhaled unhealthy amounts of smoke and ash, in addition to all your cuts and scrapes. You won't be back on your feet for weeks, old man."

Mr. Matthews growled under his breath. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" Raymond repeated. "What do you mean?"

"You can keep rumrunning," Mr. Matthews suggested. "Keep the operation going until I get back on my ."

"Mr. Matthews," Raymond began, "I can't just 'keep rumrunning.' The boathouse has to be rebuilt first. And I can't do this by myself, and..." he trailed off, lost in thought. If he decided to stop rumrunning, he would be out of a job. Perhaps he could work with Agent Brant, or perhaps he could find a place to work somewhere else, but that would put his investigation back to square one. At the same time, he reminded himself, he had to focus on his job—his real job—first and foremost. He couldn't get distracted with trying to help Mr. Matthews.