Larry Jack arrives home from the Korean War with a divorce and no prospects for a future he now assumes will be lonely. As luck would have it, however, with his discharge paper still in hand, Larry Jack is offered the job of a lifetime as a revenuer in his homeland of Arkansas County, Arkansas. He is placed in charge of investigating bootleggers and possible drug dealers in the region-and even though he's a native, he does not receive the warmest of welcomes. Larry Jack's Arkansas is a bit wild; there are vicious feuds, rough-and-tumble fighting in the honky-tonks, and shootouts on the town square. Despite their personal differences, though, the people of the bayou have one thing in common: distaste for authority figures, which makes his job difficult. His life gets even more interesting when he encounters an old flame by the name of Mary Ann. Meanwhile, it soon becomes apparent in his investigation that Larry Jack isn't just dealing with local crooks. A crime syndicate is behind the drug-dealing, and in order to convict Larry Jack will have to risk his own life against not only guns but also water moccasins, alligators, and bears. With Mary Ann at his side, he might be able to navigate the bayou, but how will he bring these criminals to justice without ending up with a bullet in the back?

ARKANSAS COUNTY MOONSHINE WARS

By T. Leon Doyle

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 T. Leon Doyle
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-5172-1

Chapter One

While I was in doubt about my future, the U. S. Treasure Department was in search of a man with certain backwoods qualifications and had served as 'Ranger; and they were screening soldiers with service records and training comparable to mine, who were in line to be discharged in the near future. In addition to being a solid choice on the first two counts, I had another most important qualification, Arkansas County Arkansas, one of the three southern areas that supplied most all of the untaxed bootlegged moonshine in North America, was my home.

However, I knew nothing about this until after I had a honorable discharge from the armed services of my country in my hand; and while I was collecting my combat pay, mustering out pay, pay for my unused days of leave and the final accounting of pay that I had missed while my pay records were lost, I was asked to report to General Gilkerson's office. I had no idea who General Gilkerson was; but I already had my discharge and I didn't think that he could take it back. However, there was no reason not to respect him, and after stepping up in front of his desk I saluted, then, "Sergeant Doyle reporting as requested," I announced.

After returning my salute, "Agent Crawford has requested a meeting with you," the general said, with his waving hand indicating that I should look to the left.

Of course I did as the General indicated, and saw him standing in the shadows, then with a questioning look on my face I would let him say something first. "I am agent Crawford, and I would like to talk with you for a few minutes if I may," he said while holding out his hand.

"Yes sir," I agreed, then shook hands with him.

"Let's get out of the general's way," he said, heading toward a different door from the one which I had come in through, and after waiting for me to pass he closed the door behind himself. "We can sit here," he said, pulling a chair back from a conference table.

I followed his lead, and after we were both seated, "We are in the process of hiring some government agents, and we believe that you are qualified," he said.

"What kind of agents?" I asked

"Treasury Agents, or T-Men they are sometime called," Agent Crawford answered.

'Ha-ha-ha-ha," I laughed. "You mean Revenuers. Sure I know about them," I replied.

"I figured that you did. I know that you are from Arkansas County, Arkansas, and revenuers aren't strangers in that part of this country. That is one of the reasons that we are interested in you," Agent Crawford said.

"Well I know some people that run moonshine stills; but I never did and I don't reckon that I ever will. Is there something unusual going on down there?" I asked.

"Yes! But first I have to swear you in, and ask a couple of questions before I am allowed to discuss it with you," he said.

"Yes sir?" I agreed, while making a question out of my answer.

"Are you interested in becoming a T-man," he asked.

"Yes sir, but I would like to know about the pay, and will the job be permanent in Arkansas?" I asked.

"I don't know exactly how much you will be paid. But it is well above the averages in Arkansas County. And yes, that is exactly where we want you to go," Agent Crawford said.

I chuckled with my mouth closed and, "I swore that if I ever got out of the service that I would never re-enlist. However, it seems kind 'da like that's what I'm doing. But let's give her a try and see if it works out," I replied, then raised my right hand and swore to an oath that was almost identical to the one that I sworn to when I entered the service.

The turn of events in such a short period of time had me feeling like I imagined a cat, which had been dropped upside down from a tall building, felt. However, I quickly righted myself, went by home with an arm full of books for me to become acquainted with before heading for Washington DC. In Washington we quickly came to terms, and I was a T-Man before the first day was done. Then I was introduced to Agent Earl James, the task force leader that I was assigned to. After we shook hands, and got comfortable in a couple of chairs, "Do you prefer to be called Larry or Jack?" Agent James asked.

"I don't know one without the other, so if you want an answer, you had better call me both of 'em," I replied

"OK Larry Jack, that's sounds good to me, and I am Earl," agent James said. Then, "How well do you know Arkansas County?" he asked. "Hum-hum-hum-hum," I chuckled with my mouth shut and a big smile on my face, "Most of it, about as well as I know the back of my hand. But there are some places that I reckon only the ones that are living there really know what's going on, and if you go poking around you're liable to get shot," I answered.

"That's about what we figured," Earl replied.

Then Earl dived right into the business at hand, and, "Since organized crime's main access to illegal whiskey, which is in McNairy County in Tennessee, on Bear Mountain in Mississippi, and around Cherokee Alabama, is in danger, we have intelligence that makes us believe that they are planning to move their operations to Arkansas County, Arkansas," he explained.

"Of course I know that some of the 'good-ole-boys' would be making moonshine over there, but that's about all I know about it," I replied.

Earl chuckled, "Well you pegged it, whether you know it or not. The 'Hill-Billy-Mafia' is what they are calling it, trying to make us believe that it is a local thing. However we know that the international mafia is calling the shots and supplying the 'dirty-money'. It has been decided to run a sting operation and shut them down once-and—for all in Arkansas County, and we need a man to look after all things down there."

* * *

I left Washington with an allowance to buy a pickup, a motor boat, a canoe, and the needed fire arms and explosives to do the job.

In Arkansas County, I let everybody know that I had returned, and was a revenuer on the hunt. "If you insist on making moonshine, then I insist on catching you, so you had better watch out and close them stills down," I warned. Of course that was part of my cover. Wrecking a few moonshine stills that were scattered around Arkansas County was my job. However being the point-man on a sting operation was my assignment.

I knew that it would take me about a week to get settled in, and if my warning hadn't been heeded by then, I would take appropriate action. Friend and foe alike, they would be held accountable for their actions. First I needed transportation, other than this rented car. After shopping in Dewitt, I finally purchased a camouflaged four wheel drive ford F-150 pickup, with a rack up over the cab that would carry a small canoe, in Stuttgart.

With my transportation settled, I needed to check out of the motel and find a place to live, and I already had a place in mind. A fishing camp, which was located on the bank of White River in the Crocketts Bluff Area, and belonged to a good friend of mine who had left the area while I was gone. "Sure! I never get back there anymore so just move in, and if I do make it back again I'll just come and visit you," he said.

After I had the electricity turned on, I move in. Then at Mack's Sport Center I purchased a modest size but fast running motorboat, a canoe that would ride on top of my pickup, a 351 model 07 rifle, a long barreled 44 magnum pistol and holster rig, with ammo storage loops around the belt; and a Jim Bowie hunting knife, with a 12 inch blade and a scabbard that would...