Our next Deadly Dame; Charlene Evans. The daughter of Sam and Delores Evans was raised in Palmetto Florida, a small fishing community on the western coast of the Florida peninsula just south of Tampa Bay. During prohibition her father made a tidy sum of money rum running. A two day run to Cuba and back; what should have taken no more then a day was due to weaving through the keys, and the occasional hold up in one of the many coves he'd hide when the Coast Guard were running hot, then home for a day or two and back out into Gulf. Hugging the coast line in "Delora May"; a 40ft shrimper named after his wife and mother, making stops either in Alabama, Mississippi, Louisianan, or sometimes a straight run to Galveston. Charlie, as her father always called her, was an accomplished seaman by fourteen, by eighteen the kid could out sail most of the seasoned captains and fist mates out of Tampa Bay. After her father contracted a severe case of malaria while on the lay-low in a mosquito infested cove for two days and nights ducking a coast guard clipper patrolling the coastline, things only went from bad to worse. Sam Evans later contracted tuberculosis making it all but impossible to earning a living and provide for his family. When she was nineteen her father’s health declining, money running out, and debtors knocking at the door, Charlie made the run to Bimini Island and back by herself. Raising enough dough to stop the bankers from taking their home, and in her words; " was all she wrote". One G plus expenses to ferry a small box, and a couple dozen cases of booze down to Bimini and bring back some fish who was so twitchy you'd a thought the sap was gonna be bumped off soon as he stepped on the dock. A few days after her run to Bimini, while reading the paper Charlie smiled to herself thinking she'd figured right all along. The booze was just a cover for some ice in the smaller box she had stashed below. Seems there'd been a major heist in Miami involving some serious jewels. She also found out the fish she'd brought back on the return trip was a grafter who'd been on the lay-low after laundering sourdough for some big cheese in Chicago.